This post—about our excessive, altogether human appetite for patterns, newspapers, and, therefore, coconuts—was originally published on my WordPress blog in 2012.

4th July, 2012

On the way to a regular Doctor’s appointment, with my father in the driver’s seat, he and I were having a conversation. Before I describe that particular conversation, a little history on our verbal spars.

Rare are the conversations with my father that do not involve him screaming at me for anything ranging from not turning off the ceiling fan before leaving a room (because I’m very arrogant and disrespectful), to being involved in a very serious road accident (because I’m very arrogant and disrespectful). My father is worth observing in those conversations: If one curious bystander, unknowing that he will never be the same again, decides to mute what is being said and just observe, he may spot the following: bulging eyes bloodshot with rage, my father’s now sparse hair flapping around due to the ceiling fan my arrogance left running, his mouth forming words that pierce more than an African model’s blue contact lenses (“I was born that way!” she insists); while his arms gesticulate in precisely calculated motions of finger-pointing exactly how I’m a moral wreck.

Not that I blame him, I’m not an easy child to raise.

With this in mind, you will understand how blue the skies were, how sweet a crow’s caw did sound, and how homeless men across the city seemed to find lost pennies on the road when I found that particular conversation with my father alarmingly lighthearted.

I was looking out the window from the passenger seat of our maroon Honda City, when he broke the gentle, comforting whirr of the air-conditioner with, “Sanju, did I tell you what happened that day? I didn’t, did I?”

I said, “Maybe you did.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”