I'm wearing a rather striking shirt, one that makes me feel like a clown fooling around in a graveyard. Roving eyes latch on to me and make me too conscious of myself. Checkered in red, grey, black and maroon, I've excused myself into donning it and looking silly for two reasons. It's Friday and…more importantly, the last working day of the year. Tailored half-a-year back, I never had the courage to wear it, not until today. It's that time of the year when it's time to reflect on the events that transpired. Last year ended on the worst possible note. Dad had expired and I was numb with shock. The repercussions rippled halfway thought this year. Things were so abysmal initially that I had lost the will to live. Acrid in everything I did, I was immensely angered by time phlegmatically flowing through its cadence. It was as if Dad meant nothing to anybody. What right did people have to live the way they always had when Dad was no more? Why was much of the world still ...
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And as you are an epitome of incorrigibility, I know pretty well you will not budge an inch even if a mahout were to sit on your head and goad you for the rest of your life.
Atleast, react to this comment a bit mindfully. You never know, someone form his group might be reading this blog and may come barging at your doorstep.
You've heard one version of the story and extrapolating it into the whole incident. There could be serious abberations in such an assumption.
I seldom retaliate. And believe it or not, I've not been as vociferous in my blog as I would have like to be lest the heckles of many be raised!
I'll remain muted, just as I've been for so long.