Dear Bonolota,
It seems I got your e-mail by a quirk of fate…you don’t seem very keen on updating your address list. Even then I cannot say that I am not extremely happy at receiving your mail. Good to see that unlike your address list, you have at least changed your ID to accommodate the new surname. It actually looks good on you, gives you that exciting mystique of a stranger’s name. Or at least half known.
Strangely the lives and times around me have the same quality as your address list- they are not updated. The campus still remains the timeless wonder, with endless torchlight processions, dhabas dotted with knights, rooks, pawns and needless to say queens and the boulders which bear the touch of lovers from last night. And with Polia Boishakh celebrations around the corner, I see the boys getting boisterous and girls skirting the issue, amidst stolen glances and nervous giggles. And the usual sight of the president running around madly looking for somebody who will make him even more worried.Though Sravasti’s sculptured walls hardly frequent the place, there are fleeting appearances of what seem distinctive faces. In general, though, it seems that God has stopped creating women- he churns out sophomores at the dozen, figuratively speaking exquisite, but cerebrally speaking, retarded. My Monday-en existence is only peppered occasionally with Salinger or the Burmans, the rest would require, as Jeffrey Archer once put it ironically, a writer of greater calibre to hold your attention. Dreams now take the 8 45 chartered, yawn exactly at 3 and return amidst a jamboree of sweaty bodies. The brightest spot off late has been the discovery of a place which sells excellent pork products, so I have been making merry. I guess you remember how I used to hog when it came to pork….
And maybe you are not worried anymore about my smoking habits, but I’ll tell you anyway, there has been epsilon improvement - from daily arithmetic mean of nine to seven. The standard deviation has however increased mainly due to my Saturnine cycles of blues and very bright yellows and greens and reds.I know that this mail might not elicit any reply on the grounds of propriety, but, as you know I have never cared much for that. A sentiment that might be appreciated if it is properly done with carefully designed kneeling on the middle of the road with pink straw, not if you are replying to an intimation of an ID with a changed surname. Anyway, give my love to Mohinder and the one who is hopefully around the corner…. and stay well.
Regards,
Rhiju.
P.S. Our culvert today assured me he’ll not tell anyone, that you very sweetly farted once while singing Asha Bhonsle to me. So don’t worry….
It seems I got your e-mail by a quirk of fate…you don’t seem very keen on updating your address list. Even then I cannot say that I am not extremely happy at receiving your mail. Good to see that unlike your address list, you have at least changed your ID to accommodate the new surname. It actually looks good on you, gives you that exciting mystique of a stranger’s name. Or at least half known.
Strangely the lives and times around me have the same quality as your address list- they are not updated. The campus still remains the timeless wonder, with endless torchlight processions, dhabas dotted with knights, rooks, pawns and needless to say queens and the boulders which bear the touch of lovers from last night. And with Polia Boishakh celebrations around the corner, I see the boys getting boisterous and girls skirting the issue, amidst stolen glances and nervous giggles. And the usual sight of the president running around madly looking for somebody who will make him even more worried.Though Sravasti’s sculptured walls hardly frequent the place, there are fleeting appearances of what seem distinctive faces. In general, though, it seems that God has stopped creating women- he churns out sophomores at the dozen, figuratively speaking exquisite, but cerebrally speaking, retarded. My Monday-en existence is only peppered occasionally with Salinger or the Burmans, the rest would require, as Jeffrey Archer once put it ironically, a writer of greater calibre to hold your attention. Dreams now take the 8 45 chartered, yawn exactly at 3 and return amidst a jamboree of sweaty bodies. The brightest spot off late has been the discovery of a place which sells excellent pork products, so I have been making merry. I guess you remember how I used to hog when it came to pork….
And maybe you are not worried anymore about my smoking habits, but I’ll tell you anyway, there has been epsilon improvement - from daily arithmetic mean of nine to seven. The standard deviation has however increased mainly due to my Saturnine cycles of blues and very bright yellows and greens and reds.I know that this mail might not elicit any reply on the grounds of propriety, but, as you know I have never cared much for that. A sentiment that might be appreciated if it is properly done with carefully designed kneeling on the middle of the road with pink straw, not if you are replying to an intimation of an ID with a changed surname. Anyway, give my love to Mohinder and the one who is hopefully around the corner…. and stay well.
Regards,
Rhiju.
P.S. Our culvert today assured me he’ll not tell anyone, that you very sweetly farted once while singing Asha Bhonsle to me. So don’t worry….
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