Heaven

Originally published November 2006

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There is a particular time of the day, around five in the evening, when the sun is at a very nice angle and throws these golden rays through the glass doors of the main hallway of my office. If a pretty girl in a red dress were to stand there and look you in the eye, it would be the most beautiful thing. It comes pretty close without the girl anyway.

I have always wanted to travel. And increasingly, I am getting pissed off with the “first-world” — “third-world” divide! It’s no bloody secret that I want to go to the United States. Not that I would really achieve what I want by getting there, but hope is the darndest thing. Most of the West can land up in each other’s countries, many a times for as long as 90 days; with the only hassle being the plane ticket. On the other hand, we have to wait for Visa processing queues and evidence that we are not going to hold on till they throw us out! I understand the politics behind it all, however unreasonable it might be. But as an American friend put it — it’s just weird that we’re not as different as we are treated to be. The worst bit is that there are elaborate and ridiculous procedures to get myself access to Prague or Kiev or Cypress or Beirut! How many bloody Indians would be going to these places anyway — let me in, and don’t bloody hell ask me any questions!

I love the fact that my company ships me around, and that I am unlikely to spend more than 12–18 months in the same place in the early part of my career. But I wish they’d send me to the States. Not because I’ll get what I want. Bloody red rose. You bleed, but you hold on.

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