13. A teenager finally. Come, see the world with us, his friends implored. Silk, Spices and Skirts. He stayed back and designed furniture instead. And then he was ready to save the world.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Eighteen boring years in print?Ã¢â‚¬Â some would later ask. But the Boss just smiled and pointed to the name board. Gutenberg, Editor.
Kneel down in the hallway, his angry teacher had screamed. Pure evil, he concluded. Kneel down and pray, his father had urged. Tad fanatical, he thought. Kneel down and reach behind your back, his instructor had said. Yoga blows, he decided. On his knee now, looking up at her beaming face, he thought, damn condom!
The postman cringed as his drunken breath wafted through the half-open door. Ã¢â‚¬Å“Took us 6 months to find you.Ã¢â‚¬Â He scratched his beard and grunted thanks. Ripping it open, a familiar handwriting said, Ã¢â‚¬Å“The wedding is on the 8th. Come get me PLEASE.Ã¢â‚¬Â Hands shaking, he now noticed the street name smudged by a teardrop.
I had promised myself to do justice to Prash’s tag. Drawing inspiration from today’s short-shorts frenzy over at Sepia Mutiny, I came up with these 55 words. A more honest attempt, as you can see.