Dame Luck, the wife of a few, the concubine of a few others and divorced from the majority is an ever-present factor that can make or mar lives by its presence or unwelcome absence. It is common knowledge that a good-for-nothing can attain dizzying heights with the entry of the dainty damsel called luck. And there are those whose mere presence in any undertaking makes it a sure bet for failure. These are the ones who have been forsaken by the fickle lady or it may be because the lady has not set her sights on him. I belong to the not-so-elite class of people who have been deserted by the devilish damsel. Maybe it never accompanied me to talk about desertion. This lack of luck by my side expresses itself in ways, subtle and not so subtle leaving behind a trail of destruction, crushed hopes and plain unhappiness.

            Although I have begun to take things in my stride and live life as it comes, luck makes its presence felt in everyday commonplace incidents by its sheer absence. I will illustrate this phenomenon with incidents that occur in such profusion in  my life. Take the case of going somewhere. It might be for a doctors’ appointment or to catch a train to my hometown. Being a member of the middle class whose income doesn’t  allow me to regularly splurge on autos ever-ready to fleece its hapless passengers, I usually try to catch the bus from my place that would help me reach my destination.

            Usually I see this bus passing in front of my house every day with unceasing regularity. I go to the bus-stop ahead of time. There is a crowd already waiting for the bus. Time goes on its ceaseless march. No sign of any bus. I pityingly look at the rest of the crowd. Luckily no one guessed that it was me who had injected the requisite bit of unlucky paint to spoil the pretty picture. At times the bus does arrive and as usual it is full. I stand next to one of the seats under the impression that I would be able to sit shortly since the person sitting seemed to be in a mood to get down in the next stop. But again I am proved wrong. So I move a bit back to try my luck near another seat and precisely at that moment my earlier guess turn out to be right after all and the passenger sitting there gets up. But before I could make my seat- winning move, another standee who had got on the bus at the previous stop deftly wedges himself between the seat and me. It all happens in an instant. This game of musical chairs carries on till we reach the final destination and the only gain in the whole exercise was that I devised a new strategy of training footballers in the fine art of tackling and avoiding the opposition by taking such bus rides on a regular basis.

            Then there are those bright sunny days when a bus arrives with enough vacant seats, but doesn’t bother to stop to pick up the poor guy at the bus-stop. I must confess that there have been times when the bus has arrived with space to spare. And when such a rare event occurred I have got in with jubilation at the thought of getting a restful ride to my destination. Some time ago, such an opportunity presented itself and I jumped in with glee. I got a seat just behind the driver and so had a ringside view of the road. We had just gone a few metres ahead when the driver felt that it was time to change gears. The long bent stick, referred to as the instrument for changing gears did not however seem to be in a mood to oblige the driver. But the driver too was no less obstinate. With his left hand he wrestled with the errant gear. After a few minutes of this arm wrestling, I realized with horror that the gear stick was now disengaged from its joint and was fully in the grip of the driver. Within the next few minutes the bus ground to a halt and the whole contingent of passengers trooped out of the bus in search of new travel avenues. I could hear the laugh of fortune far away from me and putting more distance between us as time progressed.

             Any other person in his right frame of mind might have hurled the worst insults possible at “ Lady Luck” in the face of such regular misfortune.

 And the rest might have remarked that it was a case of sour grapes. But hope still flickers in my heart when I sight a bus in the distance. Maybe the elusive lady might take a liking to me after all these years. Perhaps she like older men and was just waiting for my hair to start graying at the temples. If only that was her criterion, I would dye my hair white. Anything for a little luck. But I know for sure that today is not the day for us to get together. The newscaster is reading out a call given by the transport corporations for a statewide strike. “ When will she come?” I wonder.