To periappa who lives forever in legends like this
Back in the days when I used to tie people up if they displeased me, there lived a patient man who'd probably (like most human beings) never tied anyone up in his life. One fine day, when I'd broken a cricket bat, chucked the ball in the bushes and stormed away; I suddenly realized he'd magically appeared beside me.
We walked around the garden in silence, and, when he sensed my thoughts had shut themselves up, he spoke. I don't know what we spoke about. My take-away from that conversation is probably what he didn't say. If a man who's fighting for his life everyday isn't angry at life, what the hell right do I have to be?
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