It was Sung’s B’day, the 18^th, an important one, less for him and much more to his family, a tradition running from many generations – The day after your 18^th , “You and only you, are responsible for your actions and your life”, he has been told many time in past few years as his 18^th approached.

Unlike others, Sung was not keen on this sudden elevation into adulthood on a given morning. In his mind he was still struggling to grasp the reasons for things, everything.

The celebration from him was mute with forced smiles for congratulatory messages, each message a reminder of tonight.

Sitting outside by the pool he tried hard, but couldn’t see anything dramatic in cosmic sense, just another lazy night, three fourth of a moon gliding among sleepy patches of clouds amid a handful of stars; No sign of his connection to the infinite dense unknown. None.

[An old heavy voice]: Worried?

Sung startled, turns his head back to look for the source;

Sung: Grandpa!

Grandpa smiles, nods him to make place, and sits beside him on the pool chair;

Grandpa: Don’t worry too much, it never helps.

Sung: Grandpa, you have survived well and long to see and know things.

Grandpa: Few things. Not everything.  

(cont’d): But, yes I survived.

Grandpa holds Sung’s hand in his palm;

Grandpa: Not because I was skilled, but I was lucky.

Sung: So luck is something?

Grandpa: Yes, and anyone telling you it isn’t, is just too naïve, or arrogant.

Sung: Do you think I got your luck?

Grandpa: Son, if I could propose and plea – it will be my luck for you.

(cont’d): But you got your own luck, and only you can sense and measure it.

Sung: I think I got some luck; I usually get what I want.

Grandpa: That’s not luck. You get what you want because you work for it, or have worked for it.

Sung: Then, what is luck?

Grandpa: Luck, helps you from the shit.

Sung: Grandpa! Shit!

Grandpa: Yes. Shit. That’s what luck is, nothing more.

(cont’d): Imagine you are walking, taking a stroll in a place of your choosing, and just ahead of you is a tree, a tall tree, and on top of that tree, a bird is sitting singing, who for reasons of its own feels the need to shit, and shit it does, while you unaware walk gaily towards the tree, in a moment passing by the exact spot where the bird’s shit descending under gravity will hit the mother earth. 

Now three possible things can happen – First, the moment you are on that spot under the tree, the shit hits you somewhere on your body, worse, lands in your hair; Two, the shit falls just in front of you, you saved by a nick of time, but due to momentum you couldn’t avoid stepping on it; Three, as you cross, standing momentarily on that spot, the shit descending remains in the air, while you march ahead, hitting the ground behind you, invisible to you.

Sung: Third is better than second, and second is better than first.

Grandpa: Yes. But, it can’t be third every time. You should just hope, you get less of first and more of second and third. 

Sung: So, luck helps you with the unknown.

Grandpa: Yes.It’s the ‘Unknown’ that gives the flavour to our life’s palate; bitter, sour, salty or sweet; against the other alternative of bland and boring.

Sung: I prefer anything, but boredom.

Grandpa: I thought so.

Sung smiles and nod, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Grandpa: All the best with the luck.

-.-