Monday – a day we love to hate. Everybody is jumpy, well, almost. The weekend seems too short, typically. Here I am doing what I am paid to do and doing nothing. You look around to see people talking, laughing and you thought to yourselves, “is this an office?” And a voice replied in my head, “Yes, of course, what do you think? It is Monday after all!”
Life seems too short to be bond to a desk and a PC. There is a whole world outside to explore, to learn and to breathe – books are only poor substitute.
I overslept this morning, but still managed to get to office on time. School holidays are still on, that is why. There weren’t many souls at the bus stop either. An old man came along; grimy gunny bag in hand with white hair uncombed. He stood stoically in front of the bus stop, right in the centre. Then, it happened. “Kan…ji by…Kan…ji by…” he opened his mouth with a strong, explosive voice to the morning air, amid the chattering of the steady stream of traffic. Unfortunately, his back was facing me, so I could not read his expression, as he spouted out the offensive dialect vulgarity referring to the female’s sexual organ. Anyone, who did not understand it, would think that he was just stretching his vocal chord. Within moments, it was over as the old man boarded his bus as if nothing had happened. I just sat there, all frigid – not with shock, but with solemnity and a little amusement as if I have just witnessed an ancient ritual or a religious procession passing by.
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