Peggy the philosopher
Dussi sleeps. He is exhausted, not only physically. I anticipated this – I know what an exhaustion success brings. These guys run behind obsessions like a child, takes all kinds of attempts to grab their objects of obsession; and after obtaining those, they sink in an unfathomable exhaustion. Thank God or Satan whoever available – I’m not born man! I had chance to earn some common sense at least. People may argue that a sensible woman don’t explode like I do. To be honest, I find exploding best option to keep myself calm – shout and scream using all possible nasty words I learnt from different places starting from the streets to beer pubs, against whatever angers me and then revive to normal peaceful self to start working again. It’s wisdom that told me not to run behind Joy. I already knew the patchy side of it. What I was not ready for was that wedding card – they didn’t need to send it to me. Anyway a petty content writer busy earning own living would never be interested to attend a high profile wedding taking leave from office, purchasing last minute air ticket for high price and all. Not that Joy didn’t know that – he just needed to hit me with a piece of information. And that infuriated me – fine. It could take another couple of days to calm down – he is not only person in the world who finds pleasure in mocking at me. Working girls are clowns for every Dick – Toms and Harries too!
But this guy crosses the limit of idiocy – he wants to win every pinch of success at his disposal. He doesn’t have the vigour to fight Indra the King of paradise and win the ownership of paradise. He won’t try that. He wants to win all women on the earth with the same irresponsible notion Indra has about his territory. He had thrown countless women out of his life after convincing them – this girl is not going to be an exception. That’s what I find even more obnoxious than polygamy these days. This bonehead doesn’t even bother to satisfy girls he picks up! He had to visit a hermitage couple of times more than he expected to win couple of hours of pleasure with that teen-age forest-girl. Her teachers might have taught her the worth of promise and oath and she blindly believes it without an idea that words do not worth anything to men of reputation. This guy is going to run away tomorrow for sure. Stupid are satisfied with a minute’s pleasure without bothering what they are going to lose in the long run. And I know I won’t be able to save him despite sitting inside him.
The handsome prince attracted me – I found him awesome, I really felt a desire to kiss him French. Now I find his stupidity even more attractive. I could leave him as long I imagined him to be an intelligent ruler. Now I cannot- how come a woman leave a freak who follows own prejudices?
I saw the girl from an extremely close distance in the morning. She is unbelievably beautiful, not like the fiery Marilyn Monroe but close to Umashashi, a silent era Bengali movie star, whose photograph I have seen in my grandmother’s old film mag. I couldn’t imagine such large innocent eyes could express such a sheer determination. She was listening to this blabbering Dussi like the marble statue of Michelangelo`s Pieta, as if mourning the lost awareness of an adult child in her lap – any sensible person could see that. Only if this nonsense didn’t lose his vision in the forest of own phantasm! She tried to deny his advancement in farm words, accepted after realising her further denial would lead to rape. This guy had lost his ears as well. She knows the pain of growing as an orphan – doesn’t want to push own child to the same fate she faced – asked this buffoon a place for the unborn child which she predicts to be a son – but how? Hmm – I find it little tricky – but forest girls may have knowledge about making baby better than me. The power-monger chap had lost insight too. The girl showed him her exquisite beauty, but how much he had seen? I think I have seen her more than he did. Like a fairy on earth she moves – light and delicate. Don’t know about the guy, but my senses felt heightened with the subtle scent of her skin. I heard her heart pounding; seen her long sensitive fingers, her pink toes; felt her heavy breath on my face – oops Dussi’s. Sigh – she loves Dussi, not me.
Imagine what could happen to this age old love story if the girl knew I became part of Dussi in the meantime! Now I feel like laughing.
To be cont.