![]() ![]() This, the very person whose photo on the application form months earlier had leapt out with promises of instant affinities. Then, within days, I would learn to hate him. Meanwhile, we’d have to put up with him for six long weeks. You watch, I thought, this is how he’ll say goodbye to us when the time comes. His one-word send-off: brisk, bold, and blunted-take your pick, he couldn’t be bothered which. No name added, no jest to smooth out the ruffled leave-taking, nothing. Then, almost without thinking, and with his back already turned to the car, he waves the back of his free hand and utters a careless Later! to another passenger in the car who has probably split the fare from the station. It might have started right there and then: the shirt, the rolled-up sleeves, the rounded balls of his heels slipping in and out of his frayed espadrilles, eager to test the hot gravel path that led to our house, every stride already asking, Which way to the beach? ![]() Go Ahead, Call Joyce Chopra a ‘Lady Director’ One More Time ![]()
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