THE FLAWED MAN
Everything is going to be all right, I recited the statement third and final time looking intently in the mirror as I styled my hair in side parting; as my mother had started to do all those years ago. Mother was long gone, but like a devoted son I had taken her style of combing to heart, and not altered it one bit. After getting done with my hair, I concentrated on my pencil moustache, and combed it perfectly. Then I fixed my attention on my nose; you have the prettiest nose in the world, my mother used to say, but which my confidants told me made me a butt of joke among the people. I smiled at myself in the mirror, what do these people know? Because I knew the power of my crooked nose, one little tweak and the other person would dance to my tunes. As I tugged the white shirt in my blue jeans and patted my flat tummy admiringly at its reflection in the mirror, I heard a knock on the door, “Gopal sir, some people have come to meet you,” Abhi my man Friday said, “should I let th...