The Grass is Greener

Creak

“This door needs some oil,” he murmured, going in.

He flicked on the light switch. A lone yellow bulb made the single room house like a jaundiced hospital room. Whistling, the man crossed to the other side, on the way adjusting the bucket to catch the leaking raindrops. He opened a steel vessel and spooned the last of some white boiled rice and some dal on a plate.

“This should soothe my rumbling stomach,” he thought.

Dinner ready, he sat by the window and thanked the lord for another day in his life. Then, relishing the food on his plate, he looked out.

“Ah, wish I could live in that beautiful bungalow with every luxury money can buy.”

The palace like cottage opposite his window sat with walls all around it and a big black gate in front.

Suddenly, the gates opened for a sleek black car to go through. A blue suited man climbed out of it and got in the front door. The very first thing he did was walk over to check if the security system was intact. Satisfied, he loosened his tie with a frown.

“Bloody holidaying servants! How am I going to manage without them?”

A mobile phone rang from the depth of his suit pocket.

“Hello? What? No that cannot happen. Get him to increase it now!”

Flicking the phone closed he climbed up to the bedroom and changed into a silk night suit. Then, walking to the kitchen, he served himself biryani with vegetable salad and carried it to a couch near the window.

He placed the plate on the table before him and switched on his laptop. He sat there, tapping through his dinner. Sometime later, he looked up. His dinner was finished although he didn’t remember how it tasted like.

With sad eyes he looked around the room, at his home theatre system, the blue vase from Paris, the carpet from Dubai.

Then, he looked out of the window and sighed.

“How I wish I could live a simple life in that little hut.”

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