Ten Years On
A turbaned Sikh with a full beard is an impressive sight, particularly when the gentleman in question takes up most of one’s doorway.
“Sat sri a —” I caught myself: why give a friendly greeting to an invader? “Oh, for heaven’s sake, what do you want?”
Looking back, I was probably more abrupt than he’d been expecting. I was also considerably more female and far less burdened by years. But then, he wasn’t what I’d expected to find in my doorway at that hour, either. And considering my degree of irritability that particular day, when an anniversary hadn’t gone exactly as I had intended, he was fortunate I hadn’t greeted him with a bucket of thrown water. Or a shotgun.