The Romantic Mr. Remarkable


— Dedicated to a friend

(Inspired from the lives of a few real people)

An amorphous rain stifled the city, wetting us with pixie dust of an otherworldly romance. A few cars slid past in the wake of an earlier torrent. The streets were mottled with the vestiges of withdrawing umbrellas and blurred neon lights. The dying notes of Für Elise closed behind us. She smiled one last time, started to say again that it was nobody’s fault, but stopped when the departing bus caught up. Then a flash of light signaled another impending downpour and I was left alone on the kerb for a long time.

I remember sitting at Mr. Remarkable’s oblong dinner table as a child, my legs swinging like twin pendulums under the wooden tabletop. Not long after, Maa had whispered to me that I needed to stop that annoying habit, and everybody had whispered to one another that it was not okay for Mr. Remarkable to marry someone at his age.

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Dogs On The Train


This is the wrong side of the tracks
Where as children, we would walk on the rails
Balancing
Both ourselves and the affairs of our world
With careless abandon,
With joy of anonymity,
And with little knowledge of things —
The pointed edges of our flying wings
Flapping like those of merry birds.

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The Pigeonhole Principle


(The pigeonhole principle in mathematics, in its crudest form, states that if you have more pigeons than pigeonholes, you have to group multiple pigeons in one or more instances to accommodate them all.)

Outside, soft rain drizzled down the puckered white walls, drenching them slowly but incessantly in its cold and moist embrace. Silent green trees gazed upwards longingly as if searching for a faint trace of some stray sunbeam through the dark pall that veiled the land. The dahlias in the garden cowered their majestic heads before the frigid wind. The grey cemented area assumed a much darker shade reflecting the overcast skies above. The freshness of the grass slowly wafted from the damp ground, accentuated by the musty smell of the oak tables and chairs. Far away, over the regular sound of rainwater playfully tapping the paths, one could hear the dying vestiges of car horns scooting away in utmost urgency. The unnoticed edges of the window pane were already foggy, and mist was gradually invading the entire view. The weather was bad; it was getting worse.

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