(inspired by P. G. W.) I mean it is from him that one learns to complicate the utter simplicities of life. It is delectable on some grounds but not on many others. God bless technological savants who produced the digital dictionary. If I were to hold the Oxford in one hand and the P.G.W. omnibus on the other, and make references every two minutes, I would have either made six-packs by now or had a hernia operation. The latter more likely, of course.
Living next to a kachchi basti has its own consequences. It has been there as long as I can remember, only it has grown topographically from its utter kacha-ness to concrete pakka-ness. We are witness to many events periodically- long-drawn filmi jagrans, flamboyant weddings, high-decibel verbal spats, Amitabh Bachchan-put-to-shame fight sequences etc. Whoever made 'boom', 'pow', 'dishoom' sounds while fighting! Films teach us wrong. Utter wrong. Blood does not ooze like a holi-water-balloon, for one.
Sea of Poppies has been a delight so far. Although I can't help but wonder how a foreigner would read it. It is so complete with local lingo and subsumed in the Indian Social Structure that I think someone not from India will conjure a very different interpretation of the book. But I guess it'll be beautiful in its own way.
The weather has been as unpredictable as the Indian Cricket Team. I have been getting bowled out by the googlies of the clouds; dismissed by run-outs as I run between creases trying to save the clothes from getting wet on arrant false alarms.
Since morning I have heard 'Find My Way' by the Gabe Dixon Band 7 times. I am now delusional. I retire.
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