Simple can strike like very little else.
Stop woefully fingering stringy grated cheese that was heart, this rainful morning, when phone buzzes to life. It is an ancient friend. Friend so ancient, in fact, that last name eludes me still as I answer at last chime of The Adventures of Tintin opening sequence, with a barely suppressed groan.
How was I, ancient friend wants to know, and knowing now, wants to let know in turn that friend was doing very well. Was in fact, in line for a pretty great promotion, given excellent track record of last two years. Another opportunity waited across seas, were friend to choose to accept it. Already so struck at such unfamiliar sweet and straightforward hubris, that there is not much else to do except congratulate as sincerely as freshly grated heart would allow.
Tu kya job kar rahi hai, asks ancient voice, and I fake mirth and confess to complete and inexcusable hibernation. Ancient voice sweeps aside and only booms out affirmation of how they always knew I'd be one of those big ones, Tu dekh lena.
Conversation ends in another few newsy minutes and before hanging up, friend finds two more generous, string-free things to say, overlooks broken Hindi and ego, and extracts promise to meet this time, pakka. Grateful heart now again one, toasty, molten pile of cheese - if such tedious analogies are to be forgiven - how but to not be humbled completely? Wherefore smug, sullen superiority? What use of beguiling linguistics? Come as you are, with sword naked and ready to plunge into gut.
Once done pulling head out of own behind, take a moment to go down on knees for the existence of peanut butter cups. Of hair that has never been longer. Of this sky right here with clouds rolling in, unstoppable.
Stop woefully fingering stringy grated cheese that was heart, this rainful morning, when phone buzzes to life. It is an ancient friend. Friend so ancient, in fact, that last name eludes me still as I answer at last chime of The Adventures of Tintin opening sequence, with a barely suppressed groan.
How was I, ancient friend wants to know, and knowing now, wants to let know in turn that friend was doing very well. Was in fact, in line for a pretty great promotion, given excellent track record of last two years. Another opportunity waited across seas, were friend to choose to accept it. Already so struck at such unfamiliar sweet and straightforward hubris, that there is not much else to do except congratulate as sincerely as freshly grated heart would allow.
Tu kya job kar rahi hai, asks ancient voice, and I fake mirth and confess to complete and inexcusable hibernation. Ancient voice sweeps aside and only booms out affirmation of how they always knew I'd be one of those big ones, Tu dekh lena.
Conversation ends in another few newsy minutes and before hanging up, friend finds two more generous, string-free things to say, overlooks broken Hindi and ego, and extracts promise to meet this time, pakka. Grateful heart now again one, toasty, molten pile of cheese - if such tedious analogies are to be forgiven - how but to not be humbled completely? Wherefore smug, sullen superiority? What use of beguiling linguistics? Come as you are, with sword naked and ready to plunge into gut.
Once done pulling head out of own behind, take a moment to go down on knees for the existence of peanut butter cups. Of hair that has never been longer. Of this sky right here with clouds rolling in, unstoppable.
