Heylao peeples.
That is so off-me. Hello people. Technically, it wouldn't be wrong if I wrote 'peoples'. That is so, because people of the world, as a collective group can be referred to as peoples. And so, peoples, as I am coming to it, I have become a part of 'peoples', which is to say, that if and when I am stranded on an island (that has a government :P), I am entitled, as a part of the peoples of the world, to get help from my country's embassy.
Like, they'll have to help me get medicines even in Antarctica if I happen to catch a cold. But wait! Antarctica does not have a government. And you don't catch a cold there. Losers.
Anyway, moving to greener pastures. To dark-bluer passports. That postman at the post office asked me if my mom had sent with me, some chai-pani in plain words, a bribe. I had two hundred and fifty bucks in my pocket.
I told him, no, she hadn't. And she really hadn't, suspicion-personifieds! It was just money that I was carting around. And he told me it's a passport. And that, therefore, chai-pani was, uh, mandatory.
Chai-pani, mandatory, the world's foot. And he's going to come home, he told me, to ask for chai-pani. My mom's not home, so I am going to do a plainly good job driving him away or to the Anti-Corruption Bureau.
And I never told you before that today's was my first visit to a post office. And for those cynics amongst you who think there always has to be a first, this is, I hope, also my last visit to that dingy place. Looked like an over-sized laundry.
And there is something more dismal about my passport. I opened my passport booklet. It has my photo and information about me. I thought they might have 'more info' about me on the inside pages.
Apparently, those were *sniff sniff* blank.
What a waste.
That is so off-me. Hello people. Technically, it wouldn't be wrong if I wrote 'peoples'. That is so, because people of the world, as a collective group can be referred to as peoples. And so, peoples, as I am coming to it, I have become a part of 'peoples', which is to say, that if and when I am stranded on an island (that has a government :P), I am entitled, as a part of the peoples of the world, to get help from my country's embassy.
Like, they'll have to help me get medicines even in Antarctica if I happen to catch a cold. But wait! Antarctica does not have a government. And you don't catch a cold there. Losers.
Anyway, moving to greener pastures. To dark-bluer passports. That postman at the post office asked me if my mom had sent with me, some chai-pani
I told him, no, she hadn't. And she really hadn't, suspicion-personifieds! It was just money that I was carting around. And he told me it's a passport. And that, therefore, chai-pani was, uh, mandatory.
Chai-pani, mandatory, the world's foot. And he's going to come home, he told me, to ask for chai-pani. My mom's not home, so I am going to do a plainly good job driving him away or to the Anti-Corruption Bureau.
And I never told you before that today's was my first visit to a post office. And for those cynics amongst you who think there always has to be a first, this is, I hope, also my last visit to that dingy place. Looked like an over-sized laundry.
And there is something more dismal about my passport. I opened my passport booklet. It has my photo and information about me. I thought they might have 'more info' about me on the inside pages.
Apparently, those were *sniff sniff* blank.
What a waste.
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