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Thursday, May 27, 2004

Missed the whole of the Champions League final yesterday--a monster headache being the culprit coupled with the uneasy knowledge that I had to get up at 5 am to receive my aunt & Gran at the pristine Dadar station.Awoke fresh and immediately surfed the spectrum of the telly to learn that FC Porto had vanquished Monaco 3-0 and had thus become possibly the worst team in history to wear that crown.

Got out of the house with my sister to be greeted amusedly by cheery dogs (who must have thought I'd taken up exercise on medical grounds or something ). Disappointing them, we left for the bus stop where we found that collectively we did not know a) the bus number b) the frequency of the buses c) whether the bus itself stopped . Twas but an easy decision to hail a cab ,hit the VT and boatd the train to Dadar.

For the first time, I failed to be at the door of the platform of the person ( before the train stopped)who I was receiving for 2 reasons a) Dadar platform is wholly unlike the Habibganj velodrome at Bhopal or the Saharanpur dirt-trail, which allowed me to give rein to my handy middle-distance track prowess, and b) My aunt and gran ( owing to some last-minute travel plans ) were arriving in coaches about 100 metres apart. Since my sister was given the job of tailing Gran ( a la Matthaus tailing Maradona in the 86 final), we managed the task successfully and thought our difficulties for the day were over when a "mamu" halted my progress to the taxi stand and asked me to open the suitcase I was lugging. My counter-attacking skills to the core, I urged him to show me his ID Card first. Finding him importunate, we pried the thing open only to find what we expected to find along.Bidding him farewell, we headed home and was on the verge of making a meal of the snacks that I was being fed, when I ruefully headed for office.


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