The Power of Discretion

I have recently found out that discretion gets me stuffs. For discretion read anything that does not involve screaming at the top of my lungs.

So there on the sultry afternoon of one fine September day, sun sets and birdshit on the background, my friend asked me the eternal question:

So....

What do you want for your Birthday??

Needless to say, Panu was speechless with happiness. This selfsame friend, who cringes at the sight of creditors, runs at the mention of a treat, and faints at the thought of an upcoming birthday actually stood up to Panu's impressive bosom and dared to ask....

And Panu went for the kill.


Therefore all was well. Panu dropped discreet hints all over.

Result, two weeks before her birthday, Panu was the proud owner of two brand new books - Terry Pratchett's Hogfather and Moving Pictures, a brand new Blondie's Greatest Hits CD, a new pair of super stylish shoes in pale cream, two new pairs of earrings, a wristwatch, a bracelet, a lipgloss, a lovely pale green hand bag and a game called Taboo.


Nasty little cutthroat.

Thats what I Like myself to be called.

Anyway, the other day, Peep, Teleute and the JUDE pee-pal were acting in this play called Laxman Shell-shocked at Gyan Manch.

Needless to say, I reached too late, I left too early, but I saw all concerned.


On another note, I daresay I am extremely dissatisfied with myself. Its impossible to change myself, Its impossible to be what I want to be.

So I have decided to be me for a change and drive the world out with my madness.

In the ancient days 0f loneliness, once a little spot of blood called for love and the young girl grew up in a second of momentlessness.

Is there such a word? Momentlessness? I do wonder what I will do with all these spare moments going to waste and momentlessness creeping over like a silent assasin, waiting for the right time.

And though this post began on a note of discretion, its no longer a meaningless piece of nothingness, it has great potentials to become something that just might change your life, and become a milestone for future generations.

But no, why waste my time to do this??

Its impossible to make sense of what I say, because no one is like me and no one can be like me just as I cant be anyone else, and I am too annoyed about it because no one knows what its like to be me.

Am I feeling sorry for my self?

No, I am annoyed.

Only way I can describe myself right now.

I dont have time, but the wasted moments crowd behind my eyelids, waiting to erupt, and stream down my cheeks. I dont have time, but still the smell of wet ground after the first rains on a hot summer day remind me of my ways and days and how I wasted myself away, wasted my potentials, and destroyed what I needed the most.

I am sorry. Oh God, so sorry. Forgive me.