I always have a moment, when feeling that things aren’t the way I want them, whether it’s a hotel room, or a dish at a restaurant, and I’m trying to articulate why I am dissatisfied and what course of action to take, I have a feeling of something I call “white man’s guilt”. Today people refer to this as #firstworldproblems.
Billions of people live without reliable access to clean water, a doctor, food, yet here I am complaining that I ordered salad not fries, or that the sink in the room has a leak, or the pillows aren’t comfortable enough. I torture myself trying to re-examine my assumptions and justify my position. If there’s a case against my argument, I’ve already made it to myself a hundred times over and more.
Nevertheless, there are times where a series of reasonable and understandable decisions take you to a place where you never intended to be, you don’t want to be, and you have the means and ability to change or extract yourself from a situation.
This is what happened months ago when I walked out of a job the morning of my first day, and just yesterday in Kerela.
Back to Bombay!