The hollow recesses of your brain. Wake up!
With no adequate rebuttal to the Knocker, my weary brain knocked at the altar of Adrenaline
Right you are!
With this kick in the rump, the champion of all causes, however inane, is back with twitching fingers attacking the keyboard with a frenzy that would dilute Kejri’s wildest LSD trip. I persist. to borrow a phrase from Niru: The gloves are off! Flashback to my hibernation of these last few weeks within the wilderness of four walls in the cosy comfort of my peachy paisley blanket, my only contact with the faraway world was Republic TV. Thus, the sonorous words stuck.
So much has happened. Ma-mata the epic incarnation of Medusa went from wheelchair to retaining her throne and who’s not so lady-like vocabulary added a few more pages to the Bangla dictionary. Patthani became the scapegoat along with other essential workers that were leeching off of SSR. (duh! no big revelation there). Shah bhai continued to deliver hilarious sounding speeches meant to be in Hindi with every finale breaking into the drumbeats of garba-raas. Lavani and extreme obscene wriggling in nav-vari saris became the must haves for item numbers in Bollywood movies. Subways continue to be crowded, migrant workers are the new untouchables, farmers are weary and Covid variants are going the way of Element Charts. I guess I did not miss much except that diamantaires are the media’s new flavor.
Talking about diamantaires – Jarabica aka ‘Jabba the Hutt of Dominica’– really Mehulya? I understand that Palanpuri tastes begin and end with ras-puri nu jaman but bad taste does not absolve us of indiscretions (author has partial Palanpur DNA). Finishing the triumvirate is the wife who was clearly brought up to believe that her pati was parmeshwar and incapable of misdeeds as long as he supported her jet setting 200 lb. lifestyle to Antwerp on flights that serve vegan foods. Not to forget the comfort of the airtight prenuptial agreement, lying somewhere in the recesses of a safe deposit box in a Swiss Bank. But, all of the above is negligible compared to the heartbreaking news concerning the world’s richest man, his deviant pals, his soon to be divorce status, the line-up of Megan’s eligible friends, and the abounding conspiracy theories. You ask, why are they heart- breaking? I foresee a sudden crash in the Microsoft stock and the dreams of a world cruise!
So, where do we go from here? I guess as we always have – armed with complacency, looking above for morsels of miracles, looking further East hoping the biological warfare nation gets tangled in its own web and most of all that Hollywood and Bollywood have mercy on our souls and start delivering entertainment worthy of IQ’s above 50. While hope streams eternal, Netflix may not, so we will have to devise better ways of routing from our neighbors.
With these inspirational words, I welcome you back to the mindlessness of my philosophies, resolute in the belief that I am cracking a few snickers from those who have patiently awaited the return of Fafda Files.