Fuck, fuck, fuck. All I can think about is why didn’t I buy the Husain sketch?
It was going for a lakh five years back. Not a particularly pretty sketch. Just a small charcoal squiggly thing which I think one of his grandkids did at school and he signed for a lark.
I should have broken the bank and bought it.
But as usual, my middle class desire to watch my Post Office account grow at the speed of a snail shitting, dashed all my dreams.
Things could have been so different now. I could have been racing up and down the streets yelling, “he’s dead, he’s dead.” I could have been rolling in money, stuffing it into my mattress, stitching it into my shower curtains.
Then there’s the wonderful Baba Ramdev. What the fuck dude. This is embarrassing for those who do yoga and believe in it. The man wilted faster than the cabbage in the McDonalds burger.
Just about seven days and he’s in ICU. Hello, what happened to the million kapalbhathis? And years of tapasya? Gone in a wink i guess.
And finally, I prefer my news from a channel that is crisp and to the point. Which is why I would recommend catching India TV’s latest offering: Osama Sex Machine Tha.