“Why should I pay you for something that is destined to happen, quipped Relia.
“What obvious…,” I was quite surprised by his narcissism. “I will write for you and won’t charge you? Joke or what?”
“Useless, one day you will wake up and realize whatever I had said. You will realize you had the good fortune of interacting with God Himself. I don’t need to pay you. You will wake up suddenly and start writing my message to the world.”
“That is highly unlikely in the coming ten years or more, given that I see no chance of any mental imbalance on my part. But you never know old age. Oldies are bloody freaks! Take the example of my father. What if I forget everything by then? Don’t forget to leave your number if we are not working in the same office by that time. I will call and ask you to repeat your sermons,” I said sipping the tea.
“No dear, I don’t need to remind you anything. You will remember everything at that point. It will flash at your mind…like a movie scene,” Relia… calmly, coolly and composedly puffed the cigarette that we were sharing.
“Great…that would help,” I was comforted by my God’s assurance. And we ended the discussion there.
Just before coming to the tea shop, he crashed fifty-five jet planes in a short time of fifty-four minutes. Unharmed and bored, playing the flight simulator, he was visibly stirred by watching ‘Hitler’, a documentary where you could see what that psycho had done to Jews.
My God spent no time to chose his own God, his Hero. He anointed Hitler an example to follow. He quickly came to the conclusion that he should rule the world one day. And just like Hitler did to Jews, he will wipe the entire race of Bengalis from the face of this earth.
But, of course, that’s not before this Bengali finishes writing His lessons to mankind. Hail the new God. Om Tat Sat.