Memoirs of my broke days

Behind every successful guy there was once a broke man. It’s common for people to charge a successful man by seeing what he has achieved without reflecting on his past. Most of them started from scratch with several disappointments—their past was a tag of war.

Behind every successful guy there was once a broke man. It’s common for people to charge a successful man by seeing what he has achieved without reflecting on his past.

Most of them started from scratch with several disappointments—their past was a tag of war.

The year was 2007, I had achieved what everyone would call a very good start in life. I had finally graduated with Honours. I envisioned a bright future ahead of me. A good car, a beautiful Bangalore, a better half… the list is endless. There was nothing that would sabotage my bright future, I imagined!

A few days after graduation everything seemed to be on dual course, I still had some little money on me that I had received from my graduation party (thanks to well-wishers). It was not so long that I read an advert in the newspapers that exactly matched my (Hons) degree.

I immediately applied; the response however was not rosy, my academic credentials were declined; little did I know they had to be notified by the officials and this required more expenditure. My broke days begun. Swiftly, I jumped on a motorbike to go notify my papers.

Riding on a motor bike meant spending; plus the airtime bills every now and then, all in the name of acquiring a job. I was incurring a lot of expenditures without even positive response from the job interviewers. I was heading for disaster. The same drama (I called it) went on for three months.

Worst of it all, issues came from East and West, North and South. Back to a suburb where I rented a small house, the landlord haunted me daily demanding for his rent.

Fiona my girlfriend impatiently waited for her birthday so I could surprise her with something big—I made matters worse when I forgot to call her a week later. She was so upset, I dreaded her presence.

I was so broke as a church mouse. Broke was my middle name. I drunk sugarless tea and couldn’t wait to sleep on an empty stomach—gash it was terrible! So I opted to accept any tea or coffee offer wherever I went to do interviews and I wished I would stay forever!

Evening came and my best meal was a ‘rolex’ (chapatti containing two fried eggs and raw cabbage) mixed in beans which I also got on a debt from Mama Fina, the restaurant woman. I dished out luxury drinks; I did not even know what a coca-cola bottle looked like, or how a cola tasted like. To the extent that whenever I saw this coca-cola poster in town, of this beautiful lady sipping the cool bubbly drink, I got so envious, it hurt!

I remember one day, when I went to visit my uncle at his office. It was approaching lunch time so I thought he would feel sympathy for me, go out for lunch, and of course he would clear the bill.

“Let me go for lunch,” he said as he stood up.

Because I was so hungry, I inquired, “Lemigo Lunch?”

“No, I said let me go for lunch,” he corrected.

“Ohhh, I thought you had said Lemigo,” I insisted. He didn’t get my point so I surrendered to the pangs of hunger. ‘What a mean uncle!” I thought.

Can you imagine, the man had only said “Let me go for lunch”, probably my thoughts combined with hunger made me think he had said Lemigo, (from our locally based fancy “Lemigo Hotel”).

Oh my God, I was extremely broke! Thank God though the man changed his mind and took me out upon hearing my lamentations.

My life went on and the experiences were the same, for almost six month. With scanty food and a few good cloths to wear, my shoe sole chiseled to one side. After a year filled with disappointing job interviews I finally landed this great job on December 2008.

rutarindwabob@yahoo.co.uk/bolivewanted2010@gmail.com

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