The Tale of The Lost Laptop

It was your average day in the crowded metropolis of Pune, India. Incessant honking reverberated off the concrete buildings as mopeds and rickshaws sped around releasing a haze of smog. Four weary travelers decided to venture forth from their hotel after recovering from the Chennai-Pune red-eye. Food was the objective.

A rickshaw was whistled up and the four climbed in and headed off for the shopping district known as MG road. MG roads by the way are like MLK roads in the states. Every towns got one. After wandering over hell and back again, the restraint of choice was located and food ordered. The four travelers then proceeded to stuff their pie holes with all sorts of tasty curries and a plethora of buttery bread type thingies that seem to make up the south-indian diet.

After their tummies’ cravings were satiated our four intrepid travelers headed back to their hotel via another rickshaw. Little did they know what evil this unassuming three wheeled conveyance had in store for them.

Upon arrival at their destination, all clambered out of the rickshaw and started rummaging in various pockets and bags to pay the man. Not one of the travelers noticed the lonely backpack still resting on the back seat. Someone did though. The rickshaw driver. After hastily grabbing his pay, the driver sped off into the chaos of Pune tires squealing. Not really, rickshaws have nowhere near the HP to make tires squeal, but if they did his would have.

Not long after the bearer of the back pack exclaimed, “Where’s my bag? OH FUCK”, and then dashed off into the haze in search of the villainous rickshaw driver. Despite the valiant attempts of the two men of the party the bag, and its precious contents, were not to be recovered. The travelers were devastated, her in particular. Six months of travel photography lost, 3500 files gone, all her hopes and dreams of poster size prints of aqua marine Mediterranean waters, the topaz sea spray of Galway Bay, the golden fields of freshly mowed Tuscan wheat…gone.

All she can do now is console herself (aka smear salt in the achy hole in her heart) by looking at the photos on which her dreams rested in a CRAPY REDUCED QUALITY AND SHRUNKEN version edited solely for internet use.

RIP my lovelies.