|Posted by Krishna KBS on October 20, 2006 at 2:21 PM|
Your (face is like a) half-baked potato
I love it. Yes! Need I say?
It is obvious
except you, dammit!
Oblivious of me,
Oblivious of love,
Why you live?!!
You piece of.."
He looked at me expectantly, and said 'Isn't that original? Down to earth?'
I badly wanted to retch. Wonder why? Finally managed to mutter 'Yeah, an earthy piece. More like down into the earth..rather than down to earth ..or whatever. By the way, what do you mean by 'down to earth'? Such a phrase exists?'
'Yes, of course'.
I did not bother to answer. Just raised an eyebrow -- like Jeeves, though I am not his butler, or anyone's for that matter. Actually wonder why and how Jeeves managed to work for Wooster, or probably should say how Wooster got Jeeves to work for him. Yes, Wooster has a certain charm, and there are times when I identify with Wooster; though, I am not really sure that I want to share those gory days. Those who know me well enough would know what I am talking about. Or probably not. Who cares??
There is a line in 'Anand' -- the Telugu movie, which says that those who understand us are our friends, and only they matter. Those who do not understand us are not worth thinking about. Good line that. However, cannot help but wonder what Joyce would say to that. Suggests that Joyce would not have any friends.
Thank You. You have a nice smile. Keep Smiling.
Anyway, getting back to the dialogue that I was having with...well, whoever it is does not really matter. And in all likelihood you would not like to know. Now do you want to know?
Well, if you do want to know, let me know.
To continue with the ...
I asked him: 'Who wrote this?'
He looked at me squarely, and asked 'Why? You aren't laughing, are you? At the poem?' He sounded hurt. I could not believe it. But decided to play it safe.
'No. Of Course Not!' I insisted.
'He wrote this poem..I mean that guy. You know who I mean...'
He went on in this vein for a bit longer, but I decided to spare you. Hope you are not angry with me for doing that. I interrupted him, and asked 'Yes. But tell me, did he?'
'Well, no..He did not commit suicide. He murdered her.'
After a somewhat long pause, probably tired by my keeping silent, he asked, 'You are pretty quiet. Affected? Love is stupid, ain't it?'
I let out a long breath. 'Yeah, that's true. Love is stupid.' I paused. He smiled, a bit too complacently for my liking. It was almost like he was saying, 'Didn't I say so?' I did not like it. I completed my sentence, 'but I am not'.