Truck life

He kept thinking about his village while driving.

It was a narrow, curvy hill road. One that may have many drivers in sweats.

But he’s been traversing these rocky roads for years now, so he could afford the luxury of being lost in his memories.

The memories of plain lands and slow, wide rivers.

Of waking up in the morning to have his wife serve him tea.

Of taking his daughter to school.

Of spending the day lazily with his friends in the fields.

Of pressing his parents’ feet at night.

“Such a good life it was!” he thought to himself, stopping at a small tea stall.

“Kaki, chai please?” he said to the old lady.

“Long time, son,” her face glowed up.

“Yes, I’m coming from Gujrat this time.”

“Good, good. Here, your special chai.”

He moved to the edge with his chai and continued his previous chain of thoughts.

“Life at home is definitely amazing,” he said to himself, taking a sip while a breeze brushed across his face, “but I’m not complaining.”