The day dawns just like any other day. Yet, this morning could be different. I should have known better. The inconvenience of sleeping late at night is felt only when the early morning alarm chimes or when the telephone blares a loud call when even the birds are trying to catch that last wink. I should have known better. I make a quick decision to go out and get an hour of tennis with a friend who, now in retrospect, I wish, had returned my call the previous night itself, thus not forcing me to make a last minute decision. I should have known better.
It takes exactly 10 minutes after I get home from tennis, to realize the gravity of the situation impending upon the roof above my head in the house. The general sunken mood, the eerily quiet kitchen area which normally is hustling and bustling at this time on a sunday, the inexplicably quiet ambience in my son’s room that is more deceiving than anything else and to top it all an irate better half, mopping like she wants to pound the wooden floor planks into chips or may be saw dust. I should have known better.
What happens in the next couple of hours can simply be summarized as ‘not a great morning for me’ for the simple reason that I put aside my weekend morning housecleaning tasks aside quite flippantly on the spur of the moment based on a phone call. This, needless to add has made a dent into all the planned activities of the morning, for which I am rightfully being blamed for at this moment, while I try to take refuge under an umbrella called inadvertent irresponsibility. On what is turning out to be this highly inauspicious Sunday morning, I am being told many times that I should have known better. Yes. Indeed. I should have known better. Notwithstanding the barrage of guilt volleys being thrown at me, looking back, what is amusing to my sane self now is how at that moment I was completely out of my real senses, trying to look through a veil which clearly is made of ego fibers. This veil ensured that my initial response to the urgency of the situation ranged from ‘I am not guilty’ to ‘You should have known better’. Yet, I know very well that I should have known better.
By the time, I reached out to my pocket dictionary (stored in my deep memory) to do a random memory access and retrieve what now seems like a worthless position to take, but would have come handy and been more powerful a few minutes ago, I have wasted more than 30 minutes. Finally I say, “I am sorry“. Too little, too late. It is pretty pointless to narrate how the rest of my sunday went even if I have to talk a bit or two about Mavs shutting the Heat down in game 6.
I should have known better. I should have said sorry the moment I realized I was at fault. Better if, I didn’t even answer that phone call.
Being Sorry. Easy to say. But difficult to really be. More difficult to say or be on time.
Every time a scandal involving an American politician breaks out, which more often than not takes its place in headlines only when it has got something to do with his philandering qualities (let me take the liberty of generalizing that all politicians who get caught in sexual scandals in the US are men), I am now used to seeing him take a defensive position first or stay incognito or quiet for a while before finally appearing in front of TV cameras to make a statement, either with his wife standing by his side (in spite of all the humiliation that has already been meted out to her) or with with his attorney, about how sorry he is to those people he has hurt.
I just want to tell him and people like him – “You should have known better!“.
You can read my other posts “On such things” here.