I was entrusted with the job of taking Ari for a haircut to the saloon right across the street. Having just come from work and looking forward to a weekend of blissful nothingness, a dissonant harbinger of this sort was met with subtle grunts of frustration and disapproval, but Asha would have none of it. Having just returned from Ari's swimming lessons, she had the moral high ground to delegate this menial task on to me. Having come from a tropical country to England and not having acclimatized in all these years, she still equates love and affection for her child with keeping him as warm as possible throughout the year, even if it makes him sweat. She is entirely incapable of believing that there is such a thing as over-dressing. So while she once again customarily instructed Ari to don his jacket, and as Ari obediently followed instructions, I instructed the reverse. Being sandwiched between parental instructions contradicting each other, Ari was in limbo for a while before his mother relented and allowed my order to gain precedence. We were just crossing the road, not navigating through the Arctic chill, I reasoned within. The minor predicament over, Ari readily followed me as we made our way through the corridor of our home, out the door, across the road and into the refuge of the saloon. The weather was warm enough for the door to be kept wide open, further endorsing my point. The barber was busy snipping through a client's hair while another client waited. A senior barber soon came along and invited Ari to ascend the elaborate chair. A plank was rested on the arms of the chair to elevate him to the right height.
I'm wearing a rather striking shirt, one that makes me feel like a clown fooling around in a graveyard. Roving eyes latch on to me and make me too conscious of myself. Checkered in red, grey, black and maroon, I've excused myself into donning it and looking silly for two reasons. It's Friday and…more importantly, the last working day of the year. Tailored half-a-year back, I never had the courage to wear it, not until today. It's that time of the year when it's time to reflect on the events that transpired. Last year ended on the worst possible note. Dad had expired and I was numb with shock. The repercussions rippled halfway thought this year. Things were so abysmal initially that I had lost the will to live. Acrid in everything I did, I was immensely angered by time phlegmatically flowing through its cadence. It was as if Dad meant nothing to anybody. What right did people have to live the way they always had when Dad was no more? Why was much of the world still