Sometimes I think doing 60 push-ups is kinda overdoing it. Dong more than 30 push-ups in one go is close to doing 3000 push-ups, I tell you. I did 35 once, long time ago, all in one go, and I was dead after that for a few years. That’s my max in one-go count. Now, when I know I have to complete sixty, I never try going beyond 25 in a go. The bones fall apart in the second set where I manage to add not more than another 15 in the bag.
The worst part is, even if you reach sixty finally, with a couple of million in-between breaks, how are you supposed to do chin-ups immediately after that, using the same bloody arms that are now so totally bone-less, muscle-less and everything-else-less?
It’s December. Of course you know that but that’s not the point. The point is it’s December and a few months back when I was in a cute kind of wired-love and all that, I was so eagerly waiting for this month. Yeah, that’s the point. So what do all those romantic songs sung in those sweet but husky voices do to you when December arrives and you are no more into that wired-love anymore? They make you feel sad every few milliseconds once in a while. But those milliseconds are like one of those real depressing and not-required-at-all kind of moments. I don’t know if I would have married her and stuff after meeting her but I am sure I would have met her at least – probably would have taken her on some teeny-tiny date or something, to some dirty crowded beach like Zuhu, you know. I would at least have let those sparks move beyond the wires. I actually could have married her as well – hell, why not? The wires and the sparks – are so all neatly left behind and it’s just so cold now. It’s cold and it’s December. Of course you know that but that’s not the point.
I was strolling on the streets the other day – yesterday to be precise. It was one of those lonely-man-walking-with-a-fag-in-his-stinking-mouth kind of stroll. I saw an evening-brown coloured Oriya dog sitting right outside an ugly looking yellow coloured concrete house. The animal sat like a lion. All animals sit like lions. Some of them are real lions. Others are dogs.
What was the name of that house – let me recall. It was something like Pratima Bhavan or something. Actually, it must have been something worse because I am sure I didn’t like the name at all. I mean I was walking all alone on a Saturday afternoon with a fag in my mouth, blowing smoke through the sun-rays, watching this dog that I told you about, and all I had as the backdrop was this ugly yellow house that had a depressing name. I wondered why people made houses for themselves with all that money and effort and all that and then gave it a stupid name and let stupid animals sit outside their houses. Would you believe that my dad calls his house that he built only few years ago – Hill Top House – just because he built it over the top of some random hill? Even that house is ugly. I like it and all that and that’s my home but it’s ugly in a way, just from the outside though. It is too square for my taste. Maybe someday when I feel like spending money on concrete stuff, I would create some fresh facade in there. What I like about my house is that it is surrounded from most of the sides by flowers and plants and greenery and all those nature-stuff. That makes the entire place look so cute and God-like. That’s dad for you. He is crazy about gardening. The first thing that he does in the morning after jumping off from the bed is to go kiss some flower blooming outside. I mean, of course he doesn’t kiss them or anything but you got what I was trying to say – didn’t you? Just like blogging is a part of my life, soil and grass and plants and creepers are part of his. That’s my dad.
I was in that house – the Hill Top House last year – this month. Something must have had been depressing about last year’s December too but I don’t remember anymore. I was there at home during Christmast time. It probably is too early for this year but a happy Christmas anyway. I mean I don’t want to miss wishing all you guys and girls and all you fat guys and fat girls a happy Christmas even if I die doing those zillion push-ups and all that – you know. So, yeh Merry Christmas.