Ever lived in a hostel? If not, you would better stop reading coz you are not going to understand one bit.
Today morning when I walked into my balcony, I saw my towel fall from the line where I had left it to dry. It was dry all right. But it was kind of stiff too. My towel fell and broke as if it were a porcelain saucer.
I know it is hard to believe, but then you are not I. Neither do you have a towel like mine.
I have been a proud owner of this towel for the last three years. Turkey towel, the shopkeeper said when I was paying him Rs 110. Pity, he did not ask to me to change my towel every thanks-giving day. I could have done without the demise of my very Turkey-named British towel.
Was it a rotten towel? No sir. I know a rotten towel from the other..I have seen Vamsee`s. By the way, I share my apartment with this supposedly creative dude called Vamsee, whom we affectionately call Nellore Ka King.
Now back to towel talk. Of late my room had started stinking. I could not lay the blame anywhere. I had too many choices. Due to lack of water, I had ceased to take bath. Was my deodorant failing me? Or was the stink due to that rotten banana in the corner of my room that I had left unattended for a week. Or was it the un-flushed toilet?
Eventually, it turned out to be my towel. Protests from Vamsee could not be resisted and I had to pick up the remains of my towel and give it the due burial. I had everything ready for a state funeral, but my towel refused to burn. Some unfulfilled wish, I presume.
Probably it wanted to wipe my ass, one last time.