The relief that floods into the mind after getting rid of a bad, torn note is so delicious. And it always happens to you. A torn note, one covered in colour. And you can never spot them until you are pulling out the money from the pocket and there it is BOOM a currency which no one wants to transfer.
So then you try to pass the buck along (sorry man. c’mon it was asking for it). Slip it in between two crisp notes, try to cover the tear with your finger. Fold it so that they can’t see “Manju 93434321” written on the side.
But they always catch you. Maybe it is the nervous way you act. Or the overtly casual way the transfer is attempted.
And then you find the bakra equivalent of you and the relief flows through the boddaay. It feels good, yes it feels good.
I have never been to a country where people write down stuff on their currency. Or even cover it and tape it and use it till it is nearly ready to peel into little pieces.
I like the word “peel”, primarily for the fact that it does not get the attention it deserves. How often do you use the word “peel” anyway. Outside of reference to fruits and stuff you put on your face, the word just does not get used that much. Which is kinda sad and it is in this sadness that the word’s beauty lies.
I may have mentioned the fact that my neighbours have a dog. I think I will take it for a walk some day. Wonder if the neighbours will mind.
Sometimes, I can smell wet dog as I pass by their door. It is not a good smell.
I like the smell of horse poo though.
Jumping in puddles is so much awesome fun that only a child can fully handle it. Spot one in that side of the road, swerve your path so the puddle is on the way. Check out if you can damage someone’s clothes and then JUMP.
My bai has done the disappearing act. Bitch.
When I think of her I feel a little warm inside. And my legs feel light. And I feel like smiling.
I think it is love but it could also be the lousy kathi roll I picked up the other day.