Three slices of bread, two layers of garlic cheese
sticking them together, browned and hardened crusts
neatly torn off and placed by the side, food wasted -
that's my son, who doesn't know hunger. Well, good
for him. He is born at the right time - age of plenty
or lack of empathy? I stare at his plate. My father
on a dining table chair, reading newspaper looks sideways
his eyes shift to his grandson, down to the food placed
in between and loudly remembers the time that used-to-be,
offending Gen X/Y/Z and who not, essentially faulting
the upbringing of everyone born after his generation.
My son is busy multitasking - playing a game on phone
and breakfasting - doesn't give a shit to what
we are discussing, leaving us alone and behind
so much like history. He loses a game, Oh shit!
Debasis Tripathy does a regular desk job in Bangalore. He also writes - poems and short fiction. His recent work has been featured in Collidescope, Squawk Back, Turnpike, Kitaab , Punch Magazine & elsewhere. Occasionally, he tweets at @d_basis