Friday, March 26, 2010

Rejection

Rejection. It's a funny thing. It leaves you with a funny feeling. And there's always a first time.

I'm the desi boy with a videshi stamp. Yes, yes, work visa has been stamped on. The passport, I mean. For a price, of course. This is the land of the Queen and everything comes for a price. Pennies for paisa. For two years i'll be a highly skilled worker. I can do this. I can do that. Bring it on baby. And all that jazz. I've lost count of the numbers. They're always sorry. I don't fit the profile they're looking for. I know too much. And I don't do that. Only this. Yes, I understand.

I'm not giving up. No, not just yet. I have nothing and everything to lose. I have nothing and everything to win. 50-50. Slim fit trousers. Ironed shirts. To tie or not to tie? Black shoes (not the yellow ones). Cardigan and a jacket. Perfect. I shave too, damn! Cut my hair. The grey is showing.

What do I have to show? A piece of paper. A rubber stamp. In a photo, wearing a gown and a funny cap. Overeducated. Unemployed. No. Underemployed. In debt. Ahh... life.

Rejection. It's a funny thing. It leaves you with a funny feeling. And there's always a first time. The sad part? I stopped caring the day I died.

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