Digging for Meaning

[This is a  ridiculous  story] Imagine.  There's this huge evil alien. He is as big as Africa - a single living entity as large as a continent. (!imagine! with a double exclamation marks )   He has a gazillion tentacles snapping around in circles. ( !!I!! fulfilling a long held desire to abuse exclamation marks, before the end of the world. don't mind .) He rises slowly over the saffron horizon. and he laughs menacingly while rising up. ( ridiculous, if you ask me. ) and he is shaking a Polaroid picture. (to the tune of Outkast's 'hey ya ', no less) Now, all that shaking of a Polaroid picture is creating tornadoes and storms and what not, not that he minds. That Polaroid is as large as Uttar Pradesh. a flat rectangle of a Uttar Pradesh.  and while we are running for our lives (screaming, wide eyed with palms pasted to our cheeks), I realize that that Polaroid picture is not really a picture. well, not what we regard to as a picture. its more like

Sundays are sacred days. Not in a religious sense. But in its ability to shift the gear of time, in its ability to lend lightness and calm energy to the air. Lunch happens late, dinner comes early. Tea and kahwaa materialise by their own whim on the sole strength of habit. Movies and novels can and do get consumed. But its the new lazy toys, Picassa and Photoshop, that witness the deceleration of time. Without aim, the tinkering starts. and ends. Today was no different. Saw yeh saali zindagi, a film that could have done without some of its twists and turns. Then collated footage of lightnings for a future project. Uploaded a few pics to my pinterest page and compulsively checked if someone had liked/ repinned any of my pics. Then gave up after a while. Slept. washed clothes. Then saw another episode of Monty Python. Read a short story by Haruki Murakami about a couple who get hungry in the night and rob a Mcdonald's store for 30 of their burgers. and then it struck me. 

Moustaches. They are an endangered species. Not many nations and men wear them anymore. Ok, so Stalin and Hitler wore one, but that doesn't mean all moustaches are evil. They aren't the voodoos of gods of mayhem. They do not have a mind of their own. They are quite harmless really. well, most of the time. (tip1 - mind your kisses and curries for a healthy relationship with your moustache) Don't listen to what your mom tells you. For them moustache is a sign of you growing out of their nests. That's perhaps unsettling for them, it should not be for you. Do not listen to your love interest as well. Unless she has some rare hair-phobia, hair should never really be important enough topics of interest between two people in love. (which in reverse, essentially means, you shouldn't really be bothering her about her decision to wax or not to wax  her feet.) Imagine a couple on the arrange-a-marriage date. q1. Do you smoke? q2. Do you drink? q3. Do you plan to keep