It was at this moment that a woman from the Finance department slunk over to where I was standing and said acidly, "That's my dabba." Now, being the excessive people-pleaser that I am, instead of standing my ground and defending what looked like it was mine, I just said, "Oh, really? Sorry," and handed it over (yes, yes, get it over with, call me all those names. Done? You sure? Check again. I thought so. Now are you done? Good) to her to inspect.
I dove back into the dabba drawer for my Lock & Lock while this woman continued to tell me how there was some kind of inscription on the side of her metal dabba in Gujarati. This comment struck me, as I had noticed nothing of the sort on the dabba during my, if I may say so myself, rather thorough examination of it. It was also, by coincidence or providence, at this very instant that my fingers perchanced upon another metal dabba of dimensions similar to the one being discussed. Closer observation revealed to me a script of some form inscribed on the side.
Of course, connections start firing up in my head. Quick as electricity, I whipped the new metal dabba out and brought to her notice the aforementioned script, which looked decidedly Gujarati. When presented with all the facts and hard evidences of the case, the dear lady was left with no option but to arrive at the most logical conclusion: "No, the first dabba is mine, I can feel it."
The rest of the conversation took place as follows:
Umm... What was that?
This dabba is not mine.
But it has the Gujarati on the side...
But no, this one is not mine. Yeah, mine is the lighter one.
But they weigh the same!
No, no. This one is not mine.
Now what can one really do in the face of such arguments, especially when one is, as previously mentioned, a serial people-pleaser? That's absolutely right, nothing. Quietly, I conceded and slunk off. There are some types that you just can't argue with. Especially those that make your salary statements.
At the end of a long and tiresome day that involved mindgames against the worthiest of opponents, the nimble warrior went back to the horde of treasures. And what should he see lying amongst them, but the very pearl he feared he had lost forever? Deftly, casting a wary eye in every direction, he pocketed what was rightfully his. And on silent toes, he padded niftily into the black night. The pearl was never seen again.