Listen. I shan't have it anymore. There's only so much I can stands, i can stands no mores. I mean, it's O.K. to holler for me across the department corridor and come trotting up to jiggle my arms and watch amazed at the 4 and a half 'good vibrations' [stop pretending you didn't know i was cheesy] they will execute for you. And sure, when I'm having my evening coffee at Milon Da's and you're all a-rosy and prepared to play ranna-bati with my arms, making me spill my coffee as you enthusiastically knead like it's time for dinner - I don't mind. I'm even going to smile indulgently, and say a little prayer for the ground to crack open and swallow you up, you little termite, you *notice terribly indulgent tone of voice*. But I'll tell you what I won't stand. I will NOT be disturbed mid-jhaari at a pujo pandal, and I will NOT have crazy women sprinting for my fat, wrists asunder. There is absolutely No point in trying the seductive come-hither when the other-party sees trusty aides massaging your biceps in public, like you were some sort of pehelwan. Girls, i love you, I do, but ... break on through to the other side, as it were.
Very nice. Point number two. I do want to make friendship with you. Oh yes. But I don't need to join Orkut for that. Please cease and desist sending invites, o wellwishers and one and a quarter lovers of the Peep. You may all contact me on Yahoo, and we shall talk of beautiful things like life and it's intricacies. Victoria's Secret. Or yours and mine, even.
I've been a little distracted. A trifle angry. I'm also afraid it probably shows.
Anyway, I've been drinking like a fish, making new friends and doing some other things.
Maybe, another day, I will tell you the story of how my cousin sister punched an aged relative on the nose, and promptly got a bottle of water emptied on her clothes. In the middle of a crowded street. Tiring, this.
By the way, does anyone think Nizam's serves its kebabs half-cooked?
And this is frightfully important. I need a topic for my writing in practice assignment. A short story. Please. Anybody. Interesting topics. Quick, before I become an alcoholic.
p.s. : i am NOT becoming an alcoholic.
update : Kindly extend your sympathies to a certain Pom Fretty who has been hurling herself under falling trees with disastrous consequences. May she continue to provide entertainment, albeit minus health hazards to her frail frame.