Indian Ameri

The Froth that Brimmed: Moments before logging out of work, a FYI mail came in. The careful assimilation of the content, a smile and shake of hands from the boss, and a character of phew in mind was all it took to go home. A handful of minutes later in the center of the abandoned parking lot, the sun simmered so low, that the contents of the e-mail hit the head of despair and made sense. The removal of the goggles, the basking in the now not so simmering sun, followed by the most enthusiastic self-head-rub for about half a minute, lured in an avalanche of emotion that only a vehement yell of F*** brought me back to the earth. There is no particular format to celebrate the mini successes of a mega life. And that my world, is a sad part of the so called cherished happy life.

The Passage Interim: An experienced amble, pushed the legs towards the end of the center lane. The sudden pacing up of the country truck flashing an indicator like a raging bull at the matador pushed my foot further into the next lane. A few microseconds of blankness later, a gust of exhaust hit my face and I blinked in reaction. A few steps across the next lane and finally climbing the other side of the pavement, a strange pain seeped into the skin. Blood started to sparkle in the summer sun and that was when I understood that I was actually brushed by the van that just crossed from the other side of the road. Unlike most men, I have plans made in the most extreme situations. Situations of ending up on an accident in a car. Plans of where to find my phone, which speed-dial number to use, whom to call one last time, and what to say? But, this incident, which composes close to 0.1% of whatever accident I imagined, gave me answers to my plans. There is no way in living hell that I can make the particular phone call. And that my friend, is not an easy thought of last breath.

The Disdained Secrets: Just another insomniac hidden night, and the ding of a concerned chat box fills the ears of music. A puzzled reaction from the message from a distant friend made me instantly dial home. A direct question of concern was greeted with an answer of silence, followed by dad's apologetic voice. A detailed query of the issue shocked me about the intensity of how serious mom's health has been and how stupid of them to keep it a secret. A few more hours spent on consoling, brought into light the life of the forgotten sibling, and a six month long no conversation nephew. Realization struck, being a support and becoming a burden of support is no longer first person. One does not plan to ask for help or help others. And that my family, is a genuine error of human evolution.

(The above post is incomplete......)