After rising from a 4-day bout of flu, with high fever, blocked sinuses, chest congestion, and an upset digestive system, and having learnt literally nothing from this ordeal that weakened him and took away an entire precious week that could otherwise have been utilised profitably, Kedar The Greedy goes forth and makes his first port of call S S Wadewale near Swargate and orders not one but two Jumbo wada pavs, making the casual bystander believe with certainly that he hates his alimentary canal and wishes to wreak vengeance on this innocent organ for simply existing, even while working it’s ass off (yes, I know what I did there) under tremendous pressure (yep, I did it again) and, not to put too fine a point on it (I know, I know), in a rather hostile environment created, it would seem to an external observer, not by accident, but by design, and which has at its very foundation, nothing but petty bloodyminsedness of a tortured soul searching for ways to get into the annals (yeah, yeah, I know) of history as the first ‘death by spice’ case, thereby justifying his otherwise worthless existence.
So, am I eating both of these standing right here on the boot (or should I call it a ‘dickie’ as it is called in India) of my nicely cleaned, shiny car? What do you think? Alimentary, my death Watson? Or no shit, Sherlock!
