The menu card had changed, it was a clumsy, colorful large laminated handout. The place hardly had any customers in there. The waiters had changed, the bartenders I knew were no longer working there and even the floor managers I knew weren’t to be seen anywhere. The items on the menu had changed and I could no longer order my regulars.
“You heard about Abhishek?” A friend asked me on phone. “He died, in an accident. His new wife, his brother-in-law …
I pulled out an old walking stick lying in the cupboard and tried helping him (the squirrel) gain his freedom. I was the young man with the stick, he was the oppressed, decked in grey, white and black, panicking, squeaking, protesting my foreign presence yet getting tangled more and more in the mesh of twigs.
We get so busy with our lives that we hardly give time to others in our lives. What we don’t realize is – Sometimes, you just don’t get another chance!