Monaco was no ordinary country. I haven’t seen a country so hoity-toity in my life. This country oozes with opulence and good-looks. The women here look like they were dropped directly from some place above heaven. And the men look exactly like the kind of men these women would date. The men here wouldn’t drive anything less than a Lamborghini or Bugatti. And the women wouldn’t wear anything-oh no, not what you are imagining, but-less than 6inch stilettoes. When I discovered, how much these cars could set me back, I felt Porsche and Mercedes were dirt-cheap.
Every time I returned safely from a trip, my family’s belief in God becomes firmer.
I wanted to impress Mother with my riding skills and change her opinion of me from being a useless daughter to a very talented daughter once and for all. Mother doesn’t think much of horse riding. She would be happier if I learnt bull riding or buffalo riding instead. At least that way my skills could be put to use in soil tilling during the unavailability of a tractor or something.
While standing in the queue to board the Panjim bus, a hot and snazzy guy boarding the bus caught my attention. I slurped and sighed and boarded the bus myself, a few minutes later. I found my seat with some difficulty as my bags weighed me down and made me look like the ugly version of Atlas carrying the globe on his back. Along with my seat I found the hot snazzy guy sitting next to my seat. Perhaps, I slurped a little too loud and God was feeling generous.
My sister applied Kohl to my eyes while I blinked several times and tried to scratch the inaccessible parts of my body. This was my sister’s attempt to make my tired and ugly-so called-face look slightly presentable for my brother’s wedding. With only a few smudges around my dark circles and eyelids my sister accomplished the task. Then she took a good look at me and was convinced Kohl pencil was not a magic wand. Not only was it a waste of natural resources but also the world looked slightly heavy and gloomy through my newly kholed eyes.
“ I have nothing new to teach the world. Truth and non-violence are as old as the hills”
– Mahatma Gandhi
“It is easier to follow the path to Mount Everest than to follow the path of truth”
– Mamta Naidu
I scratched my head, cleared the dirt under my nail and began writing the letter with great determination. After 10 minutes of looking thoughtfully into the air and back into the paper, I gave him my letter with a satisfactory smile. He took my letter, rolled his eyes through it, rumpled it and aimed it directly into the Paan stained dirty looking dustbin. My face fell at once and I almost cried…