I understand how scissors can beat paper, and I get how rock can beat scissors, but there’s no fucking way paper can beat rock. Is paper supposed to magically wrap around rock and leave it immobile? Why the hell can’t paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors, why can’t paper do this with people? Why aren’t sheets of college ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they take notes in class? I’ll tell you why, because paper can’t beat anybody. When I play rock paper scissors, I always choose rock. Then when somebody claims to have beaten me with their paper I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, oh shit, I’m sorry, I thought paper would protect you, you asshole! - Anonymous.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Nothing is permanent.

How Terrible it is to Love Something That Death can Touch.


It is 1996. I'm 5 years old. I'm wearing a pink polka-dotted frock and my two pig-tails look cute. I'm at my Grandfather's place, from the maternal side. I call him Nanusa. He is thin. He has a smile on his face. Because of me. We're in the garden watching the birds flying all around. I tell him I want a bird too. He gets a bird-cage, puts some food-grains in it and leaves it hanging on a tree branch with the small cage door open. A bird flies in. He rushes towards the bird-cage and quickly locks the little door. "See those big black spots on the bird? It's a Papa Sparrow", he tells me. Papa Sparrow starts thrashing his wings on the bars of the cage. A feather falls. He now also has a small cut on his weak body. I look at Nanusa. We let the Papa Sparrow out and it flies away to other sparrows. Probably, Mamma and Kid Sparrow.


2010: It has been two years now. Two almost years since this wonderful man left us. A simple man. His smile still etched in my memories. The last time I had met him, I wish I'd have a chance to hug him. Hug him tight and tell him I really loved him, wanted to spend more time with him, sit in the garden to watch some more birds fly around, go to the junk-food corner and eat those pani-puri ... I wish I hadn't grown up because after "growing-up" it was all about the time-we-never-have.

The loss is now seeping in me. After two years. I miss him and the thought of not being able to meet him again is unbearable. Loss of feeling. Loss of expression. A plain loss.

You left too soon.
... rest in peace Nanusa.

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