In the bustling heart of Mumbai, amidst the honking rickshaws and overflowing chai stalls, lived Rani, a wisp of a girl with eyes that sparkled with mischief. Unlike most ten-year-olds who yearned for glittering toys, Rani craved something far less conventional - street signs.
It all began with a dare. Her best friend, Ravi, a boy with a perpetually runny nose and an uncanny ability to sniff out the best mangoes in the market, challenged Rani to steal the faded yellow "No Parking" sign from their bustling lane. Rani, always up for an adventure, accepted. As she scurried away with the sign clutched under her arm, a thrill coursed through her. It wasn't just the near-miss with a grumpy traffic warden, but the weight of the sign in her hand - a tangible rebellion against the city's relentless rules.
News of Rani's feat spread like wildfire through the bustling slums. Soon, Rani became the local legend, the "Nishani Chor" (Sign Snatcher). Stop signs, pedestrian crossings, even the occasional "Beware of Dog" sign - they all found their way to her secret collection, a makeshift museum tucked away in a forgotten corner of the bustling bazaar. Her collection was a source of amusement and a silent commentary on the city's ever-increasing chaos.
One sweltering afternoon, while rummaging through a labyrinthine alley, Rani stumbled upon a peculiar sign unlike any she'd seen before. It was a wooden plaque with peeling paint, adorned with a faded lotus flower. The inscription in elegant Hindi read: "Sansthan for Sunn optimism aur Irada-e-Nek" (Institute for Sunny Optimism and Good Intentions). Intrigued, Rani knew this had to be part of her collection.
