I'm not Superstitious

The doorbell rings. As I am about to open the door, Mom sneezes. "Oops! I wonder what bad luck awaits us," I mutter as I open the door. It is the maid. She has a sling on and looks deathly pale.

"Uh-oh! You broke your arm!" Mom exclaims.

"Yes, Amma, I will not be able to come to work for a month and a half."

"I knew it! The moment you sneezed I knew we were in for some bad luck," I pipe up after the maid is gone.

"Come on, that was just a coincidence," Mom dismisses the thought.

I finish mopping the floor, as Mom washes the clothes. I put the kettle on the stove to boil water for tea. Just then I hear something crashing. I rush out of the kitchen to see that our doggie's broken a mirror.

"Oh, no! This foretells danger..." I mutter as Mom chides the dog and begins to sweep aside the broken shards of glass.

Suddenly, the phone rings. I pick up the receiver and say, "Hello." I listen for a few disheartening minutes and screech, "Mom!!! America has been attacked! See, I knew it! The breaking of the mirror warned us of the forthcoming disaster..."

"Oh, shut up! And give me the phone," says Mom as she starts speaking into the receiver. It is her colleague who has called to tell us about the tragedy in the US. We had not heard about it till then because the TV has not been working for the past few weeks.

Mom hangs up and says to me, "Now, don't make a big deal of the broken mirror. Get ready, or you'll be late to office," and then she resumes clearing the floor of the glass pieces.

Apprehensively I get dressed, with just one thought running in my mind. "Oh God, what next...!"

I eat breakfast in unnatural silence and leave for work on my two-wheeler. Just as I turn towards the main road, a black cat crosses my path. "!#$@#%," I swear, as I retrace my path all the way back home.

Mom is just locking up the house and is surprised to see me back. "Forgot something?" she enquires.

"No, Mom... a black cat just..."

"Oh, come off it! Just go to office. Did you hear that? GO to office!"

I meekly nod my head and set off again, with fear in my heart, and threatening thoughts in my mind. What if I meet with an accident? What if something horrible happens... what if...

Just then, a policeman stops me. He says, "Tamil Nadu registration! Show me your licence. Where is the NOC?"

"I... I don't have NOC... but here's my licence," I manage to stammer. I am nervous. After subjecting me to about 45 minutes of verbal torture and collecting a fine of Rs. 250, he finally lets me go.

I reach office late by an hour, and the HRM beckons me to come in. I go in and receive the choicest of reprimands for being so irresponsible. I missed an important meeting by coming in late. I slowly walk out of her cabin and go to my cubicle, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Curious pairs of eyes follow me across the room. I feel embarrassed, unnerved.

Then I see a file on my desk. It says, "Client Number 13. Allu Basha Um Haid." My hands shiver as I pick up the file. Number 13? Oh, no...