Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Walking In With A Bang

It's hard being a thinker. Even when you're taking a break from hungering for an end to world hunger, fighting for world peace, straitjacketing narrow-mindedness or ripping out stupid people's voice boxes, you're still thinking deep, profound thoughts. For example, recently I've been obsessed with finding a philosophically satisfactory explanation for one vexing question:

What's that bag doing there?!

People who've seen me around know that I don't even step into a loo without a shoulder bag. Those who haven't, I'm sure you can exercise those rusty centres of your brain that handle imagination processing a little. Why, why, why, though? I used to think it had to do with that pleasant, maternal feeling you get from small objects clinging tenderly to your back. I agree that that explanation is reasonably good - it even fashionably tips its hat towards evolutionary psychology - but then I discovered better.

Wherever I go, I walk in with a bag. No, that's not quite right. One of my pseudonyms is 'N'. I'm not Abhinav, or even Lone because that's too verbose. (Four letters, oh my poor tongue!) I'm simply N. When N walks in with a bag, he doesn't walk in with a bag, he walks in with a bang. Get it? There you go, a perfectly good explanation for why I do what I do. (You can kill me now.)


  1. Naaaaice! See what happens when you write short and sweet posts like this. You get one of your teenage dreams fulfilled.

    You get a comment.

  2. Dear Anonymousy,

    Thank you, but like that time when you were trying to hit on a girl using a discussion about evolution as a front, when you couldn't send a mail shorter than 3000 words, some things just need fleshing out.

    (You should start a blog.)