I have a kid inside me, everyone has. The one inside me is one-legged. He lost his leg when I was 17, and he was 8. Day before yesterday, after I saw my Verbal score being massacred, totally uncorrelated to my overall score, thereby yielding to an entire new era of guilt and hopelessness, I thought of waking up the Kid. I nudged his head with my elbow, to which he did not respond. So I turned on ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’ on maximum volume. He got up with a scream, with his left hand twisted around his elbow, his palm of the same hand curled up to the inside, as if holding the Guitar hook, making it look as if he was holding a Guitar, the way Slash did while playing with Duff McKagan and Matt Sorum for a Randy Castillo tribute concert, in 2002. We both went to the Biere Club, grabbed a few Pints, and discussed where do babies come from? He said, “Don't bother asking adults. They lie like whores. However, diligent independent research and hours of playground consultation have yielded fruitful, if tentative, results. There are several theories. Near as we can figure out, it has something to do with acting ridiculous in the dark. We believe it is similar to dogs when they act peculiar and ride each other. This is called "making love". Apparently it makes grown-ups insipid and insane. Some graffiti was once observed on a Chick’s t-Shirt, that said "sex is good." All available evidence, however, points to the contrary. So in spite of the pleasures involved in it, and the zero moral dilemma, and the Nietzsche like curiosity surrounding the word, I’d rather recommend you to waste your energy on Beer, and Head banging.” We sat in 335E and came back home. Today I am 23; He still, is 8.
I have a kid inside me, everyone has. The one inside me is one-legged. He lost his leg when I was 17, and he was 8. I took the kid to St. Patrick’s Church, near Brigade Road, on last Christmas Eve. We sang Carols, and hugged random girls. Girls who looked good. And were drunk. And were not with their boyfriends. While returning, with a smile on our faces, hope in mind, Coffee in hand, a pack of Dunhill in pockets, and a thought that we can know everything about happiness, and the world, we saw a board outside the Church that read ‘CHRIST IS THE ANSWER’. Confused, I asked the Kid,” But what is the question”, to which he replied, “When I purchase a food item at the Nilgiris, or MORE, or some other Supermarket, I can be confident that the label will state how much riboflavin is in it. The Indian government requires this, and for a good reason, which is: I have no idea. I don't even know what riboflavin is. Though, I do know I eat a lot of it. For example, I often start the day with a hearty Kellogg's strawberry Flakes, which has, according to the label, a riboflavin rating of 10 percent. I assume this means that 10 percent of the Flakes is riboflavin. Maybe it's the red stuff in the middle. Anyway, I'm hoping riboflavin is a good thing; if it turns out that it's a bad thing, like ‘Riboflavin’ is the Latin word for ‘Cockroach pus’, then I am definitely in trouble. So the question actually is, who can tell me what Riboflavin is, and thence my friend, CHRIST IS THE ANSWER”. We sat in the car, came back home, had a little Red wine, which we had got a day before from 4 Seasons, and sang noels’ from The Sheffield Carols. Today I am 23; He still, is 8.
I have a kid inside me, everyone has. The one inside me is one-legged. He lost his leg when I was 17, and he was 8. Today I am feeling sad, and lonely, and hopeless. It was still only nine o'clock when the kid set off on the last leg of his journey, feeling old and dirty and incapable. You probably know the feeling if you are over eight. The kid never made eye contact. A cat does, but cat’s eyes don’t even look entirely warm-blooded to me, whereas the kid’s eyes looked human except less guarded. He used to look at me as if to say, “What do you want me to do for you? I’ll do anything for you.” Whether the kid would have in fact, done anything for me, is another matter. The kid was at least, always willing. The kid taught me a lot about life, and love. He said “Women love men because chocolate can't mow the lawn. Men love women because they are the loveliest things on God's earth. Some women prefer to love other women. Equally, and without any biasing in place, some men prefer to love other men. There is a word to describe this kind of behavior, Love.” Today I am 23; He is dead.
