My Squint-eyed Friend (True Story) I have known my bean-counter friend Rambo for thirty-five years, since we shared a flat in our first jobs. #life took us on our paths, but Rambo's always stayed in touch. He calls me out of the blue –‘What’s up, D?', surprises me on birthdays, or lands up from Australia just to say ‘hello’. People like him make us feel wanted, blessed in #life. Lately, our conversations have gradually sloped down to talking about #life and what’s left of it. Last month, Rambo turned up again without announcing, looking years younger. He had dyed his balding hair, and he didn’t have those thick glasses on. He talked about LASIK surgery in his left eye, and how he had survived a car accident while it was healing. I looked at his other eye and pulled his leg in jest. ‘Miser! You had surgery in just one eye? What about that squint eye of yours?’ Ouch, that must have hurt. He smiled it off. ‘My right eye didn’t need it, D.’ I was wicked. ‘No wonder you banged your car, maybe you were looking the other way, man!’ His answer hammered the day lights out of me. ‘No point straightening a squint eye that can’t see.’ My jaw dropped. I gawked at him, my throat dry. ‘I was born blind in the right eye, D.’ We’ve been friends thirty-five years, and he’d never dropped a hint. In shock now, I asked how he could even drive. He took out his US issue licence. ‘They let me drive, for I had one good eye. And I took good care of that one all my #life, D.’ That day, Rambo left me enlightened with three powerful lessons: One, don’t crib about your shortcomings. Two, fix things worth fixing, dump the dead weight. Three, #life finds its way. Avik Davar