Injury time.

I am sitting on a mat, back slanting on a wall, laptop placed intentionally as far form groin as possible. My last post has something bout breaking rumer bone. I think rumer is that, big bone which we have in legs.

“wiggle you little toe, wiggle”. These were some words which “The bride: KILL BILL” spoke to lull her unresponsive feet from coma into motion. I was forced into an accident yesterday. Forced is right for I did all I could to not get involved. A moronic car driver felt violated by a guy on overload 80 cc tvs. Enraged and to give that guy an earful, he presses the hydraulic break without a thought to people behind him. Just like that it comes to a stop. I manage to halt the bike a millimiter from the car. The guy behind felt that he could curve past and only brushes against my left leg.

Now here it is, my leg lying on a mat, no great injury or fracture, just the calf is swollen to twice the original and the little fingers decide not to move. The AC felt colder and my trysts to my favorite paanwaala are taking little longer.

Pain and pain, it is the constant thing in life. It is hidden most of time but once in a while to some and constantly for others it keeps reminding things, which we would love to forget. I have a left leg and five toes on it, the nail on the smallest toe has turned black, not because of injury hygiene I guesss. Whats the state of your small toe?

Blood has colligated at a point. An area smaller than a key of keyboard, can say about 60%. 15 inches below the knee and 8 inches from the palm of feet centered exactly when the leg is left at its natural tilt. A violent red big bindi .There is no other visible abrasions on skin. This should mean that the origin, the staring axes of pain is there, that bindi very much defined. But I am not pretty sure, the pain seems radiating it from everywhere and sometimes incredibly from outside the leg. But still it is ok, enjoyable sort of pain, otherwise I wont be blogging.

“wiggle my little toe!”, ok, I wont bother you anymore today. The left foot it is. It is warmer than the uninjured right one. I felt it when I cross them. Now both the legs are now completely out of view, hidden like pain behind the screen. Still the pain is very much there. Since I no longer can see, when I concentrate, it seems to stem from somewhere, I don’t know from where, but surely not form my leg but some where form behind the screen,

I find myself in a postion now, which is a challenge to put in words. The neck has taken a rare break, the head, it is held pressed between the knees. Quite a challenging postion and should I ever again find myself in it, I would jot the peculiarities of it. But then I sure don’t want to sit like that anytime again.

Actually I am liking this injury, for it is innocuous and definitely not life threatening and nor is it affecting my work. Added, it gave an excuse to postpone regular jogging by a week plus something to blog.

Now finally let me thank those guys from HCL ulsoor road who helped me back on feet. Thank you guys.

P.S: I wanted there to be chapter 3: Opal. But feelings like this warm iodex rubbed on skin are to be cherished and chronicled.

Chapter 2: Opal

This blog is second in the Opal series. My position vis-a-vis Opal is yet unclear. I wish to explore it via this series. For unlike dubya I believe the world has many shades of gray. Let me milk till the last drop.

Other than Zahir, Opal blah blah happens to be the only other novel which got better of my mindless determination, irrespecting and uncaring of any issues to see every books end. Zahir heavy boring stuff. Whereas Opal Mehta is in klingion I say and squeaky. I couldn`t comprehend her nor hold myself against those soggy sobbing words.

Before mehta thing happened, I was positive. The smooth sexy me was sure of handling any women. I was so confident that I decided that I would give patient listening to only chicks with long hair and nice boobs (and with patient ear I fantasized that I would fiddle my hand to her bossom,err to her heart). Over confidence sprouting from reading Men are from mars at an young age. I never been in a relationship and if women really turn out to from furs, aka venus l. I am in real need of a horrible reality check.

But sure did Opal Mehta put a hard stinging slap across my face. I was shown the truth. My literary diet, which entirely consisted of pips of Great Expectations and Human Bondagae. Or that Raskolnikov elk and sweet little harry once in a while, was unprepared for anything Mehta served. Really I wonder, women why are you so uncomfortable with your unhappiness. Now let me rant the reasons why I gave up opal around page 40.

1. Opal is sad and hopeless and so were all the above three mentioned characters, I read to enjoy pain no other way around.
2. If somebody asks, who are your best two friends? Ya moron I would be dumbstruck, so would you. Ofcourse I have really good beer guzzling asses for buddies, but I would give them up rather the 20 bucks I lost in a pool game. Infact if any one asks such private questions, that person is surely gay and is fantasying you in bed, avoid him. Break your rumer bone rather than going to any coorg trip with him.
3. You commented on your best friends boobs, what should I comment on, penis. We are proud sons and husbands of bharathi. “hum indira key patti betay hi”. I don’t go to western style lockers and any talk bout your mr.junior talk is strictly illegal.

Opal again

I happened to glance at “How Opel mehata blah blah” laying on payment across bata showroom in jayanagar. I bought it. The palagarization charges upping its appeal a few notches extra and on cover , those high heals and long trecess maketh it an unavoidable buy. Seriously to say, those Xeroxing charges maketh none difference for we lot in Bangalore. For I being none the wiser of any other chick flick, each and every passage of it would sound as fresh as fresh as fresh can be.

“300 odd pages, the book could be mopped clean by midnight”. Hubris, it was. It is simple matter to read LOTR, stretching your involuntary reflexes till death. For few quick bites and you are revived. Sympathizing page after page with opal, be warned tortures your mental faculties, upsets your stomach, and makes you uncomfortably think bout yourself rather than rooneys less England. 40 pages down I had a promotion of calamity I calmly shoved that book among my roommtees clothes and allowed myslelf a weird smile, For in that corner great many things have been lost for oblivion.

After a cold shower, I was back to normal. Master planning propogation of genes and interrupted by fleeting thoughts of the greatness of oncoming posterity. In circa 2121 it struck, what if by chance my grandson is the only one holding the only paper back of something so nauseating left in this world. Sure some Bill's great grand daughter heir would want it desperately in orginal print. She would willingly pays a quarter of her fortune. Now i had second thoughts and i rummaged my way through roomies stock. But shit! how could I forget that everthing into sohails mess is one way. To be true, the copy which I had was a pirated one and heir of gates would more probably pack the kid to goals.

But still the book could attract cease and destroy ruling, and only one world wide which could escape that incretion is the one that is hidden in that trove of clothing. But first thing first I am busy recuperting after that wreathing and strenuous read, it is only kayya that can soothe me to sleep guys.

“For it is the only the one who hurts you the most can comfort you the most”[source: Madonna’s that graphic book with naoimi cambell in it.]