Discovery

How weird is it? You wake up thinking that today will be the last of many things you loved, loathed, ignored or worried about. Strangely, after a 14-hour long day, you're still alive, a little less kicking, but still pretty much at square one.

You still wonder why she applies such copious amounts of eye-liner. You still think it is irritating to walk at the same pace as the cacophonous music that some idiot is playing in his car on full blast. You still abhor the bugger who drives on the dividing line between lanes. And the sight of a Maruti Swift Dzire is absolutely puke-worthy. By the way, you still have only a vague recollection of the blur that the day was. All you know is that it was a blur. Blurred misty by one face that's screwed up your dreams! Mummmaayyyyyyyy!!!

I'll tell you a thing or two about dreams. It's not a good feeling to wake up in the middle of the night to the thoughts of the same 'thing'. Don't be presumptuous. I'm not talking about a woman. But boy, she makes breathing a daunting task!

Chuck that, at least for now. I discovered that a small engined car will drink the daylights out of a petrol pump if you switch on the AC while driving. Also, it just kills the engine, using the A/C on a sub-1-litre engine powered car. It responds like it wants all the cars in a 1km range of you to overtake you, run rings around you, and then overtake you again. Yeah, even I thought that's not possible in city traffic. Sadly, it is. First-hand witness, sir.

But I have other issues to worry about too. Like knowing when to talk, knowing what to talk, knowing when to make a bum of yourself, when not to, and finally, and most importantly, when to shut the fuck up. The last bit is an art form. To the effect that it is more important than all the rest. 

Now, there's another issue. I learned about it a while back. It is one of those concepts that you know very well about, but are yet aloof about it terminologically. The term is "Staircase wit". It's the shit that strikes you after it hits the fan, metaphorically speaking. Or even literally, for a matter of fact. Quite obviously, it's not a pleasant experience. What makes me wonder is why it's termed 'staircase wit', and not 'you-will-know-you-got-fucked-after-you-got-fucked wit'? It's a bit in your face, the latter one, I suppose. Hence the subtlety, and consequently, the stairs. "Damn! I did not see the stairs. So now I have 3 cracked ribs, a broken hand, a fractured foot, a retarded brain, and a pack of french-fries from McDonalds up my arse. Yum-yum!