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t h e p o r t f o l i o o f a d i g i t a l a n d b r a n d c r e a t o r . . .

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Lotteries. A worthy cause!

stops. Countless lottery tickets later I stopped buying lottery tickets.

Fast forward. Years later, after various ups and downs in my life and career, I dug up the roots of my old habit. This time, the venue was in the Middle East. The odds were attractive [one in a thousand], the stakes were high [$1 million], and the price of the ticket steep. The cause this time was selfish. If I won it would only go towards lining my pockets. Since the price was disgustingly steep, tickets were bought in groups of ten or less. From

I feel good today. Hopefully,mycontributionof $100 towards the research of a deadly disease will save someone’s life. That’s the best part. On the other side, research into my lottery buying habits has begun.

odds of ‘one in a billion!’ in India to odds of one in a thousand in Dubai seemed very fair. Countless tickets later, the habit died down again. A ticking clock with no alarm settings The behavioural pattern shifted continents and emerged on the other side of the Atlantic. We migrated to Canada. There is no dearth of lotteries and causes over here. My habit was, by now, a ticking clock with no alarm settings. I practised with the smaller lotteries like the Super 7 and Lotto 649, getting ready for the big one. So once a month on an average, I’d go, on my way from work, to the lotto store strategically positioned at the entrance of the subway. Many a time I had caught the woman behind the counter looking at me and thinking, ‘Will he, won’t he? Usually, I wait for the big prizes. Then, I’d meticulously punch six or seven numbers [according to the lottery] and give it to her, who’d tender my change, ticket and wish me all the luck

If an electronic tracker got hold of my life record and played it back, she/he can trace the origins of my lottery buying habit to the impressionable age of 16. College years. The days when meagre pocket money rubbed against each other in tight jeans’ pockets. The day I got hooked was a Tuesday. The year: 1985. I was on my way to the bus station, in the pouring rain. At the entrance was this guy wearing a lungi* hollering at the top of his lungs. ‘Today’s Draw! Today’s Draw!’ He was wearing a faded brown shirt and rolled a lit beedi*** from one end of his nicotine stained mouth to the other. In his hand he had a clip board with 10 stacks of lotteries from different parts of India. I had not even heard of most of them. The elusive smile of Lady Luck ‘Take a ticket. Take a ticket. You never know when Lady Luck will smile on you. It maybe during your bus ride ; maybe when having a tea’. maybe when walking past me; Later on don’t tell me, ‘Adbul why didn’t you sell me that ticket?’ Abdul, I presumed, was looking directly at me.

The day I got hooked on lotteries was a Tuesday. The year: 1985. I was on my way to the bus station, in the pouring rain. At the entrance was this guy wearing a lungi* hollering at the top of his lungs. ‘Today’s Draw!’ He was wearing a faded brown shirt and rolled a lit beedi*** from one end of his nicotine stained mouth to the other.

in the world. And I’d walk away from her, light-hearted, down the subway escalator sighing. By the time I settled down in the seat, dreams of cars and houses would be lulling me to sleep. Then the big one came up. Research for this-and-that lotteries. Pricey at $100. But hey! Look at the prizes! An Early Bird prize! Three, not one, $1 million prizes, and countless cars and smaller prizes. Just calculate the odds – 1 in 15 chance of winning!! Who could pass this by? I did. For three years, in a row. All this time the carrots Fate planted on this side of the Atlantic were growing up. Sometime in December 2003, Fate announced the ripening of the first carrot. I bit hard. continued ...

The pessimistic side of my mind took hold of the reins and steered me past him. I reached the bus slot I was supposed to take; it was empty. I turned around and almost bumped into Abdul. ‘Take one ticket.’ He thrust the colourful and wonderfully printed tickets into my face. The best ones were glossy and were arranged in between the less attractive ones. Within 5 mts, without much pressure from Abdul, I took my first lottery ticket. My first ‘prized’ carrot**. All through the one hour journey to my grandma’s I looked out of the bus and searched behind trees, houses, and clouds for that elusive smile – that of Dame Luck. A few old toothless women smiled back at me from various bus

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