The watchman at the gate

Notwithstanding all allegations, I return home only about twice a semester. Among the lesser noticed features of life at home are the watchmen at the gate. One of them certainly ranks high on the list of The Most Cheerful People I Have Met. Every time I pass, he has a big smile on his face. Mom and Dad, of course, get a rather pompous salute, delivered with much gusto. He likes our dog, C, and always takes a moment to pet her when I take her out for her walk.

Every time I see him, I cringe inwardly, and a pang of discomfort grips me. I awkwardly smile back, and hurry on, as fast as I can without seeming rude. Its like a slap in the face. His cheery demeanour is but a cold reminder of how lucky I am to be born where I was, that anything I have done well is purely because I have had everything so easy in life; that the world is probably more unfair than I could have imagined. His children would probably live in darkness post-sunset, while I use electricity indiscriminately, unthinkingly keeping my laptop on for hours on end. They would languish, perhaps all their life, in unhappy schools, in unfulfilling or, even worse, unsafe jobs, and in uncertain old age, while I would live in a comfortable cocoon, perched atop an ivory tower, far from the unsavoury realities of life.

And I don't even know his name...