November 24, 2009

Dear Vimrod,

I have held on to those god-forsaken balloons more times than I wanted to. Each time the ascent has been fabulous. Lots of romance (I'm-such-a-sucker-for-romance) and much pandering to my every whim. I must admit, the ride to the top was good enough for me to brave again (if I had to), perhaps many-times-over. The world looks so much better when you're flying (doesn't it?) the sky is brighter, the birds more cheerful, the wind cooler and the sun is warm and lovely. And the rainbow of dreams you talk about, isn't it gorgeous? Vibrant, colorful and so very alive it seems. Almost as if - once I reach the rainbow - there's nothing else left in the world for me to achieve.

But then (insert dramatic bollywood glass-shattering noise here) the damn goat walks into the picture. Or maybe he was always there and I didn't notice because the sky was so bright and the birds so cheerful (you get the picture). Point is he's there, and he's so very-very goat-y. And even through the horror of goat-discovery I have tried. I have tried to learn goat-speak many times (even though I suck at learning new languages, did I tell you almost flunked French in undergrad?). But each time I try - and somewhat manage - to learn the language it turns out this particular fucker speaks a different dialect. I have tried (rather unsuccessfully) to manage learning: more-space, less-space, no-space, too-much-space, don't-hover, you-don't-care, love-me-love-my-family, you're-not-religious-enough, I-want-a-good-mother-for-my-children and many other dialects. I haven't been much-successful thus far and I have come to the conclusion that maybe some of us are just destined for greater things than trying to make sense of goat-semantics. I have also realized that them-goats are somewhat dumb.

Given the above, I have decided to embrace a grand Muslim tradition and donate the goat towards the Eid cause. As predicted, as the bakra-with-language-issues is led away towards his ultimate destination, the grey cloud of confusion immediately clears. The pain and agony caused by trying to understand goat-gibberish lessens and ultimately diminishes into rose-colored silence. The rainbow is no longer cloudy, cold and miserable. The sun peeks out and shines on me all warm and happy. Sans goat I realize I could be very happy here: me, my rainbow and my heart shaped balloons.



Ps: It does get somewhat lonely up here. I wonder if you can find a goat-that-speaks-my-language (indeed all good goats should be fluent in Xeb methinks). It would be nice if you could find me for a good-looking specimen, with a sense of humor and a earring (a bit of an attitude would also not be a very bad thing).

Pps: If goat can dance I think I can arrange for some music on my rainbow.

Ppps: If goat has a nice ass (which would admittedly be a plus) please hide him from my friend Annie. ;)


Anonymous said...

I missed reading your blog. :'D


Gujjob! :)

OnLY OnE..! said...

Love it...absolutely love it.

Annie said...


I have tears in my eyes...hhahhahahaha