You look like me
Back from Pune today, everything seems a bit of a blur right now, but some things can be arranged in the order in which they happened - but before that -
I once had a really, really sharp tongue, which I could, and would use to indiscriminately cut people through, which I'm sure made me seem like a cigarette holder wielding heartbreaker, or atleast a likely candidate for a cigarette holder wielding heartbreaker - of late, ie, over the last year, I've been seeing myself become increasingly restrained in the use of this tongue, and I'm not sure if that makes me a " Better Person" or just a likely candidate for a nincompoop. And I'm not sure if nincompoop is word reserved entirely for the other sex. Because then I'll most likely seem like a likely candidate for the female version of nincompoops.
Actually I've just finished writing a really long / moderately long email to J, and I don't really feel like writing. But a sneaky feeling tells me that I probably won't do it later, and then go on to regret it even later.
So I met the Chipmunk/ the Hairy Soap / the Wildean in Pune, where he greeted me [alack! alack!] with a red rose. Now I'm not sure whether I've written about my distaste for red roses before, but I can't help finding them boring and cliched and annoying , especially when there are beautiful colours like peach and orange and white and pink to choose from.
Anyway, he met me with a red rose, which made things awkward cause I was thinking Oh lord make me disappear and he was trying to look injured. We were meeting after a conversation where I'd let loose my tongue a little while slashing through his opinions on the inappropriateness of pre marital sex.
But we managed a few lines, then took a walk around his beautiful college campus, climbed a lovely hill which he had never climbed before [ for fear of bandits] and then got soaked in the rain. All of which would have been lovely, if the conversation hadn't been something like -
He - Do you use deodorant?
Me [ expecting a lecture on breast cancer and ozone depletion ]- Ye-es.
He - OK Good.
Me - Ummmmm...
He - Cause then I can give you mine.
Me [ Sense dawning ] - Ahhh...
He - I don't want it to dry up.
Me - ah so you don't use deo, ok, ah , but I've only just bought a new one (pulling out a can from my bag) so it'll be no good for me...
He - No you really must have it, or it will dry up.
Me - No you see it'll dry up even if I take it, cause I'll be using the one I already have...
He - Then...
Me - Well maybe you could find someone, who - uses deos and - um - give it to them?
He - OK.
So that was that.
The description of the cliche loving, petrol pump owning, name dropping collge dropout should follow in the next entry.
As should the description of train restrooms and the challenges posed by them.
I once had a really, really sharp tongue, which I could, and would use to indiscriminately cut people through, which I'm sure made me seem like a cigarette holder wielding heartbreaker, or atleast a likely candidate for a cigarette holder wielding heartbreaker - of late, ie, over the last year, I've been seeing myself become increasingly restrained in the use of this tongue, and I'm not sure if that makes me a " Better Person" or just a likely candidate for a nincompoop. And I'm not sure if nincompoop is word reserved entirely for the other sex. Because then I'll most likely seem like a likely candidate for the female version of nincompoops.
Actually I've just finished writing a really long / moderately long email to J, and I don't really feel like writing. But a sneaky feeling tells me that I probably won't do it later, and then go on to regret it even later.
So I met the Chipmunk/ the Hairy Soap / the Wildean in Pune, where he greeted me [alack! alack!] with a red rose. Now I'm not sure whether I've written about my distaste for red roses before, but I can't help finding them boring and cliched and annoying , especially when there are beautiful colours like peach and orange and white and pink to choose from.
Anyway, he met me with a red rose, which made things awkward cause I was thinking Oh lord make me disappear and he was trying to look injured. We were meeting after a conversation where I'd let loose my tongue a little while slashing through his opinions on the inappropriateness of pre marital sex.
But we managed a few lines, then took a walk around his beautiful college campus, climbed a lovely hill which he had never climbed before [ for fear of bandits] and then got soaked in the rain. All of which would have been lovely, if the conversation hadn't been something like -
He - Do you use deodorant?
Me [ expecting a lecture on breast cancer and ozone depletion ]- Ye-es.
He - OK Good.
Me - Ummmmm...
He - Cause then I can give you mine.
Me [ Sense dawning ] - Ahhh...
He - I don't want it to dry up.
Me - ah so you don't use deo, ok, ah , but I've only just bought a new one (pulling out a can from my bag) so it'll be no good for me...
He - No you really must have it, or it will dry up.
Me - No you see it'll dry up even if I take it, cause I'll be using the one I already have...
He - Then...
Me - Well maybe you could find someone, who - uses deos and - um - give it to them?
He - OK.
So that was that.
The description of the cliche loving, petrol pump owning, name dropping collge dropout should follow in the next entry.
As should the description of train restrooms and the challenges posed by them.