Reverse Shot

 

I am in the office. The latest news reports, fresh from the press, sent out from the India desk..Ticker tape dots are tapping. Computer keyboards typing. The coffee machine humming with fresh brew.

Between this world and the familiar one of family belongings lies a set of double doors. These doors, white with square and rectangular indentations, and door handles that when pulled slide open one side of the door, to the extremity of the perpendicular wall, stretch to the ceiling.

From our side of the doors ,voices talk about the latest stock market crash: how Tata’s, and Nestlé’s share prices are down. From the other side of the door comes a knock. I am facing away from the door.

I hear the door slide open, and then Papa.

I turn, face my son and try not to raise a temper. What is it? You would be able to guess that by his expression and his posture that this was an interruption of great importance. Indeed it was the most elemental need of human nature of which he did not know how to relieve himself.

I do not offer myself to him, giving him no clue as to how to solve his predicament, and instead ask him to take leave, which he does in haste.

Later I hear from the servant that the garden provided the perfect repose for his call to nature.

 

 

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