In the busy life of Mr Grifter, staying updated with day-to-day changes in the country is quite hard.
Since he is a busy man with all his “virtuous” deeds, he had not been aware that his daily negotiations with the local law enforcement is about to hit a preposterous level of confusion.
His day would begin, as always with a “donation” to the local traffic police, as the busy man often forgets to wear his helmet and even won’t be able to tell you when his licence expired.
But he doesn’t worry, he can spot a good businessman from afar, as that familiar paste green shirt at any checkpoint at a distance reminds him to think of a lie and he always keeps petty cash on him so that he can donate to those in need.
But today, en route to his office, something was quite off.
He was not seeing any of those green uniforms he is used to.
“Maybe they’re off doing something somewhere else,” he wondered to himself, and as he was turning the corner, two officers wearing silvery-gray uniforms suddenly stopped the bike.
Mr Grifter was taken aback. At first glance he couldn’t recognise who they were and uttered, “Who do you think you are!”
“Where’s your helmet?” asked the officer, but Mr Grifter got more confused.
Staring at their faces, it took a while for him to realise that it was indeed the police, but not in their usual attire.
This realisation did not prove too useful because this sudden stop in motion did not give Mr Grifter the chance to come up with a good backstory.
Normally, he would go on and on about certain friends loaning the helmet and not giving it back, or some other excuse of riding to buy one at that instance.
The iron faded badge caught him off guard, and he simply had to murmur at a snail’s pace, “I accidentally left it home.”
A hefty fine was about to be served to him, he reconciled, but at his heart he knew that he could have come up with a better excuse and he certainly was disappointed in himself.
However, thinking about these things made him forget about the bigger issue of an expired licence.
Usually the chatter and “donations” would inevitably distract the green officials from checking the licence, but this time the player was not in form, and so when the newly-worn uniformed adversaries asked to see his licence, he reluctantly obliged.
Having no other option, and being caught in such a dire state, he desperately pleaded with the officers not to give him any punishment, excuses bombarded from left and right, ranging from impairment of the memory, to theft and other mysterious circumstances which had left him in this horrible state, but nothing was enough.
The officers towed his bike then and there, and he was forced to look for another way to get to his office.
Being fined and humiliated, Mr Grifter now only had some money just to reach his office, and the fastest way to get there was by metro.
Mr Grifter also has an illustrious history in operating as an unofficial “assistant” for those who are not well versed in technology and are not aware of the ticket fare.
He would sometimes stand in line at the vending machine just to buy four tickets, three of which he would once again sell to the impatient travelers standing in line.
This practice was always effective especially in the busier times, and the hustle of standing in line never proved a problem for Mr Grifter because he always knew where to place his “donation” in order to cut the line.
An old trick learned from his father Mr Dodger, who would always cut the lines and sell off tickets on the black market at the train stations, and the appropriate “donations” would be made to the dark green uniformed Ansars, who were in charge of security.
Inspired by his glorious father, Mr Grifter also tried his hand in securing such blessings on various Metro stations, and that familiar dark green uniforms served his purpose well to identify the needy or most often the greedy.
Even at this dire state, Mr Grifter could not help himself, while waiting in line to buy the Metro ticket, he was constantly looking for that familiar dark green uniform, but he couldn’t find someone to “donate” to.
As he approached to cut the line, he thought to himself, “No one’s watching, I can’t believe it!” but as he tried to step in, an officer wearing a golden uniform, resembling a school kid wearing a school dress shouted at him: “Stop!”.
Mr Grifter’s day could not get any worse, embarrassed, humiliated, and caught red-handed for the second time for the same reason, not recognising who to look out for.
After such a horrible day, he decided to give up and go home.
Walking under the sunny sky, it was time for some self reflection.
Utterly bewildered, he mumbled to himself, “What has the world come to? Where is the predictability? Where is consistency?” The different colours had shaken the best player out of form. He no longer was confident.
Returning home, Mr Grifter longed for some comfort. He phoned the old Mr Dodger.
“Dad, I had such a horrible day,” with a broken voice explaining Mr Grifter.
Hearing all the details and his son’s misfortunes, the old Mr Dodger calmed him with some wise words.
With a loud and deep voice Mr Dodger smiled and uttered, “everything will once again be normal.
“Son, the path towards success requires patience, for no amount of colour can overshadow humanity’s true colour,” said Mr Dodger who also returned home suffering the same fate at the Metro station but decided to keep the fact from his son.