Like all useless souls, I am extremely lazy. And have no ambition to change that. I usually don't read back my posts and if I do, the horrible grammatical errors and murderous typos, plus the extremely poor language, prompt me to close the blog immediately. I hope you would do the same. But if you are headstrong and plan to continue, you do that on your own risk. Opinions and suggestions are welcome, but will not be worked upon.
Piklu was restless. His sister was still perfecting her dance moves as the dance teacher was not letting her go. Piklu is five-year-old now. Old enough to take his seven-year-old sister to the dance school. His sister is a complete idiot. She needs somebody to accompany her to the dance school. Since Piklu cannot come of his own, they think, he had to stay with her till the class is over.
Generally mother goes with her. But she is sick today. Buddha Kaku is regularly visiting her and changing prescriptions. He said if the fever doesn’t come down within this evening mother should be shifted to hospital.
That’s a good news. Nobody will force him to go to the school then. Piklu wished she stays in the hospital for the next week. He can play football for the whole day. Father is never a problem. He never forced him to study. Actually, father is a fun to hang around with. He is keener on showing how to ball or how to hold the bat. He regularly enquires about how many goals Piklu scored or ho…
Last night the pain came again. Out of the blue. Paralyzing me for the whole night. I couldn’t sleep. I tried concentrating on the latest Angel of Darkness puzzles. I need to get Lara out of the louver museum. I am not getting the exit.
I was wondering how hopeless Lara is in this game. Just like me. She is running around, hiding herself just to prove that she is not the murderer of her mentor Werner Von Croy. Similarly I am also running around, hiding…trying my best to convince I am not guilty of anything. But I can’t. You cannot hide from your conscience. Somebody in me is continuously shouting out “you are guilty of everything…” he is not convinced with my arguments. If somebody cares to dig deep in he/she will find the wounds. So fresh, even after so many years. It’s so obvious beneath the layers.
I am dying by this mental trauma, I cannot make anybody understand. I am an introvert. I try my best to stay cheerful. Pretend that I have started a new life. Pretend that nothing happened…
Life can’t get better than this. My brother got into engineering today, my sister…slowly but steadily… carving out a name for her as a criminal lawyer.
I always knew my brother would be an excellent electrical engineer one day. He opened up our TV, tape-recorder, radio, watch, computer, even washing machine just out of curiosity. When he was small, he used to wait eagerly for a new gift. Whenever he used to get it, he would disappear in some obscure corner. Half-an-hour later he would return back the gift with thanks. Piece by piece.
As for my sister, she is a born lawyer. I know, it will take a Taliban to pacify her argumentative zeal. Criminals and lawyers, mere mortal that they are…do not stand a chance to her arguing prowess. I realized it first hand when we were very young. She used to perfectly pass on her folly on my name. I was always on the receiving end of my father’s ear-boxing experimentation. For no fault of mine.
My father, after fulfilling a Herculean enthusiasm to expand …