As I drove back from an unplanned long-distance drive through the city, between being stuck in traffic, and ambling along at a snail’s pace, I realized that I was my father’s daughter after all. Growing up, I’ve always seen my dad go out of the way to ensure guests got where they had to. His theory was always that we had the time, and the means, and we know the place; so why would we subject them to the horror of a new place. I remember all of us stuffed into the car at midnight to drop off my colleagues in Bombay that had come home for dinner. Most people would call a cab and then wave diligently from their pristine balconies; but not Balsu.
I think it all boils down to the love for driving, traffic or none, and like father, like daughter indeed.
Scotch and I headed out for the evening walk, and we were waiting for the elevator, when the neighbors at 201 popped out of their apartment. The man had the little toddler in his hands, while the lady ran behind him frantically. The child lay limp in the man’s arms, and he screamed out for B to come help, once and then again. As soon as Scotch saw these two grown adults run towards us, she sensed some strange danger to the two of us and started barking. I held her up against the wall while the man and the woman hesitated in front of the Bs, before running down to the family in the ground floor. The elevator dinged at my floor, and we got in and went down to the basement to finish our business.
It was evident that there was some problem with the little one – choking, maybe?
When we were done with the basement work, we saw the man holding the baby and walking around the front garden, trying to settle the baby down. So, I skipped Scotch’s ambling in the garden, and went back up to the house. As I put her back in the house, I saw Mrs. B, and so I went back out to check on the child.
Me: Hey, Is their child OK?
Mrs. B: Swallows some spit. Rolls her ballsy eyes. Your dog is very aggressive.
Me: Excuse me?
Mrs. B: Your dog, is actually, very aggressive.
Me: What did I ask you and what are you responding with? Turn around and walk away.
“She said what? She called me what? Are you sure the B in her name is not bitchy?
Oh! these humans. And they call us the beasts.” ~ Scotch