I have always believed that my emotional independence comes from my lack of fear of loneliness. I understand that is a huge thing to say, for instance I can go for drives all by myself, go to coffee shops and read books or work on my laptop on my own, even eat and drink without any company. I am perfectly content in my way of life right now. There have been times when I have not needed to speak to my relatives or close ones for months. Haven't spoken to my parents in days now, even though we stay in the same house. I am not sure they understand this, but I have my memories that I will deal with in my own ways. Maybe today is good day to start a conversation with them, we shall after all talk about Mango Singh and the weather it takes to make him crisp and brave hearted. My moms uncles were fruit sellers, did I ever mention that. As a matter fact that is very sardar like, to do your own business and leave the thoughts of slavery of petty minded bosses behind. Even though I have worked for someone all my life, I understand this thought of retaining ones freedom as the most important thought process in my psyche. We are free birds, love to roam the sky, so my moms uncles opened up their own business. It ran so well, that even their pets started having fruits at breakfast and as evening fillers. And, then something changed it. It was painful when uncle died, all of sudden there was nothing in Rani aunties family. All the energy, the longing and desires went from the family. All that remained was some dull memories of those moments of joy and laughter and paranthas with white butter for breakfast. God !! how it pained me to see their sorrow. If only I could comfort this strong Punjabi family with my words. There were only tears I had and maybe they wanted more from me. I had always believed that I didn't belong with these people, rural upbringing and strong, almost head strong clan. 
Uncle was a cult figure, landed in India after the partition in 1947, built a business out of nothing but a few rupees. So what do you do when you got to feed your family and got nothing at the end of they day. You plant a garden of fruits, so if they don't sell, you eat them for dinner. Not such a bad idea after all, no inventory to keep and all profits to reap at the end of the day. Uncle till he died and it was in his late 80's was eating four paranthas cooked in pure ghee for breakfast. Some say that he actually died because the docs couldn't believe anybody could live with the kind of oily diet he had. But then rustic lifestyles had lots of exercise and manual labour built into them, so whatever was eaten got burnt in the rigours of labour. Uncle was a wiry old man, not too large built but very wiry, like a coil ready to spring. This fruit I call the "labour leechi" different from the "Meena Leechi", I mentioned in my previous post which is originally grown in Bihar, this particular one is dished out from the heartlands of North India. Labour Leechi has a very distinct, loud flavour, juicy like the just rewards of hardwork. Wasn't it Mahatma Gandhi who said that every Indian should do a little bit of manual labour everyday, well he was right, manual labour uplifts the spirit and yet grounds you to realities. A truly emotionally independent thought. I don't want to fly a Boeing 787, just give me bi-plane under the hovering clouds.Anonymous, I am better, fly me just under the radar.
