I’ve been having a lot of fun, though I’ve been too lazy to document it here for posterity.
I’m running for “Sadist of the Millennium”, so I’m encouraging everyone to watch “Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi” which is about how pretty women in cotton saris could weep on the shoulders of men, and if their shirts were absorbent enough, marry the guys and then write to them that a divorce were best, and then proceed to cry on another absorbent shoulder. This must work best against the backdrop of Indira Gandhi’s leadership, but I am on no International Film Award Jury, so I cannot see the connection.
I did not watch a single Indo-Pak match. I know that the only matches worth watching are the ones between equally-“matched” opponents, and so I’ve been closely following such a match over the last few nights. Ladies and Gentlemen: Put your hands together for “Heat vs. Mosquitoes”
(Thunderous applause, which causes some mosquitoes to get squashed)
When I enter my sixth floor oven at night, I open the window, switch on the fan, switch on the mosquito repellant contraption, and try to sleep. Ha Ha Ha. Heat comes in to bat and lashes mercilessly. Its first innings end when I open the balcony door. Then Mosquito-XI takes the crease (my knowledge of cricket terminology sucks) and they are phenomenal players too. By the time they are “All Out”, the elusive thing called Sleep has fled my home, locality, planet, and galaxy.
I shut the windows in exasperation, drink a glass of cold water, and lie down again. I can hear the water boiling in my alimentary canal. I wonder if I should chew some tea leaves. I shift from the mattress to the floor, and it does not help. I open the door and window and invite Mosquito XI to bat again. This match is held every night.
In other news, the elevator of my building has been dysfunctional for a fortnight, and latest reports confirm that the repair guy has absconded with half the machinery and ten thousand bucks, and a police case will be filed against him. Meanwhile, I climb 118 steps at least twice a day.
I could choose not to go home, but I don’t want to miss the nail-biting match.