Where we discover that this blog is dying

It is. And there is very little I can do about it.

What do you mean? Don’t you write here?

Yes, but yaar feel is not coming. The feels yaar. There is no the feeeeeeels.

And just like that, it may be back. It seems.

Oh it seems, my dear dear it seems. So naughty you always are.

Also how the FUCK have I not heard the DJ wala babu song?? Whattey gorgeous song with so many meanings at multiple levels. A silent yearning for the melodies and memories of happier times. A shy, bashful some may say, request to the Almighty to “play” the “song”.

Her song. My song.

Mera song.


But that is not what this post is about.

Or is it?


Who knows. Sometimes I think that this blog is the toilet paper for my mind. Cleaning the anus that has little pieces of shit sticking it. Tiny, little, hanging by a thread (butt-hair?) pieces of shit.

Pieces of feces.

That rhymes. With limes. And porcupines.


Fuck. Porcupines are proof that there was a “foreign hand” in the creation of animals. Like somehow, when the Almighty was looking away or something, the “hand” crept in and did some naughty naughty gandugiri.

Gaandugiri – am surprised that has not caught on yet.

Next time.



Till we meet again. Forgive and forget. Especially porcupines. Forgive them for they know not what they have done.


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