Skip to main content

The sad story of a scathed middle finger

Huirting your middle finger is not a good thing to happenb. i am not happy abnout it.

(This is what i typed first when trying to use my *hurt* middle finger. I suppose the reader, too, now is hurt *intellectually so as to have read this piece of pure art* )

I was doing my regular business when this happened, you know, nothing. So, while i was busy doing nothing, i thought hitting the keyboard for fun. A few words jutted out of my computer screen but *ouch* ! I sensed something was wrong and noticed blood oozing out of right hand. My middle finger was hurt! Worse, I don't remember hurting it! Blood on my hand, I could see stars on my office ceiling. With the aid of a strip of cloth branded Band-Aid (God it makes my finger go numb!), i rest in my place at peace for the rest of the day, *trying* to manage my chores without using my middle finger. Just as people were thinking how i am going to do my work without my stupid little hurt finger, I was wondering what all i couldn't do, things that i didn't do otherwise, but what if i did them. Like, what if

- i was like one of those jerks who would thrust their middle fingers out to show their IQ (one-in case of lazy jerks who show only one finger) I wouldn't be able to do that; anyways the middle finger implies something bad i suppose, a band-aid-ed one could mean things! I laugh.

- I can't play a flageolet ( a french wind instrument). psst: i wanted to learn how to play it. sooner or later.

- i want to write an article on how to make a paper balloon. But I can't.

- I could've puked. how would i have managed myself without this stupid finger!

- if i were a tailor, i would've been out of job by now. (considering the fact that i am writing this at work hours, this is still possible)

- the point-wise form is driving me crazy and i want to slap someone. I can't because it' ll hurt my poor little finger.

Awww my little finger is so innocent, so naive, flawless and a victim of a disruptive act by a mule (and i am sure he was one)!

Comments

ayu said…
LOL!!!
I am not mocking ur agony...but loved the piece...
Psst...i just burned my middle finger two days ago..so iknow EXACTLY how it feels!!

ayushi (was in SYBMM when u were in TYBMM at Jai Hind)
July 23, 2009 at 3:24 AM
robin said…
awww... burnt finger is terrible! but ppl who cn manage to do tht are awesome ;) like us! take care on tht one:)
nice to see a jai-hindite btw :D dun remembr seeing u tho:( were yu thr for bmm entrance exams wrk thing?
July 31, 2009 at 5:03 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Block by Block

OVERCOMING THE SO-CALLED 'WRITER'S BLOCK ' Writing is a measure of emotional intelligence. Why would i say that? Maybe because the first-time writing experience din't last long enough. It was moving. It grew with time. & then faded away in the memory of glory. Where does it come from? True to the heart, even rubbish sentences & word salads sound great when they're penned down by deep-seeded need to explore the long lost aspects of the self. Its been 2 years I havnt written anything meaningful. Did something stop me? No. Dint anything motivate me? Countless things did. Then what went wrong? Its the process. Words flew around in circles & giant tornadoes. Sentences kept forming as words settled into their positions. An idea was born. However, it was soul less. Becoming who you are, finding the one thing you really like, and then the disturbing thoughts of having to let it go. Save the heart. Save the soul. Save the words.
Post a Comment
Read more

Glass house and the Nerdy Dreamer.

Stop thinking. Will you ever do that, given the fact that someone asked you to do it? You’d probably ‘think’, and then ask that person, ‘…and do what? And what do I get in return, if it’s an experiment? And why me? …’ If you belong here, I shall tell you my story. Before that, are you one of those people, who get loved by others, and then are left to their own, only to know that they should wait for someone better in life, because they deserve better? Each one of us, we, 6 billion people on this earth, has a story. One that talks about us. One that is unique in more than one way. 6 billion stories that is. But do we ever think about it. No, no one really cares. No one does. I have my own work, my problems, my people, my dreams, my nightmares… Everyone has a story. I have one too. One that’s worth telling. One that’s worth listening. I am a girl of no problems. I live in my own little world I prefer calling … ‘the world’. And by that you guessed it right, I hate to think, be it naming m...
Post a Comment
Read more

Shelf of unread books

'Where to mister?" she yelled at me from a distance, loud enough for everyone to notice.  "Hey, I'm not some kind of a thief, just looking around, grabbing a book to read. That's what they're meant for, right?" "Yea, if you pay for it!" "Of course, here." I paid for the stack of papers bound together in knots of tiny rounds, filled with words that were about to change my life. As I walked home, I was beaming with a sense of refreshment. I hadn't read a book in months, and calling myself an avid reader wasn't true anymore. It was a cold Saturday afternoon, and I was dreaming about a warm coffee in my balcony with my book. However, my footsteps had a different afternoon planned for me. "No, sir. Dalal Street is where I want to go. Could you help me?" I heard an unfamiliar accent from the corner of the street. "Seedha rasta hai" "What?" "It's straight from this turn, approximat...
Post a Comment
Read more