Things That Find You

Meera stood at her window, clutching a half-drunk cup of chai, already feeling behind. She was ready to leave for an important interview—one that could change her life forever.

Unfortunately, her morning wasn’t going the way she had expected. Her phone battery was running low. Her hair wouldn’t cooperate. And of course, it was the month of August - the kind of monsoon morning where anything felt possible, not necessarily in a good way. 

Meera looked at the time. She skipped breakfast, picked up her purse, and ran out the front door. Her heels clicking, her heart racing. As she reached the main road, it began to drizzle. She closed her eyes and pictured her blue umbrella, which she had left behind on the table. ‘I’m sure I’ll be soaking wet by the time I reach the interview,’ she worried. She spotted a three-wheeler, a green autorikshaw, coming towards her. She waved her hand vigorously, hoping he would be kind enough to stop. The autorikshaw driver ignored her, and as he drove past, she realised he already had a passenger sitting behind. 

Simultaneously, three more autorickshaws passed by. All of them were occupied. 

Meera looked at the time. Her eyes widened, and her heart raced. ‘I’m late. I’m so late!’

Her light brown eyes focused on the road, searching for another autorikshaw.

Just then, a car zoomed by; its tires ran through a big, muddy puddle, splashing dirty water on Meera. She cursed profusely, watching the oblivious car go by. Her pink striped shirt was no longer pink, but stained with spots of muddy water. ‘Should I go back and change?’ Meera mumbled to herself. She wiped her clothes with a handkerchief, trying to remove the marks. However, the stains smudged and worsened. 

Suddenly, an autorikshaw halted in front of her. The drizzle of rain increased. 

‘Where do you want to go?” the autorikshaw guy called out.  

Meera looked up, her eyes lit up with joy, and she rushed to take a seat. ‘The nearest metro station. Make it fast.”

Soon, Meera reached the metro station. She quickly climbed up the stairs, hoping to catch the metro on time. As she reached the platform, she saw the doors closing and the metro sliding away, leaving her alone on the platform. ‘Great! Just great!’ she grumbled. ‘What a spectacular morning!’

She looked at the metro schedule display. There wasn’t a metro for the next fifteen minutes. ‘It must have been delayed because of the stupid monsoon.’ Meera knew there was nothing she could do but wait. The platform began to fill up with more passengers. She found a seat, clutching her bag, and looked at her phone's battery - 7%! She opened the camera, looking at herself in her phone. Her hair was a disastrous mess, and she looked completely frazzled. She locked her phone, putting it away in her purse, running her hands over her hair, hoping the frizziness would settle. 

“Meera,” a man called out. 

She looked up.

It was Amit, her old college friend. A good friend she had once had, who had slowly drifted out of her life, but for whom she held fond memories. 

“Amit?” Meera stood up, smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“I just moved here last week. I’ve got a new job,” Amit replied. “I had no idea you still lived here.”

“Where else will I go?” Meera rolled her eyes.

“Do you travel this route every day?” he asked. 

“No. I have an interview,” Meera said. “But I’m already running late. It’s such a messed-up morning.”

“I can see that,” Amit commented, looking at her shirt. 

“Is it that bad?”

“No. I’m sure you will crack the interview. You’re a smart girl. You’ve always been. Throughout college.”

“But this isn’t college,” Meera sighed, frustrated. ‘This is the real world!’ 

At that moment, Meera spotted the metro approaching. “Are you coming?”

“No, I have to take the metro on the other side of the platform.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I saw you run up the stairs and…”

Meera went silent, looking deep into Amit’s eyes. 

“I just thought I’d say hi. Anyway, good luck with the interview. If not this one, I’m sure there’s something bigger waiting for you. Here, take my card. Call me if you’re free. Let’s catch up sometime.”

Meera took the card, smiled, and waved goodbye. She rushed toward the metro, in case she missed it again.

On the way, Meera didn't find a seat. She stood near the door, counting the number of stops that would lead her to her final destination. She took out her headphones and then remembered her phone didn’t have any battery. Meera just stayed put, glancing at the people around her, noticing their expressions, postures, and the quiet stories written across their faces.

Soon, Meera had finally reached her destination. 

“You’re late,” the woman behind the desk commented. “We’ve already finished the first round and finalized the candidates for the second round. I’m sorry. But you will have to try some other place.”

Meera stood on the other side of the reception table. Her eyes welled up with tears. She pressed her lips together, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

“I’m sure there’s something you can do. Please.”

The woman got off her chair and took one look at Meera's shirt. She nodded her head slowly. “I’m sorry. But the company plays by stringent rules.”

Meera gave the woman an understanding nod, picked up her bag, her head hung low. She walked out of the building and took the flight of stairs leading to the main road. 

Snap! 

Meera collapsed onto the stairs, one hand gripping the railing for balance, her breath shaky from the stumble. Her broken heel dangling was like a reminder of her disastrous morning.

And then! It began to rain. 

She hobbled toward the nearest awning, trying to hold the broken heel in place with dignity (and failing). That’s when she spotted him — a small cobbler with a tiny setup under a plastic sheet, mending shoes with a quiet kind of focus.

He looked up, smiled, and without a word, gestured for her sandal.

Meera sat. He worked. The rain grew steadier.

They talked about the weather, about his grandchildren, and her day.

“Job interview?” The cobbler asked. 

Meera nodded, feeling utterly useless. 

“It didn’t work out? Where did you go?” the cobbler asked.

“That tall building around the corner,” Meera replied, sounding glum.

