I want to be a winner. Badly. So badly I can taste it.
These days I have this tremendous desire to win something. Something to do with the everyone driving away with luxury cars and, worse, some of them being people you actually know and you have to say congrats, well done when what you really want to say is, I hate you because all I get is a card to scratch and it says, thank you try again.
I’d like to win a top of the range car that has more than a 1.4 litre engine and is bigger than a suitcase. A villa on the Costa del Sol. A family trip Business Class to Disneyland all expenses paid. Gold. Cold cash. Oodles of it. Stuff that makes all our friends play house to the green eyed monster.
Then I can act blase, pretend these windfalls come into my life on a monotonously regular basis and really, good fortune isn’ t everything in the world, there are other more important things like family life, health and sitting together with good friends watching one day matches on the telly…where do you guys live, here, eat my dust.
I want have my photograph in the papers and be interviewed so I can say all these intelligent things that winners say when they win like the money had upgraded their wisdom quotient.
Like, I am thrilled, I didn’ t expect it.
I believe in good, clean virtuous living, which is why I won.
I will give 32 percent to charity and nine percent to my favourite aunt who looked after me when I was young…gawarrrrrrnnnnn.
The winners look happy as they perch on their cars(even if they don’ t have driving licences) and they say these sweet, syrupy things about thanking everyone around them for their blessings and you want to say, look, really, don’t thank me, because I am so miserable about your win, you can’ t even guess how miserable.
Like with bullets, I know that somewhere out there is a fortune with my name on it, just waiting to be won.
Only a question of time before I can hold the press conference and take my million home.
Lying in bed at night I practice my acceptance speech. What’ll I say as I drive the Aston Martin out of Dubai Duty Free? How I’ll tell the Manager of the Bank folks, thanks for the million bucks but I am putting it offshore.
Then I want to swan into one of the Malls and be stared at as that guy who won the villa or the ten kilos of gold and act cool, so cool.
I have been wanting to act cool since2003 and it just does not happen.
I don’t think anyone realises exactly how depressing it is to win mini prizes, ones that people laugh in your face for and then sarcastically say, good show, well done, luckysod.
Lucky sod : For winning a packet of toffees when that fellow out there has a sore thumb counting his lolly and he hasn’t even been through half the stack. and I am determined to be a big winner. Then I can philosophise on cosmic subjects and everyone will listen to me. My wife’s eyes will shine with pride as she looks at me and says, my husband, wattaman. My children will have respect, they will genuflect and look up to me rather than have that perpetual expression of ‘who, him?’ that today’s children generally reserve for their parents.
It has been said that the tea is as sweet as the sugar you have put in it. Well, I have paid my dues. I have bought 33 tickets for several lotteries and several raffles. I am investing daily in lucky bonanzas by the dozen, if it has a prize, Vohra is there battling it out with the best of them because you don’t muck about with Lady Luck, she is very sensitive. I have filled more forms than I did paying for a US visa.
And if you do come to our home it isn’t that I am serious about superstition, it is just a sheer coincidence that we have four leaf clovers, horseshoes, lucky talismans, charms and other such celestial investments and I do have this tendency to touch wood and keep my fingers crossed and generally read my horoscope before marching out to test my luck. After all, if there is a million bucks out there who cares if the neighbours
think you are nuts.
We just won’t invite them for the celebrations.
