Hey, sweetheart?
Yes, bolo-ji
What do you wear under the hijaab?
My usual dress, but why do you ask?
Just wondered what would happen, if you invited Victoria to the party and didn't wear anything, under the hijaab?
Nothing would happen!
How so?
The hijaab overs all, but nice idea, huh! By the way are you satan's agent here on earth?
Thought you babes were, bebo!
And how?
Your grandma, ate the damn apple isnt it?
Dont you like the apple, sweetheart?
Steve Jobs does, not me, honey.
HaHa and you are a 2-thumbed creature who boasts about the qwerty feature...
what's your take on the ipad?
You men and your toys and your jargon, ha
meaning?
we need iPad to tell us if the 8" heels are ok on us..ok?
anything else?
lots more, but isnt he gay?
gay?who?
him, the agent of the apple, is he whom me is talking about, duhling..
why the sarcasm?
coz thee are stupid!
Like Steve?
Yep!
Why pray so?
Dint I tell you
You did, but opinion more later on?
Aw, shucks forget it!
why?
coz, me forgot, hehe
remember my name?
Yes, I have put a hijaab on it..
The hijaab?
Yep
why so?
coz thee are precious, is why.
Down, doggie!
Gee!
⎝⏠⏝⏠⎠
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Miyan AliBhai
It was nothing new to Miyaan Ali Bhai. This habit of coming back to the Qwerty, his familiar haunt, whenever he was excited be it be out of the sheer exuberance of feeling wanted or be it be when it was out of sheer despair. This was the habit that he always wore, comfortable as a maulvi's kurta, when he was excited. The Qwerty always welcomed him back with the same equanimity that it greeted any of the myriad bone-tired fingers that came to it for sanctuary. He was neither happy nor sad, both emotions that others have an abundance of and he, an alien to them.
He often watched them enter and exit others' lives like a yoyo gone berserk, leaving elate-puzzled faces in their wake and side-stepped them when they made their wayward way over to where they thought he was, only to leave disheartened at their unfilled quest. It was not that he did not know what they were, rather he had gotten drunk on them, quite often and was the worse because of that drunk. He did not want to that intoxication again because in the slow dance of the duo-headed spiral it was always the pain that was last to leave that taste which lingered long after he had mandatory-brushed his teeth twice and rinsed thrice; with the third rinse a slow swirl to reach into every nook and crevice of his paan-stained teeth.
And now, from some unknown grave in some unknown graveyard where he had buried these two, they had crawled back up to torture him once again, if he let them. He could hear them coming in gleeful sobs and he shuddered inwardly and shrunk into himself, steeling himself as if he would be caught in the maelstrom from which he thought he had forever escaped, he prayed for deliverance. And it did come. Just as he thought that he would hurt himself again, he pulled back from the edge of the precipice and watched as they went hurtling into the abyss, a little above his hunched shoulders and wrinkled brow fraught with the same puzzlement that people said he was born with but unclear to him as to that the puzzle was which others solved with a snap of their left thumb and forefinger.
He snapped out of his reverie to the chirp of his new mobile trying to spit out a text message and simultaneously the desperate urge of someone wanting to hear his hoarse voice. The voice made some noises about a lunch shared with someone else and a promise to stay in touch, forever through the mobile phone.
He placed the mobile on the ground. And ground it gently to silence.
He often watched them enter and exit others' lives like a yoyo gone berserk, leaving elate-puzzled faces in their wake and side-stepped them when they made their wayward way over to where they thought he was, only to leave disheartened at their unfilled quest. It was not that he did not know what they were, rather he had gotten drunk on them, quite often and was the worse because of that drunk. He did not want to that intoxication again because in the slow dance of the duo-headed spiral it was always the pain that was last to leave that taste which lingered long after he had mandatory-brushed his teeth twice and rinsed thrice; with the third rinse a slow swirl to reach into every nook and crevice of his paan-stained teeth.
And now, from some unknown grave in some unknown graveyard where he had buried these two, they had crawled back up to torture him once again, if he let them. He could hear them coming in gleeful sobs and he shuddered inwardly and shrunk into himself, steeling himself as if he would be caught in the maelstrom from which he thought he had forever escaped, he prayed for deliverance. And it did come. Just as he thought that he would hurt himself again, he pulled back from the edge of the precipice and watched as they went hurtling into the abyss, a little above his hunched shoulders and wrinkled brow fraught with the same puzzlement that people said he was born with but unclear to him as to that the puzzle was which others solved with a snap of their left thumb and forefinger.
He snapped out of his reverie to the chirp of his new mobile trying to spit out a text message and simultaneously the desperate urge of someone wanting to hear his hoarse voice. The voice made some noises about a lunch shared with someone else and a promise to stay in touch, forever through the mobile phone.
He placed the mobile on the ground. And ground it gently to silence.
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