The mad rush of the world

is put on hold,

like an angry subscriber to Cable TV

while the East Indian Sikh

smokes a cigarette,

and pretends to consult customer service.

In 3 minutes, he’s fine

to listen some more,

while the angry customer

is never cool.

The East Indian Smokes Cools

as calm as can be

and addresses the blunt American accent

with English flourishes

mixed with Hindu wisdom.

“My internet is slow!” The American yells.

“Oh—sorry, sir. Let me consult our happiness engineers…”

“Don’t put me on hold, Damn you!”

The Sikh smokes another cigarette, and smiles.

He is a writer, recording his philosophy, in his mind. No words get written down.

He is threatened 30 times a day.

Quality assurance is notified,

and the call is monitored, for a performance feedback review

but all the cable company can hear

are swear words,

coming from the angry American,

and the Sikh keeps his job for one more year, at least.

He is a follower of many traditions

many religions,

much wisdom.

He doesn’t get what he wants

but he has everything else.

He enjoys himself, sitting

in his sweat-soaked chair

in some anonymous cubicle

in the dungeons

of nowhere.

He enjoys the angry Americans.

Perhaps, in a next life, he will be a poet.

There are always angry people,

but the Sikh doesn’t let that

get in the way

of him being cool.