Lying in bed with a fever-addled brain and nothing to do, the idling grey matter turns to an incident at work yesterday. Friends and countrymen in the city rushing to form a human chain against corruption - that poisoned, vile spear thrust deeper into us over the years by corrupt politicians and the bureaucracy; two shaky pillars of our tripod-mounted democracy. So above-mentioned friends were running off to form a human chain. I politely declined to join, having to complete labours for my masters in a land far to the west.
It’s happened to almost all of us (unless you’re way too young to do it). The first time is usually the hardest, what with the pain and the blood, not to mention the discomfort that goes on for a few days. My first time was yesterday, at the ripe old age of 27 and a half - I fell off my bike.
Alright, all you perverts who’ve eagerly jumped onto this blog expecting a raunchy write-up, $@%#$% off. This is neither the time nor the place (we’ll talk about that over a drink or three some other time). Today I’m ranting about the hate/no-love-lost relationship that most women have with pretty much every other woman. Like all great writers, let moi dredge up an example from the ‘Sparkling Life of MySelf.’ In the red corner we have Agsie, a puny 182kg Bull(-et) who spends her days carrying me around the Kingdom of Nai Dilli @ a demure 40kph(speed thrills but kills). In the blue corner we have YUM-YUM, a vivacious 35kg(+10 - but you didn’t hear that from me) girl about whom I could write reams but I only refrain for fear that her pretty little head would bloat.