“Oh, that building. It’s good you didn’t get through. I don’t think you would fit in there. The people are too uptight. Too snobbish. They think they’re so special!”

“How do you know?” she asked. 

The cobbler shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe you should go to the building two blocks away from here. I’m sure you will get in there.”

Meera listened attentively. 

But before she could ask more questions, the cobbler handed her the mended shoe. “It’s as good as new,” he smiled. 

“How much?” she asked. 

“It’s okay. Kindness doesn’t always have to come with a price. Good luck finding a job,” the cobbler grinned, flashing his chipped, broken-toothed smile. 

Meera smiled and left with a warm feeling. She walked past a cafe and suddenly realised she hadn’t had a bite to eat since morning. She halted and looked inside through the large window. It seemed warm and cosy. She stepped inside and stood in line, drooling over the menu displayed above the counter. The seats were filled with people, all staring at their screens and laptops. It’s like she’d entered another world where people don’t communicate with each other. Their only relationship was with their screens. Meera placed her order to go. Soon, she carried her packages out of the cafe. She headed back to the cobbler around the corner and handed him a brown paper bag. “I’ve got you something to eat,” she smiled and thanked him wholeheartedly. 

“Remember… two blocks away,” the cobbler called out. 

Meera looked over her shoulder and nodded. Initially, she thought the cobbler was out of his mind. ‘How would he, of all the people, know where one should work?’ But her curiosity got the better of her. Meera decided to walk two blocks and find the building the cobbler was talking about. 

Finally, she stood at the foot of the tall building and looked up. ‘No harm trying,’ she thought and walked up the stairs. The woman at the reception was busy taking one call after another. But Meera waited patiently. This time, she wasn’t in a rush. She was curious to know more.

“How can I help you?” the woman asked. 

“Do you have any job vacancies?” Meera hesitated. 

“What profile are you looking for?”

“I’m a content writer. Here… here’s my resume,” Meera said, taking a file from her bag. 

The woman studied the first page of Meera’s profile. “I’m sure there’s something I can do. But you will have to give me some time.”

“Sure. Absolutely. I can wait,” Meera said, her heart filling with excitement. 

“By the way, how did you get to know that we have interviews scheduled today?” the woman asked. 

“Honestly, I … I had no idea. I just walked in,” Meera stammered. 

“Oh. Okay. Take a seat. And I’ll get back to you.”

By the end of the day, Meera entered her home, drenched in rain. She kicked off her heels, put her phone, which had run out of battery hours ago, on charge. She stripped off her wet clothes and hit the shower. After a long, warm soak, she made herself dinner. Meera slurped on cup noodles and watched TV. 

About an hour later, she tucked herself into bed. She stared at her phone, swiping through the randomness of social media, passing her time. Just then, an email notification appeared. 

Meera opened it. 

She read it.

And couldn’t believe her eyes. 

There it was… 

A chance…

This email was calling her in for the next round.

‘Tomorrow 10 am,’ she read. ‘I can’t believe that this is happening. I have an interview tomorrow. I cleared the first round! Yes, yes, yes, yes!’

The following morning, Meera was up earlier than usual. She left her home ahead of time. She got an autorickshaw the moment she reached the main road. The metro and Meera arrived at the platform simultaneously. Meera reached the office fifteen minutes early. She stood tall, neat, and presentable on the other side of the desk. The woman smiled and asked her to wait. 

After several long hours of waiting and multiple rounds of interviews, Meera walked out of the office, feeling tired and overwhelmed. A strange calm followed as she walked down to the closest sweet shop.

The rain had thinned to a lazy drizzle by the time Meera stepped out of the sweet shop.

She walked with purpose, almost excitement, the box cradled carefully in her arms. 

She turned the corner and scanned the row of street-side stalls, eyes darting past the tea seller, the keymaker, the man selling belts, and an old cobbler. 

Meera blinked, stepping closer to where she had sat a day prior, her broken heel resting in his hands. Now, the stall was different. It was in the wrong place, and the cobbler was different. He seemed disinterested and slovenly.

 She looked around, unsure.

"Excuse me," she called out to the tea seller nearby. "The cobbler who was here — where did he go?"

The man gave her a puzzled look. “Cobbler? There’s no other cobbler. This is the only cobbler here.”

“But… there was a different one here yesterday. Right here,” she insisted, pointing to the empty spot.

The tea seller shook his head. “No one sits there. Not in the rain. You must be thinking of someone else, or maybe you are on the wrong side of the road. 

Meera stood still, her hand tightening around the box of sweets.

She walked over to the man selling belts. 

‘There has never been any other cobbler on this road.’ 

Meera stood there, confused. She looked around to see if she had reached the right place. She saw the same tall building where she was rejected. She saw the same steps where her heel broke. 

She looked down at her foot — the newly heeled sandal still snug, the stitching neat and precise, just like before.

It had happened.

She had sat here.

She had spoken to someone.

But not this cobbler.

But now…

Now there was only the sound of water dripping from rooftops and a faint breeze that tugged at the hem of her shirt.

Her eyes slowly softened. The disbelief gave way to something quieter, something more profound. She smiled, knowing, somehow, that some people are meant to show up only when you need them, not a second longer.

She placed the box of sweets gently on the cobbler’s bench.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Wherever you are.”

The present cobbler looked up,  surprised. 

And then, without looking back, she turned and walked away. 

Later that night, Meera connected with Amit. 

“Have you cleared the interview?” Amit texted. 

“Yes… :),” Meera replied. 

“See? I told you,” Amit texted. 

“This is all thanks to a disappearing cobbler.” Meera texted. 

‘A what? A what cobbler?’