Vox Imports


Disturbing Discovery # 72:
I'm a pawn in a game designed by the rickshaw-wallahs of Thane.

Crazy how I never realized it before. I could end on that cryptic note. But, Dear Reader, while you are not safe I am not safe and now we are really in the total animal soup of time. And now that I've quoted that I'll try and pretend it was not a schizo moment that made my fingers type it. So now I'll tell you about how the rick guys control our peace of mind, financial status, academic ability, sexual orientation and interpersonal relationships. And I'm not exaggerating, I swear. So sit up, Dear Reader, and be All Ears And A Pair Of Eyes And Two Fingers (essentially the only tools required to facilitate reading), and drink in the gems I leave scattered all over my precious blog.

So here's what made me open my eyes. At 9 p.m. today I stumbled off a train with the entire contents of my house (heavy when you weigh very little, no matter how poor you are) and Eddie my black acoustic guitar on my back and staggered out of the station. Please note, thats not how I generally walk. (On a normal day I'd have sauntered out of the station or something. Not. May have skulked out of it actually but thats not the point so screw that train of thought.) In any case, I staggered out of the station concentrating on not getting stuck in narrow spaces (which could have had something to do with all the weight I've gained except I haven't) and occassionaly checking to make sure my shoulders were still stuck beneath my head. So I made my way to the Underground Rickshaw Stand (not the regular rickshaw stand where you gotta stand in queues till your teeth fall out of your head) and tried to coax ricks to take me home cos they are empty anyway.

Fifteen minutes and thirty failed attempts later I had an epiphany.
I began to notice that I was walking way tireder than I had been; bent shoulders, dishevelled hair, shuffling gait, grimace on face- the whole package. All for the benefit of the rick guys, the poor-but-not-poor-enough-to-want-to-wait-for-a-bus type commuter's only hope of getting home. Also, my expression and phrasing of request changed based on the rick guy's demeanour, age, first impression, body type and possible temperament. For example, a young, I'm-cooler-than-I-look type rick guy would get a neutral face and a smart "Brindavan?" while an old paternal type guy would get a lost-child face and a plaintive "Uncle Brindavan?"Which is all right for a skinny old man but a fat old man would call for a "please" too. So basically I alter my behaviour in order to get a rick, and I'm conditioned to respond to the vibes I get from rick guys. Which means I'm the lab-rat in this experiment.*shudders*

Think I'll take a bus tomorrow.

Ps: You know, I'm really not in the mood for this post. Life is an old lady in pigtails and a frilly frock. Tries to look young but comes off looking mad. There's a host of old ladies hammering on the insides of my skull right now. And no pigtails in my mind.

..start and tremble under her feet and blossom in purple and red.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Don't let the mindrot bite.
Goodnight goodnight goodnight.


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