Dreams

I always had a dream. Not in the range of Martin Luther King Jr and all, but just a dream - to be a journalist. And by God's grace, I am one now.

The other day my parents and I went out to dinner. Now, Appa has always taught me by example to be nice to the people who serve us - security guards, doormen, those at a ticket counter, it could be anyone.

We parked the car, and the security guard so courteously did his job - directed us to the parking place and did it without a grumpy face as many are wont to do when it's 10PM. What struck me was his sincerity and the fact that I could see it on his face. He was older, perhaps 40 or so, greying hair and moustache.

It struck me that he too might have had dreams.

To drive his own car rather than direct others to park theirs.

To have a relaxed dinner with his wife and kids at a restaurant.

And a million ways by which he might have wanted to achieve that dream.

I'll never know.

But it makes me so, so, very sad to think of it.

It was just a thought, impulsive and it came out of nowhere. Nowhere conscious, as far as I know.

But it struck strong enough to have stuck to my mind like a leech, and it won't let go. I don't know if it is guilt , or a desire to ease some of the sadness in the world.

I flounder with my thoughts.