The bush had gone

I have an uncle that treats us like his own sons.

More toys. More KFCs and McDonalds. More ice-creams and snacks. More soft drinks than Father would get. Even if we are over the board, he rarely scold or yell at us. Let alone, rotan us. More of him some other time, perhaps.

There is an empty land near his flats - made into a lodging space for construction workers, their lorries, and tractors. Every evenings, he will bring me to play there. To test drive the machines.
Oh. This was when I'm a few-year-old.

Not one I have missed. With me turning the big steering. Moving the long gear stick. Struggling to reach the pedals, tiptoed. Making sounds as if it's moving. Honking, pretending I'm yelling at others. As if I'm one of them. Even the levers on the tractors are not spared. Giving headaches to the workers next morning.

But there is one 5-tonner that I'm afraid of.

As any other evenings, I'm the construction worker. Braving the uneven red mud. Going towards my site. As I was "driving" it, I felt like someone is staring at me from the back. I turned to looked...

I jumped out, hugging my uncle, crying.

It was Sai Baba. With his famous Afro. Framed and hung at the headboard. I never go near that lorry again. I think it was the sight of the bush.

The closest I get to him was his photo. But it's enough to scare the hell out of a few-year-old.

Rest in piece.

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