Where the backs grow even hairier, like a million cockroach antennae swinging in the wind

Hope that image stays with you.

Then, then what else.

I was listening to that old classic, pehla pehla pyaar hai and I was just wondering if perhaps I had missed the original context of that song completely. Because the next lines were “pehli pehli baar hai” and now, if I think about it, it was probably a reference to boinking.

Don’t say boink, kro. That is so juvenile. Be an adult. Refer to as making sax.

Making sax.

Pehli pehli baar.

I wonder if there is a chicken soup for the recently deflowered. Wonder what it would contain.

De-flowered it seems. When the fuck was that word used? Saala, when you must have been some chaddi-age it seems.

Chaddi-age.

I wonder who first felt the need to wear chaddis. Doubt it was a desi. Saala in all this humid climate, there is nothing better than letting it hang. I is serious. That feeling of sweat covered sac feeling the breeze is heavenly. Right through the lungi and all.

Aahhh. Breeze, my friend. Where have you been. Aaah.

.

Then, then. What was I think today morning. It was something about an old lady masterminding this real gruesome murder. Sitting on a sofa, knitting kit by the side, chalking out the plan. Choosing between strangulation, hacked with a chopper, or mysterious poison.

You think murderers think like that? Like in a logical, cold-blooded way? Draw a table with pros and cons, and then choose the one they initially wanted to anyway. Isn’t that how the pros and cons table works?

Say naa. Tell me naa.

So am more or less ready to go on a bike ride. Am just waiting for the rains to start. Its difficult to describe just what it is about riding in the rain that makes it so much fun. Sure, it is certainly more dangerous and god forbid you have a breakdown (try changing tires in the rain).

But. The wind and the water flowing past you. The drops hitting you and saying hi and hello and then slithering down. That sound when the wheels dip into a puddle and spray the water, parting ways for those seconds and then coming back together.

Stopping and standing under a chai shack and watching the steam rise from the engine, that hissing sound of water hitting the silencer or the exhaust. Reaching wherever you have to reach and getting into some dry clothes, perhaps a nice swig at the end of the day.

Fuklesh.

.

I know whatch you came here to see

If you a freak then you coming home with me.

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