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As I sip on the sweet nectar of my orange juice for which I have a fetish to drink only at nights, I thought to myself what ‘Freedom at midnight’ might have really sounded like over the declining glass of OJ!
Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pulp, not wholly or in a full glass, but very substantially. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, orange juice will awaken me to life and freedom. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we have to decide between Calafornia oranges and Florida oranges, from the old to the new, when a glass ends, and when the soul of a solitary orange, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the drink the juice regardless of the type.
Slurp slurp.
All additives are purely fictitious and have no relation to whether or not Nehru consumed OJ. Anyway at such troubled times choice between most pulp, pulp, medium pulp, no pulp, calcium with pulp, calcium without pulp, vitamins pulp must have created more communal violence than that caused by partition.
Its been such a long time since I ever wrote something that the process of writing itself has become blurred. I can’t see words too well. The t’s dotted and the i’s crossed. Perhaps such things are fashionable or just downright cliched. Destiny works well for languages. The article and preposition always find a safe haven in a sentence. Misplaced or homeless ones simply do not exist. If they do, they become adjectives and pronouns. I wonder why the gap between writing and speaking has a deep abyss. There seems to be no reason why the voluntary motion of the mouth cannot dictate instructions to the hand. Meanwhile, reality sings to a different note. The point is, I should try to write more. I like it so much I wish I had more talent.
