Oh Bottle, My Bottle!!

When I see him, I remember the bottle. The half-filled yellowish _ probably due to lack of proper cleaning_ plastic container that I returned to him almost after a gap of five days. The five-days' separation between the bottle and its owner. A separation is always a separation, no matter how big or small it is. The bottle was still half-filled on Day 5 as it was on Day1 when he passed it onto me before checking-in at Raipur airport. I kept his in my air bag throwing mine to the dustbin. It happened naturally, and he was senior to me in everything. We were on a profefessional trip to Mumbai.
On being landed at Mumbai, we were disconnected, and so the bottle and its owner. Frantic calls on mobile went in deaf ear as I was apparently in loo. However, my call-back could somehow address, albeit temporarily, the internal turmoil of the just separated owner from its not-so-chick water bottle. You can't expect anything chick or of that sort from a senior executive of a PSU.
As ill luck would have it, the owner failed to obtain his most cherished stuff, a la the plastic bottle filled with water from home, the next day when we met in the programme. Blame it on me and my desire to remain so to the extent it is possible. Not carrying an umbrella even gauging the signs of rain, not holding a dairy to the conference room and not bringing the water bottle of this gentlemen despite knowing how keen he is is my way of sending a message to the intended audience. I love the Rain God to challenge me like I dare to win without a diary and defy all, including this owner, to register a statement best known to me.
The owner had to return sans his bottle as I could not join him again. I had to stay back in the city of Mumbai to reenergise myself, studying the bunch of "happy people", my old fascination since my Powai days. However, I called him up assuring how the bottle was in safe custody and would be handed over safely to him on my return. He was probably relieved, thanks to my natural instinct of making the report be reported, message be conveyed. I seem to be a thourough professional in this sense.
Despite quite a few expensive stuff and the bag being full, I ensured right space for the bottle removing the cover of my just-purchased Adidas shoes. I could not remember when I last did something similar, probably in Class V, probably to save myself from the wrath of my school-teacher dad. Anyway, back at my work place I sent one of my men with the bottle to be finally delivered where it belonged. Next day, I ringed him up and was relieved to hear that it is.

Tail Piece : Be a DGM, or the man who matters, in NTPC/PSU and even your bottle will follow you from Mumbai.