Thursday, March 13, 2014

You've Got Mail

I have realized something truly profound. Half the trials and tribulations I have undergone, are BECAUSE OF OTHER PEOPLE. I know, give the girl a prize, wontcha?

So I have come up with this idea that’s absolutely useless. I am writing letters to all those people who have made my letter to God hopelessly long. And all those people are never in their lives, going to receive it either. But some letters need to be mailed to their common P O Box in You-Have-Crapped-On-My-Life lane, tucked away in the Thou-Shalt-See-No-Sunshine hills. 

 Dear Paul T. Scheuring,
Thank you for killing off Michael Scofield in Prison Break. You have successfully ruined my fantasies of my living with him for the rest of eternity. And all because you were too lazy to write another season (which wasn’t even necessary, I had my honeymoon planned in Baja).

Dear Lady Who Tweezed My Eyebrows,
When I said to not reduce the thickness, I meant, DON’T PLUCK HALF MY EYEBROWS OFF. I have had a fun time managing a splitting headache and walking around with what looks like a promising Amazon forest above my eyes.

Dear Random Hot Guy In The Library,
I admit I checked you out when you walked into the library (Don’t look, but there is a Hot Guy at 10 o clock). Did you really have to sneeze all over me though? Here’s a tip, sweetheart. When you sneeze you cover your mouth with your hand, not release the germs residing in your respiratory system onto my uniform. Now, you’re not so hot anymore, sorry.

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Dear Goddess of Giveaways,
My Twitter feed is always inundated with tweets from people thanking different bloggers, or posting the unbelievably glossy covers of books they’ve won in giveaways. How hard is it to skew mathematical probability in my favour, huh?

Dear Whomsover Concerned At Horlicks,
I have pinched my eyes and nose shut, and downed an entire glassful of your product every night before going to bed when I was a kid aiming for a respectful height. Somehow, I don’t think I’m 3X taller as advertised. Shame on you. And no, the chocolate flavoured one is an insult to chocolate itself, please recall it immediately.

Dear Fellow Passengers In The Bus,
When you see a girl going home, with hair that looks like it’s a survivor during a hurricane, almost hidden under  the bag that’s filled with a week’s worth of laundry, pushing her way through the evening bus, the least you could do is move your shoulders, protruding bellies, and feet out of my way. And when you push past me when it’s your stop, even if you couldn’t have helped it, you could have said sorry or even smiled apologetically when you stomped on my poor feet. 
P.S:  Move your asses, ladies. You really don’t need that much space.

Dear Whomsover Concerned At The Kerala State Electricity Board,
In this country that has a birth rate exceeding the normal where engineers are concerned, how can a night’s rain cause a blackout? And do you keep your phones off the hook when that happens?

Dear Telecom Companies,
With the credit you deduct when I talk to my BFF for an hour, I can buy an old Nokia cellphone. It might help you to keep that in perspective when you decide call rates. And, just out of curiosity, you don’t invent the internet each time I renew my subscription, do you? You almost had me fooled with the gold rates.

Dear Life,
Why would you inspire me to keep writing more letters, and introducing more people who have the same address? And, not to sound petty, but would you mind moving your behind to a more convenient address than your current viz. Unfair Heights?

Yours truly,

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