Me and my nose are not on talking terms any more. It has gotten senile and saline. Flowing when it shouldn’t, torpedoing phlegm out at the ungodliest times, and generally giving me a lot of reasons to smile at the phrase ‘naak kata di’. I want to disown my nose. Show me the dotted line (hmm.. on the paper. Printed.) of divorce and I would sign without a moment’s thought.
After reading Midnight’s children I fancied myself with the notion that I too have somewhat super strong sense of smell... Salim Sinai could smell a lot more things than smells... why shouldn’t I be able to do the same. So I tried. But when put to the test, instead of interesting information all I could force out were uninteresting boogers.
Besides, I am going broke with the kharcha of tissue papers and efforts of washing my handkerchiefs. I am guilty of using dinner tissue papers for booger emancipation as well. But there’s no helping. The dustbin in my room is overflowing with the singular sea of tissue papers. Its as if wave upon wave of crumpled, tossed, emballed tissue papers race towards the bin, some fortunate ones rising up to grace the bin actually, most others littered around the majestic wavecutter bin. Some seeking refuge in the neighbouring floating floaters, shoes and a sandal.
I wished to be a bohemian, now I am a boogerian.
I wished to shed my otiose being, instead am shedding phlegm.