The National Anthem Debashis Roy Chowdhury, California
T
he subway station was nearly e m p t y . Takashi Nakamura adjusted his double mask and stole a glance around. Yareyare! Thank goodness! he felt relieved that no one was really looking at him. As such there was only a handful of commuters and they were rivetted to their phone screens. And even if someone took notice of him, so what? He was not a public figure of any kind or a movie star or a famous sports personality. They would see a middle-aged, ordinary man in a non-descript suit. A closer scrutiny might reveal a drooping shoulder, a look of dejection. But who had time for a second look? He was fortunate that no one knew him outside his small circle of family and friends. Chikusho! Damn it! Takashi tried hard to focus his thoughts. How would he face his family now? What would he tell Ichika? What
would he tell his karaoke tomodachi (friends) or his golf buddies? Takashi Nakamura was finished. He had no where to hide. And sadly, he had no one to blame, but himself. The day had started well, it had a good omen. Only forty-eight hours remained before the closing ceremony of the 32nd Olympiad n
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