Blogosphere was beckoning – for quite some time. Not because I write well or I can’t keep from writing or because it suddenly turned fashionable but because the space had become too bourgeois, what with all the Mangoes and Margaritas and Moods (condoms) populating it. Pardon the allusions; just thought some alliteration would sound nice. Incidentally, I don’t like the first two and never tried the third one (please don’t read between the lines here. The text means what it reads!). So here I am representing the minions and the lesser mortals. After all it is the age of democracy and I’m tired of not getting reservations (even my initials read SC!).
I could pledge here to be the fearless voice for my kind (although I have a vague suspicion that I may be the only one of my species) or that I would relentlessly criticize injustice on the faece (sp?) of this planet we call eggzel, but why dangle your sword in dry and unwelcome places. The grass is always wetter on the other side (of eggzel). Taking stands is passé. The age of justice is yet to come.
To all the maestros of Blogosphere; HI. Please allow me to occupy the humble position of the Twelfth Man, albeit one who won’t carry the drinks. I may sometimes make an appearance though I expect these would be sparse and barely noticed.
One should think I have so much time here in Hyderabad (not true, Parkinson’s Law at work); the evenings are entirely free and unlike eggzel, D company doesn’t make you work weekends. I have a frugal existence; a small room and a slightly bigger hall shared by four people. No television or newspapers; a single LAN wire is what connects us to the world. A veg breakfast followed by a veggier lunch and for dinner we have ghas puus(please don’t confuse this for grass). All for the noble cause of not displeasing the Almighty. Pleasing would require downright subservience and bribery, or so I hear. But did they not hear? That God Is Dead! What a beautiful thought! God Is Dead! Blasphemy you say? Come now, don’t take offence at such trivialities. It is not me who spawned this thought but some chap in the late 19th Century. And to think that more than 100 years have passed and they still haven’t heard it.
In his final years, this poor chap (more commonly known as Nietzsche) suffered from periodic psychosis, vascular dementia and syphilis before finally succumbing to heart failure. Dead. Do you picture a half deranged old man dying a painful death? Or would you rather not picture such a picture? But what about the picture of a dying God. I wonder how that would look like. No, no, not the crucifixion, be a little more creative (by that I don’t mean a state funeral either). The point is, if the son can die, so can the father.
But enough about death, being as it is a few more days to my birthday. I will now reach that age where I can safely take offence at being asked my age. I know this too shall pass but it will take a few years. After that, you’re so old, you couldn’t bother less.
I think my random rambling has now reached a sufficient length and will easily pass off as a blog which can waste a few precious minutes of some of my unsuspecting friends. If you’ve taken the trouble of reading thus far, thank you; hope it was entertaining.