I was waiting at a signal when a BEST bus swerved sharply and hit my car. Badly. Due to some unpleasant and frustrating circumstances, I couldn't note down the number of the bus. One frustrating circumstance is that I cannot press '0' on my mobile. What are the odds? I can't press the one digit that will allow me to make an emergency call to the police when I need it.
Anyway, after I'd gotten my nerves to stop jangling, I reached office and called some mechanic who took a look and told me that I absolutely needed to send the car to the workshop. Which, of course, would cost. The next harrowing situation was going to the service centre and figuring out the insurance procedure. Alone. Now, I know this is irrational, but I was actually perturbed about tackling all this insurance business by myself. I regretfully thought of all the other women who do some type of token driving and have their husbands/ fathers/ brothers go along with them to do the tough talking. I was actually horrified when my parents calmly told me to deal with this myself. (It's irrational, I know. But it was just easier being resentful instead of rational at the time.)
I feel so bad about Bandra. She is such a beautiful car. She deserves so much better. In fact, with me as her owner, it's actually a case of pearls before swines. (She being the pearl, that is.)
Anyway, I went to the service centre where I was confronted with the glorious cluelessness of myself. Now it turns out that my insurance would probably cover part of the damage (but I'd have to pay some 5% of bumper replacement and 20% of something else that involves the headlight and some 10% of something else that has a 25% service charge on it.) And when my head stopped spinning, the guy coolly tells me that I'd have to pay first and then claim it from the insurance company. I sputtered and told him that since I didn't have the money to begin with, that's what I had taken the blooming insurance for. So that they would take care of it for me. He shook his head sadly and gave me this knowing look that had 'a fool and her money are soon parted' written all over it.
And to top it all, it will take some 10 days. Sigh! I hate BEST buses. I mean, public transport doesn't mean you swerve like an alcoholic on crowded roads! But I mustn't curse. I guess I might need to use the bus for a while now.
That accident was quite scary, though, now that I think about it. That night, I had this very weird dream - that I am holding a little girl and crying bitterly at the same spot that the bus hit me. That little girl, I think, is my daughter and she is dead. But I'm just crying and hugging her. Even in my dream, I am sort of aware that this is not the first time I'm seeing this image in my head. I might have dreamed of it before, but I can't remember when.
It wasn't a great beginning to a weekend.