Is It Too LATE

My phone rang again. For the fifth time in a row. Fuck!

As my hand flashed towards my pocket, trying to fumble for the volume button, I apologetically looked towards the people sitting in the room, only to find them staring back at me. My boss was looking at me with his trademark ‘you-are-so-dead’ glare and the look of stark disapproval on the faces of the clients couldn’t be mistaken.

I was mortified.

This was the last thing I needed. I was in the middle of what could potentially be a million-dollar pitch for our company with one of our biggest clients. For the past five months, my entire team had worked their asses off to develop this product. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a full night’s sleep. Pulling all-nighters had become a routine for my team. The concept of weekends had become alien to us. During the last couple of weeks, a few of us had started sleeping in the office itself, just to save commute time.

This was war. And we were soldiers.

So believe me when I say this - the entire future of our company was hinged on me successfully pitching this product. If we got the deal, this would mean promotions and appraisals for me and my colleagues, plus our company breaking into a whole new market. Do or die. Sink or swim.

And then my phone rang. Right in the middle of my pitch. I grabbed it and quickly silenced it. But it rang again. And then again.

When it rang for the fifth time, I’d no option left but to see who the fuck was calling.

It was my dad.

I remember giving an apologetic look to the whole room. I remember silently mumbling “I’m sorry, but I need to take this”, or something to that effect and then stepping out of the meeting room.

“Papa… 6 Missed Calls”, my phone said.

My dad doesn’t call me until there is something really urgent or important. And 6 missed calls from him meant that it was both.

I dialed his number, and waited apprehensively. One ring. Two rings.

Then, on the third ring he picked up.

“Papa… do you have any idea what you just did. I was in the most important meeting of my life. And you screwed it up for me. Couldn’t you’ve called later.”

“Son, I wanted to give you some good news. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before, but I didn’t want to distract you from your work. Actually, a few days ago, your mom was diagnosed with a polyp. It was nothing major, but the doctor recommended that she have a surgery and get it removed. Today was her surgery. And thank God, it went perfectly. She is all right now.”

There are some moments in life that take your breath away. And then there are some moments in your life that literally take your breath away. As in you die. I distinctly remember forgetting to breathe when I heard those words. And then the floodgates opened. A barrage of emotions came pouring out. I remember shouting at my father - why didn’t he tell me earlier? Why did he hide such a big news from me. I remember feeling angry, incredibly angry. And then utterly relieved, and then horribly guilty.

The hundreds of missed calls from my mom, that I’d been unable to pick due to being busy with work, had accumulated at the bottom of my call logs - like a layer of dust at the bottom of an old trunk. Today, these missed calls seemed to shout and scream and tell the whole world what a terrible son I’d been.

I turned around. Through the glass walls of the meeting room, I could still see everybody waiting impatiently for me - my boss, my team, the clients. And I was suddenly hit by a very powerful epiphany. I no longer gave a fuck! To the meeting, to the clients, to the product - to none of it. All the late night coding sessions, all the heated discussions about product design, the promotion, the bonus, the appraisal - all of it seemed so… unreal! So pointless. As if it didn’t matter anymore. I felt like laughing. At myself. At my stupidity.

I went back in, and in a trance like state, completed my pitch. Don’t ask me how it went. I don’t know. And I don’t care.

Right now, I’m sitting in a train to my hometown. The world around me has fallen into a deep slumber broken only by the train’s shrill whistle piercing the darkness of the night. And I’m still up, writing this post on my laptop. I’m so tired and burned-out, I just want to fucking close my eyes and go to sleep. But, I can’t. I have to write this. I have to write this because it is important. Because I hope that somebody, somewhere, even at this hour, would be reading it. And that that somebody would realize the truth that I have. That at times, we spend our whole lives, deluding ourselves about what is important to us. Lying to ourselves about what really matters. We build elegant castles to protect these lies. We let them feed on our very soul, and day by day, these lies grow stronger. Until one day, they become powerful enough to engulf us. So that we can no longer tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not.

Then one day, something drastic happens and the castle comes crashing down. Everything shatters. And you are left there, standing stupefied, trying to gather shards of a broken past, in hopes that you’ll be able to put it back together.

But you can’t.

It’s too late.

It’s gone. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.

-based on the experience of a close friend, written with his due permission.