NO LUCK, WHEN IT COMES TO GAMBLING

Coconut Creek:

It could have made a superb souvenir: I, photographed right in front of a machine in the huge casino. But they won't allow me to take a picture inside!

I lost a dollar though. Click click click....two sevens rolling in; the third could have doled a jackpot for me! So close but not so close!

Florida has a ban on casinos; this one's not a Las Vegas. But native Americans can run casinos in their reservation. This one - in the Coconut Creek city that is home to the retired people - has one run by the Seminoles in their reservations.

The Seminole tribe pays significant revenues to the city from the casino in return of services such as water and security. The casino revenue is shared equally among the tribal clan. Each individual, even a new born, gets the share from the earnings.

We don't have casinos in my part of the world. We have other ways of gambling. And we are old gamblers. With no offense to anyone, it dates back to Mahabharata age!

So it was naturally an attraction for me to visit a casino.

Wow! That's what I said, when I opened the door to enter what seemed like a peaceful and simple plaza from outside. I expected it to be crowded going simply by the cars parked in its acres and acres of land with boards saying, pictures not allowed. It indeed was a crowded place, a reason, I felt, why the rest of the city is so quiet.

It was a noisy dimly-lit room, spread over easily a few acres, filled with smoke (because it's a reservation you can smoke here, while smoking is banned in public places in the city), with red and attractive carpet and equally dazzling ceiling, hundreds of people seated on the machines waiting for the lady luck to smile on them.

Average age of the gamblers -- by a cursory glace -- seemed between 60 and 70.

I saw almost a bed-ridden grand-ma painstakingly walk with the box-crutches, oxygen pipes running into both her nostrils, and a cigarette tucked between her middle and second finger (easily into her early eighties), desperate for a machine to play with for her luck. Another grey-haired, in his 70s, was catching nine winks while still at the machine, drained by the thrills of gambling. After some time I found him back to his game. Click click click....no luck! Click click click....try again!

The casino interiors are designed specially so that you stay put. It's a trap that customers easily walk into. Usually, a casino has no window or door that reveals the outside views. So that you won't know what time it is! If it's a day or night!

Casinos don't have wall-clocks. It's brightly decorated. Bright colors are to pump up your adrenaline. Young girls, with bare clothes, walk around with water and other beverages for you to drink free of cost, so that you stay hydrated and playful.

A big cafe offers loads and loads of buffet at cheap price so that there's a drive. The evenings are peppered with live bands, jazz, and live shows, adding elements of entertainment. Chances are if you've walked in to throw away 20 bucks; you'll spend 100.

I lost a dollar as a charming young girl explained how the machines work.

Pleasantly though, an Indian expatriate from Tamil Nadu, who works at the casino as its software programmer, was more than willing to show me the different programs in the gambling den. He said to me in Hindi, 'sirf dekho, khelo mat'. And I replied to him with a smile: "Koi nahi! Main apna purse gaadi mein hi chod aaya hun. Jeb mein sirf ek dollar hi laya tha, woh chala gaya hai, aab sirf dekh hi sakta hun!"

He smiled, and then showed me around.

The casino brought back to me one of the special moments from my college years. Each one of us treasure some moments from the past. This one matters so much to me!

Sometime during my graduation (I think it was the year that I lost while doing my B.Sc.), I was left with one rupee (two cents) and a week to go before my father would send me my monthly pocket money. I was studying at Nagpur and living in a small room. My parents had allowed me to study away from my home town of Chandrapur despite tight finances, for, it would give me a better exposure to life. They would pay directly for my food and lodgings, and give me a monthly stipend for my daily expenses. It used to be moderate, but good by our financial standings.

Idea, as I see reflecting back, was to provide me with a better life, but one that has to be lived within the means. Looking at the hardships they had to negotiate in their early lives, my parents gave me far more luxuries than most kids in India get.

My mother would ask me to save little bit every month from my pocket money for any eventuality. And I never ever did it. I could never save. It was a tough ask for me. It remains so even now. You can say I am very intemperate when it comes to saving.

But that month had been extravagant on many fronts. Left with only one rupee and a week still to go, I woke up nervous that day, and walked up to my tea stall: Sitaram chaywalla. I visit him even today for a cup of tea and some nostalgia.

I weighed two options on how to spend that last penny: Should I go for a cup of tea or should I buy a one-digit lottery from the vendor right opposite the tea stall and try my luck. Just in case it clicked, I'd have some money to go for the week!

I sat there for about two hours but did not drink tea. Sitaram could sense something was wrong with me that day.

After about two hours, I asked him to give me a full, hot cup of ginger tea. And I felt morally relieved! That tea, believe me, was the best I've had so far in my life.

It was the right and moral way of spending that rupee, I felt, as I resisted the temptation to gamble.

It's one thing to take a calculated risk, and quite another to gamble. At any given time, I would rather take a calculate risk than gamble.

Secondly it was a hard earned penny of my father, and I felt I had no right to spill it over like that. I was suddenly penniless, but my nervousness had gone.

Re-energized with a cup of tea, my mind was back to its senses.

Sitaram, who was like a friend, asked me what the matter was, and I told him frankly that I had run out of my monthly stipend a week before the month ended. I shared with him the dilemma that I faced for two hours, with a hearty laugh.

No sooner did I share with him the story, Sitaram took out from his pocket a bill of Rs 100, and said, you can borrow it from me and return in installments.

"Try to save every month as your mother says, and repay it to me," he said.

I do not know if was proper on my part to take money from him at that point. I could have asked my parents to send me money immediately and they would have done so, even if grudgingly. But I had no second thoughts about it. I took that note from him, and paid him in two equal instalments earnestly.

Sitaram 'chaywalla' is special to me. To him, I remain an equally valued customer to this date, except that he doesn't accept money from me for a cup of tea.

"You've paid your money," is his usual answer. We chat about the changing times, the good and the bad.

Losing a dollar bill at the casino here in the distant land however rekindled that nostalgic moment. It was fun to spend time at the casino, but painful to lose a hard-earned dollar.

I was happy that 16 years ago I had made the right decision.