Finger

Today ended up being a tiring day. I reached home late. The work started early. One of the difficult meetings was sitting right in middle of the day. The one where just the thought of it sucks the hope and happiness out of you. Braved it. Skipped lunch. Thought that I’d grab something in evening. Got a call about a fall. Rushed to emergency. Vitals, scans, xrays. The usual. Ended up with a cast. Came back home just in time to resume work and calls. Remembered that in the morning I had planned to skip dinner and so there was no food. Grabbed a few odd things and then the chores for children. The day flew by. Nothing meaningful got done, the list of to-dos got longer, and body grew wearier.

In middle of all of that. I was chatting with someone about an incident that I was part of. I had written up the situation from my perspective. The reaction to that was, this is a one sided perspective. The other sided has not been represented. The view has been conviniently tailored to strengthen my representation. Surely, there is more to it if you ask the other person.

I pondered on it for a few minutes. Here was my response.

Sure. I am not a journalist. If people want to play the role of a protagonist, then they must write their own stories. Because, I am corupptible, greedy, insolent, biased and just human.

And if that is not justified enough a response, then I have only one finger to spare. However broken it may be.