Saturday, February 12, 2005
Climb every mountain? Perhaps not.
I feel like an old man of the mountain sitting where I am, high, high, high up in Prabhadevi - or rather, I would feel like an old man of the mountain, if I were (a) old, (b) on a mountain. Despite my balding pate (courtesy, bad genes) I am still young. Young. YOUNG! Hear that, snarly little cretins? Y-O-U-N-G!!! The Siddhivinayak temple is a teeny building from up here, the city yawns far on each side of me, all glittery with faery-lights, and the drums from the temple go thum-thum-thum beating in my brain, something like the soundtrack of an old Arnie movie.
I would plan a reprisal of some tired and weary traveller hopping on the lift (steel doors on one side, brilliant sea-view on the other) up to my abode, to ask me the mysteries of the universe. Hem and haw. Because that's what old men of the pseudo-mountains do. And think. Perhaps scratch at my pate and curse genetics for the umpteenth time. And then say with a bass rumble - "My son -----"
Is the rest really important? What about all thos soppy books which talk about the climb being more important than the summit. Yes, say it with me - HOGWASH! Strange, I would think, that for someone as keenly competitive as I, I'm not richer, famous-er (indulge me!), glitzier.
Mirror Mirror #8: In my opinion, MARS is the coolest chocolate ever!
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