The Ring

Ah yes, the ring. Been meaning to write about it for days, but haven’t got around to it (obviously!). This is not about the Naomi Watts (she’s pretty, isn’t she?) starring movie, but about the real thing. A simple solitaire diamond ring.

Alert readers who caught up with my story “Toll” will remember that I was in the US this summer. Even more alert readers will remember that Smita was due to join me later (as was Kiran).

Apart from the usual touristy stuff that we do, the wife loves to shop. This involves extensive (albeit pointed) research on the web on malls, stores, locations, prices and so on. Once the research is done, we go on to these hand picked places and do what needs to be done.

Cut to the King of Prussia mall in PA. This one is a biggy and attracts people from all over the world. There are also a bunch of hotels that ring the mall, and we picked the Best Western to spend the night in between the 2 days of shopping. Naturally after doing intensive, focussed research.

All goes well. We have a reasonable room, kind staff (its 11 PM by the time we check in) and it is literally a minute from the mall. We calculate carefully, add in the paranoia factor for the drive to JFK and set about our day. Just because it never rains when you take an umbrella, we get to the airport 3 hours before the flight. But that’s OK.

Soon after we are back home, a question pops up.

“Where is my ring?”

“Which ring?”

“The solitaire.”

“I don’t know. I suppose it will turn up by the time you are done unpacking.”

“No, I have looked everywhere. It’s not there.”

“Think carefully. It must be in one of your handbags or in your jewellery pouches or somewhere.”

“No, it’s not!” The voice has gone up a few octaves.

A slow panic starts to envelope the room. I begin to feel that it must be my fault somehow.

“Think hard. You might have just misplaced it.”

So starts the process of reconstructing what we did that day. Step by step. Spoken as well as visual memories are pulled out of the recesses of our minds. After a few minutes, the penny drops.

“I left it on the bedside table in the hotel.” The panic has gone up another notch. “I’ll never get it back.”

“Hotel staff don’t steal things. Let’s call the hotel and check.”

So starts the process of calling the hotel, asking questions, getting requests to call back when Housekeeping is in for the day, calling again, describing the object and so on.

“Yes, we found something like what you are describing in Room no. 231.” A wave of relief replaces the panic.

We call Jim who lives nearby, and he goes and picks up the ring. Sends us a photo. It’s THE one.

He gives it to Richard at the office, who brings it with him to Budapest and gives it to me. I bring it home.

The ring is united with the owner 6 weeks later. Three cheers for the (honesty of the) hotel staff and (the kindness of) our courier friends.

7-Nov-12