we were on the road, contemplating walking a little ahead and catching the taxi instead of the usual rickshaw-train route, when this half-man-half-crazed-american-colonel suddenly started walking beside us, appearing from nowhere and talking with these freakish sounds. he had mistaken us for somebody else. we were sure.

it was easier to be rude than convince him that he had got the wrong guys. i mean, we were not sure he would understand our ugly accent, our figures of speech. so we showed him the finger, jumped into the nearest rick. the rickshaw driver worried, stepped on the gas.

at the first (red) signal, the crazycolonelman is in the rick next to us. he continues with the moo talk and now he also has a little hand_gesture thingy going. had he mistaken us for somebody else? we were not so sure anymore.

"apocalypse now" we shout out, in chorus. yes! we've nailed it this time.

yourturn.

now that i think of it, i'm really not melodramatic. (rishi is melodramatic)
i'm melodramatic sometimes, in my head. but that doesn't count.

you're tender and you're tired?

been listening to manic street preachers continously for the past three days now. their lyrics are so terribly corny, melodramatic (like_me), goodguys-versus-badguys, save-the-world types. i would throw up, if i wasn't humming their tunes so perfectly.

glorious is not the right word

there's something glorious about switching the lights off, sitting (not sleeping) and listening to music really loud. jim morrison did that. the guy from flashdance also.

i think i'll be doing it for a week more, atleast.
till she gets back.