Absolutes scared him. Finality of any sort was anathema. You could call it a commitment issue. Binding himself to half-truths was his way of life. Every morning he’d touch his tools of trade with a touch of reverence before he started. Keeping his coffee just out of arms reach, he cracked his knuckles, adjusted his glasses and pulled his chair a little further. Thus began another day at work. Sitting in front of a computer, he fired up the neurons in his brain and transported himself to a world of make-believe, a potent concoction of adventure, romance, scandal and intrigue. A world where he was God. He didn’t go there alone. Wrapped in his sub-conscious were chunks of information, names of people, and a deadline to meet. Those pieces entwined with his fertile imagination and then there was light. As if possessed, his fingers obeyed and the monitor complied as God’s words appeared: ‘Aishwarya marries a peepal tree’
P.S> I have been reading Amitabh Bachchan’s blog daily (he is far more prolific than most blogger’s I know). You may or may not agree with his ideas and clarifications, but I admire his effort. This short post was inspired by his civilized rebuttals.
P.S> I have been reading Amitabh Bachchan’s blog daily (he is far more prolific than most blogger’s I know). You may or may not agree with his ideas and clarifications, but I admire his effort. This short post was inspired by his civilized rebuttals.
P.P.S> The title is a play on Red Dawn and Yellow Journalism