As he slipped out of his huge bed, he was feeling tired. Like always he had had a deep, a sort of drug induced sleep (B School seems so far away) that left him exhausted. He wanted to indulgently go over what he dreamt, but the big presentation he had to make bobbed its head over the out of the top of the deep well in which his work life lay after 5.30 p.m. everyday.
He found something interesting in the newspaper and walked towards his wife in the kitchen to relate the tidbit. Her perfunctory laugh made it quite clear to him that it was high time he hauled his ass into their son’s room and got him ready for school instead of luxuriating in the folds of the newspaper. Unlike Saddam she had a stockpile of weapons (expressions and exclamations) that would deter him from loafing around in their small high-speed, deadline-timeline universe.
He was looking at his watch as his large car was halted for 15 minutes in amidst the huge sea of cars all around him. He cussed at the state of traffic in the city just as he did when he first came to the garden city for his first job 10 years back. He realized almost immediately, reacting to his own thoughts, that swearing over the infrastructure didn’t make any god damned difference, it only got worse.
“The rate of increase of the city’s population outstripped the rate of expansion of the city’s transport infrastructure”, said the engineer from within his head who rarely got a chance to speak.
Can’t we take the left, I think it’s a short cut to the flyover where traffic is lesser, his wife enquired (enquired not instructed only since she wasn’t sure).
“No I don’t know where the road will lead to and what if the lane is too small, I don’t want to take a risk”, he said.
As his eyes scanned the audience he was about to address, he flicked on the switch on the board on the other side of his forehead, each switch triggered a different persona, it was his foolproof secret. He was as his friend would say, on autopilot; reeling of facts, figures and their interpretations with consummate ease, slipping in the odd foolproof joke as soon as the eyes of some listener weere not with him, taking the listeners along with him and finally finishing it off with an understated correctness, that had the entire audience in his hide bag as he zipped it and left the conference hall.
His boss (there were very few above him) asked him to share a smoke with him and on their way to the terrace told him that he was getting a raise and a special bonus for the deal he clinched in the afternoon. Raises were always tough because they made him think about what to buy.
Five-thirty p.m and he left the office to rush home and settle down with the book he was reading. There were few things in his life, which made it worth living, books, music and movies. On his way he remembered that his wife would be working late that day and so he stopped over at the supermarket, bought groceries, finished cooking and then cosily ensconced himself in the soft couch with his book. His son who had just finished his homework settled down beside him with his storybook.
After dinner, he was watching his wife getting ready for bed, he rose walked up to her and grabbed her and kissed her roughly .She liked it when he was domineering, he made love to her standing, with the same primeval sort of lust that always coursed through his physical veins.
While she sank into sleep with an exhaustion that was always pleasant, she thought about always told her friends, other than about his work at which he is very good, he is a very passionate person.
Unknown to her, he was sinking into his parallel universe: It was late evening, he was sitting with his friend and adding final touches to the new script they had written, the script writing session itself was cathartic. His wife came in with a tray carrying a couple of drinks and wearing her smile that always made him stretch his arm out and draw her into his lap.
“You always mix the drinks perfectly”, said his friend.
“So do I get the part I wanted in the movie?”, she asked flashing her most winsome smile.
“Well darling for that I need quite a bit of your dates”, he said.
“We can work that out later, can’t we?”, she said with the twinkle in her eyes.
As he slipped out of his huge bed, he was feeling tired. Like always he had had a deep, a sort of drug induced sleep (B School seems so far away) that left him exhausted, it was because he was working day and night.
Many years later as his son stood by his grave, he remembered the only piece of advice he had ever given him, it’s very easy to be good at what you are doing, what is important is doing what you are good at.
New blood joins this earth
And quickly he’s subdued
Through constant pain disgrace
The young boy learns their rules
With time the child draws in
This whipping boy done wrong
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on he’s known
A vow unto his own
That never from this day
His will they’ll take away
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee unforgiven
They dedicate their lives
To running all of his
He tries to please them all
This bitter man he is
Throughout his life the same
He’s battled constantly
This fight he cannot win
A tired man they see no longer cares
The old man then prepares
To die regretfully
That old man here is me
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never be
Never see
Won’t see what might have been
What I’ve felt
What I’ve known
Never shined through in what I’ve shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee unforgiven
You label me
I label you
So I dub thee unforgiven
Tony Xavier 