Apparently work is work....

And my blog has been called "dumb". By a friend who thinks its high time I give up.

As told recently in a conversation between friends, two of my friends have got jobs in the same company under the same boss and they apparently are yelling at each other because apparently P is saying "Thank you" when S had slaved over the solution and vice versa.

In other news, I have recently been thinking about dirty Bengali swear words. And a friend has been trying to teach some of them to non-bongs who just does not do it right.

And well, there has been an incident where a friend of mine apparently propelled a car with her puke. This means, she helped speed up the car by retching up a storm of slime from her gullet.

And oh, I have been thinking of going to Delhi in this heat.

The Grandmother thinks my blog picture is scary. I don't agree however.

Yes, well, never thought my blog was very smart, either.

In Search of Protection

So a certain Someone told me... Girls should be liberated enough to be protected themselves, and therefore find and get protection whenever required.

"Okay then " I said. "Lets Go."

This certain Someone walked with me tonight to find it.

Here beginneth the epic tale of Panu's Quest for the Divine Protection:

So off we went... me and my friend...

Not in the locality. That was too obvious.

So we went to anonymity.

Episode One:

Pantaloons.


Goddamit!! S said.... they have sanitary napkins but I can't bleeding find them!!

"Thats because you are looking at the cookie section."

"I swear I found them here the last time."

"You never came here before!! You said that!"

"I did at Big Bazaar! They had!"

"Fine!!"

No go. Food, tissues, detergents, pencil-rubber... every section was meticulously looked into. No protection.

Disgusted and annoyed, I approached the sales lady. She was equally clueless, and her mortified pink cheeks were festoons of our temporary withdrawal.


Episode Two:

Jeevan

Jeevan. Ah the Portal of Trusted Life. Bring me the Protection!!

We walked with happiness as the light poured forth from the wide doors. I approached cautiously, with S at my heels.

And there were Old Men.

And there were Middle Aged Women with Shawls and Glasses.

I walked away with S. The Portal of Life was closed to us.


Episode Three

The UNKNOWN STORE

Disheartened, I moved with S to the grounds where she would find a chariot home.

We walked and we walked down the empty road.

And then we heard footsteps.

Men approached.

"Whatta Bum man!"

And my Great Rage began to build up. So did my Determination. I was going to be Protected or Else!!

And then.... Then There was the Store.


Episode Four:

The Purchase

We walked to The Store. There was a Young Boy trying to buy a Cure for Cold. And we waited patiently till we were served.

And we demanded for Whisper.

And then delicately put forth our need.

And met with Perplexity.

The man stared at us and said...

" I am sorry. We do not have that brand."

Nooooooooooooo!!

To be brought this far... and Spurned!!

We were Disheartened. Our Goal seemed Far away. Far Far away.

And then the man said... "However, we do have Something Else!!"

So we made The Purchase. And we were given a concession for our efforts.

And the man Looked as we were Shielded.

And then We truimphantly went Home.

Episode Five:

The Aftermath

Now that we were well protected, we let the story unto others. Women of all times, hear our plight and Protect Thyself. For in Protection you can Rely. And in Protection you can Prevent.

And here endeth our Heroic Tale.

Dated.

Delusion and dreams. That is what is there. But its all about existence. Maybe existence is a dream. Or a delusion. Or maybe its a certainty. I am pretty non-committal that way.

Speaking of delusions, I believe randomness is delusion's hold to sanctity and sanity. What say you?

You believe otherwise. Or you might not.

Soothing Sounds...

They hit you when you least expect it.


You feel lulled, put to sleep, exhausted. Life.

We all have head in the clouds and we run through life so fast that later we look back and realise we did not know where we were going, just that we were. Somewhere. Its always like that. My earliest memory of me is not being ejected out of my mother's womb but of a little girl being bathed by an assortment of people around her. And the moments crowd in sometimes. I write of them... and I remember and forget. What remains is this little sound.... and when we hear it we close our eyes and pretend we are sleeping and nothing can touch us. Me and Panu. We do that all the time.