One only has to look beyond the cold, blank eyes to glimpse the angst and bitterness brewing within me. The mother opines that I was never so hurtful with my words. I was vocal, yes. But not so blunt. She senses hurt, rejection and pain.
She sees me lose my patience with the extended family, with stubborn rickshaw drivers and, occasionally, even with strangers. I will argue with a booking clerk at PVR for a desired seat, insist on speaking to a supervisor each time I’m on the phone with a customer service representative and haggle with a BEST conductor for some change.
With each passing year I grow a little more jaded, distrustful and callous.