I slithered my head out
of my derrière and crawled back from the abysmal depths of the pit of torpor
(felt like Sir Hillary, 8848 meters above sea level!) and decided to pick up
the mighty pen of mine(read keyboard!) and bang out the (much waited? I know!) second
post of my blog. Naw reader, you still do not get to give me that stink eye or
call me a “big girl’s blouse” because it is I who is putting his fit as a
fiddle, temple of a body at peril (I read somewhere that too much
typing spearheads Carpel-tunnel syndrome!) to bring forth that wry simper on that
countenance of yours. So hold on to your joysticks (literally!) as I regale you
with the tales of my resurgence.
So there I was (today morning), with
not a care in the world oiling my own thingamabob; I had as usual risen considerably
late and was administering a particularly strong brew of Earl Grey (with some
cheese crackers), going through my favourite newspapers online (a little
pleasure I reserve only for myself!) when a notification caught my eye. I had received
mail from an old sympathizer (guardian angel/fairy godmother) of mine, the
Nigerian prince!
Now that I have cited him (he had
never actually adduced his moniker!), I must debrief you of the fact that I had
received the first mail from this illustrious person a few months back when I
had squandered my whole month’s money-pool in a drinking binge (I had refined
an 'au courant' taste for single malts then and you know they come unreasonably
priced!) and I had to skim through my dilapidated aluminium ashtray diurnally in
search of ‘re-smokable’ cigarette butts. I was in a squalid place when his mail
nose-dived onto me like a bombshell!
This Nigerian prince (a chinless
wonder, I might say!) had grown overtaxed of his dough (in trillions) and clamoured
for a life of peace and solitude. He wrote that he had studied about the Emperor
Asoka (ooh! well researched!) who had given up on his ways after the Kalinga
massacre (Indian sentiments, much!) and the former wanted to follow the
footprints of the latter, maybe travel around the world and blazon the word of
the Lord.
He delineated how he had already
ordained a background check (genealogy?/semblance?) on me and how I came out to be impeccably clean. He
was jubilant that he was bestowing his money in good hands and presumed that I
would make good use of it. He also explained that this blood money (yes! he actually
used the term!) was weighing heavily on his conscience and also expressed many
other things which are beyond the scope of this post. All he wanted was to know
my bank account number to wire me the money!
There I was, almost on the verge
of giving forth my battle cry (‘To hell with the laws of the land, I’m gonna
take what is not rightfully mine’ or something similar), musing about turning
my back on the society (I thought I’ll sell marijuana to school children,
become rich and maybe buy myself the most exorbitant drink in all Earth, a
decanter full of the tears of children) but this mail landed a
tympanum-shattering wallop across my face, and straightened (rather fixed!) me
up. It lugged me out (by the collar!) onto an exquisite veldt where precariously
clad ‘hearty’ nymphs (I can swear Salma Hayek was one of them) caracoled and
crooned alluringly, when the clouds parted and the golden (godly!) beams of
sunlight shone through!
Imagine my confuzzlement!
(courtesy Max Horowitz of Mary and Max!) In these times of utter social putridness
(you know about the onslaught of the pink-slips and low remunerations followed
by depravations in the shape of meaningless shallow sex and debauchery!) when
people are goaded to a life of delinquency (it is a dog eat dog world!), this
Nigerian prince wanted to give away all his life’s savings to a man he never
even got to know personally. August people still dwell the Earth after all,
toiling relentlessly to make it a finer abode! I was touched by this gesture
and a solitary tear trickled down my left cheek. Of course I couldn't take an
advantage of this man’s altruism (I am a man of honour!) and steered clear of
the offer but this incident changed my life. I had a revelation (almost
enlightenment!) of epic proportions!
A week later I received another
mail from the American Government (at least the mail alleged so!) claiming that
they had come to accumulate and advance to me the unclaimed government lottery
money (in millions!) and they just wanted my account number; they would take
care of the rest (so the land of the free, the home of the brave had successfully
recovered from their decade long recession after all!). I immediately comprehended that this was the doing of that same Nigerian prince, the capping prosopopeia
of the milk of human philanthropy. Of course he had pulled some strings (you
know, rich people can be pretty persuasive!) to donate incognito. The noble thoughts
of noble men! I never had the predicament or possessed the chutzpah to question
or analyse them but I balked out affably, for the second time.
And today here he was again, my
white knight (no racial slurs intended!) in shining armour, offering me a hand
to drag me away from my economic disquietude. Now readers, that’s a classic
case of resolution, a rarity nowadays! This made my day and prodded me into regaining my faith in humanity and write again.