Rain without end

A long day of meetings. Of skipped meals compensated by what was available in the meeting room. A day of rain, when clouds descended upon the tops of tall buildings and water splashed into a grey blur beneath the wheels. More traffic than the highways could handle. Despite the utter darkness along with cold temperatures and the wind that remained with the day, it didn't stop the day from marching on.

While I was collecting my laundry at the front desk of the hotel, the man responsible for it had coincidentally come in to drop off some more. He turned out to be an Indian and introduced himself, saying he had lived here for more than 20 years, that his son was a doctor and he was doing this laundry business to pass his time. He also said, there may be a lot of money in this country but no one has any time. "Time is money, time is money", he chanted. What he meant to highlight was the overdose of materialism, I suppose. He went on to state that he spends more than three months in India because there is so much to celebrate and concluded most emphatically that India was the best country. It is very difficult for me to make broad generalizations of this nature, besides, I cannot empathize with the urgency to establish which is the "best" so quickly. How much of the world have I seen? How much of India have I seen? I can safely say I am not qualified to make a judgement of this nature, and perhaps I never will be. The urge to jump to quick conclusions of this kind though, is a trait very common in my past of the world. I find it hard to agree with broad conjectures and for me, the question alone is invalid. In a way, rushing into statements like this does betray one's insecurity, but there are far too many ironies in this particular situation for me to elaborate on.

All I could do was to smile in return and thank him for the laundry he does so efficiently.