It was 4:15 am. I was obviously fast asleep, when I was shaken awake by my parents—both with worried expressions. I sprang out of bed.
Me: “OMG. What happened? What’s wrong?
Mom: “That car horn. It has been going on for a while. Is it our car?”
[We’ve been somewhat spooked with the car, because it had once floated down the street during a flood, and was also once broken in to for the music system.]
Me: “I don’t think that’s our car. But oh God, someone might have broken into it again! I’m going downstairs to check.”
And so I do. I reach the entrance, then run towards the gate. As I step out onto the pavement, I realise that the strident tones are coming from the opposite direction from our car. (We couldn’t have known this from the flat.)
I briefly consider turning back and going upstairs (and bed) without further investigation. Because, let’s face it, it’s 4 am. But I see the car, a taxi, with all its windows and doors flung open.
Wokay. Was it a car bomb? We live really close to GSB Ganpati. Very rich pandal. Terror threat. And in spite of these dire thoughts, I STILL WENT TO INVESTIGATE.
Only to find, the taxi driver fast asleep (with that horn blaring *slow clap*) in the car. As his seat was fully reclined, his knee was pressed into the steering wheel.
Me: “Bhaiyya! Aapka horn bhaj raha hai!” (Pinnacle of conversation, this.)
He wakes up, removes his knee, blinks a bit at me, turns on his side, and falls asleep again.
Critical thinking: 0; Imagination + sleep: 1.