About once a year or so, he would even invite his desi bretheren for a party. Again, his wife would cook for a whole day, trying the hundredth variation on the samosa recipe, although she would lie to her guests that she didn't spend much time and the food is not going to be as well as she had wanted it to turn out. Two hours into the party, Dr. Desi would be overwhelmed, bored and would wait for his guests to leave. Enough talk about tax shelters and real estate. When all the guests are gone, the hosts would sit down and complain about all the guests and how impolite some of them were.
Years come and years go.
There he appears frozen in time, like some metamorphic rock or Madhubala's beauty. Now, he leaves for work, after having checked his security system, as he has done for the last twenty years, not knowing if he should feel happy or sad or whether to worry about his possible mid life crisis. It must be the april air.