Face To Face With Irony

I was considered a gifted scholar. A genius in my family. Never had I let my parents feel any less proud of me, than was possible. I knew life in Paris would be lonely and cold, and not exactly what I had planned my career to begin as. For I love my warm family the most. Whenever I am away I long for this coziness. My face glows in their smiles, and my body thrives on those home cooked, fresh dishes that taste heavenly.

But they are so proud to see me make a mark in the world. So proud that I had been selected against the ten vacancies in this University.

At the airport, they appear in packs. Holding big bouquets of roses in all colors, cards, chocolates, homemade pickles, snacks, and laddoos.

“Best of luck buddy!” a cousin of my own age chirped.

“Do post your photographs standing tall beside the Eiffel tower” chuckled my little sister.

Father hugged me tightly and held me close to his chest for long. Looking into my eyes with his own so full of tears he said: “Do whatever makes you happy.”

I had no words to say anything.