--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya. (audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king) Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo… (a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”) Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile) -Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man) Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”
Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.
--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.
--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …
I know I owe you an apology for deleting the last post (and your comments with that). I won’t be astonished if you decide not to come on my blog anymore. I know it was rather insulting.
But please give an opportunity to defend myself. I was on the seventh heaven Monday before getting the call from mother.
It was a wonderful flight. The Spicejet flight left Calcutta sharp at 2:40 pm and soon I was sailing pass the clouds. Giant clouds, whiter than snow. More beautiful than the most beautiful thing on earth. Standing tall as huge snowy mountains, without giving a damn to us. Some were so huge and majestic that our pilot joked, “We were supposed to fly straight, but I fear Mount Everest is blocking our route.” He said the cloud is full of thunderbolts and we will be fried instantly if we dare enter it.
And the spicejet chicks were the best examples of Indian hotties. Man, it was my best flight till date. I will never forget it.
But every good thing should have an end. So when I came down fro…
what a sad truth. i have to come back to my blog to drown my sorrows. what a sad truth, i remember my blog when i am drunk.
i started this blog when i was 26. i am now 30. many things changed. friends changed. jobs changed. loyalty changed. yet this space remained my very own. my beloved.
what a profound realisation ... i still come to this blog when i need some solace. oh my dear diary, thank you for being my own. my only true own.