"I was f***ing bored today. No one around in 301 and I was playing the same old rhythms on the kit with absolutely no wish to keep playing. Hell, I even fell asleep. Worse things could never happen. Couldn't keep doing that. Throwing off the drum sticks, I stomped my way down to the restaurant near our college, ordered some thing to force down my pipe (thought it was my tummy playing tricks on my brain). And when angrily chomping on my stuff, I happened to notice this man who was sitting in front of me. Description could be as good as saying Mr. Average Joe. Normal shirt and trousers, clean unshaved and disheveled hair. And he was constantly looking at something in his hand. Since from my place I could not make out what it was I decided to haul my bulk and change the angle. What I saw was a a leather wallet holding a handsome young mans picture. Black eyes, neatly parted hair, white shirt and a black blazer. The tie was maroon mind you, that’s a bit out of the way for me. Might be his son , I thought, albeit a little loudly. And as I quieted down I could hear the old guy sobbing. Poor thing, I thought. Old man missing his bright son. The typical Indian story- lower middle class family, brilliant boy in the fold, studies hard, gets a good job and off to
No, returning from there, my drumming and my evening did not improve, heck, just because I had met a sadder man. But stopped me sure from cribbing about the bare bone fact. Couldn’t feel equal to it. Had to go home and sleep the night off. Tomorrow might be my lucky day."