I have been invited to blog on Vie Hebdomadaires this week. Just a few minutes ago, I published my first post for the week there. I’m cross-posting it here because I don’t want to write something new and use my brain more than necessary. I’m sure the lazy ones out there will understand.
Three things I grew up with, which weren’t a pain in the ass: WordPress, Biker Mice From Mars and Milky Way chocolate bars. I think that pretty much explains who I am.
Three cheers for Rohit for nominating me to write on this blog. I don’t usually take part if deviant blogging experiments, but this one caught my fancy. Also, I forgot the mail Varun and decline the opportunity. So, I told myself that I would find the time to blog once a day here on Vie Hebdomadaires.
The fourth thing I grew up with was James Bond. Each and every movie, each and every Ian Fleming book, at least thrice. It laid the foundation to explore slightly better literature – the likes of Forsyth and Ludlum. I grew up with a false sense of paranoia, imagining myself in a conspiracy, spies watching me from the shadows, the sense of being followed, the non-existent sixth sense of being tracked and monitored. I probably needed a high dose of electroshock therapy as a kid, but I was smart enough not to tell anyone about my fears. Or paranoid enough.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of talking about this to someone recently. For reasons of
secrecy privacy, let’s just call this person as The Goof. I met Goof for a coffee a few days ago in Bangalore, and in the process of making pleasant talk, I told him about my theory. I pointed out three people in the coffee shop, sitting at various tables around us, and indicated to him how well we were being followed and watched. The three spies had boxed us in so well that we couldn’t make a move without either of them seeing it.
Goof listened to me, fascinated, mouth open, and after what seemed like a really long time, said, “Dude, you need stronger coffee.”
I haven’t spoken to Goof since that day, and I don’t know if I ever will. It’s not because he is convinced that I don’t have a fully-functional brain. It’s because the phrase “Dude, you need stronger coffee” seems so much like a code for something. I can’t help but think its something sinister. I have to check the street for strange people and idling cars.
Play safe. Cheers!