Long years ago a little boy in blue shorts and fuchsia pink singlet walked around barefoot in a green house.
He stopped to smell dahlias and sighed and whispered secret scandals to the flowers
girls, charmed to see a boy in touch with his girlie side, swarmed to feel his little soft flesh that poked out from behind his ears. Our boy- hero was a regular heartbreaker, booty shaker.
The little boy’s parents thought he was their precious but his impish grin fooled no one. Underneath those curls and big brown doggy eyes was a brain with an Intel inside chip. Working quicker, faster and with an automatic recovery button the boy was a lean mean, mental machine
Everyone was intrigued by the little genius but what excited boy wonder himself the most was well as is the case with most diabolical geniuses – himself. He would stare at his own thoughts floating in front of him in awe. Over and over again. Till everyone around him began to wonder if he was dreaming himself up too. The local doctor was called to rid the boy of his waking stupor but no tantric, magician, phd ,mba, mbbs, phd, dmt, or lsd could solve the problem. And it wasn’t just because they were all acronyms either.
At last sri sri rishi rishi muni muni came came... He predicted that the boy would soon have a double dream where his true selves all two of them would be revealed to him in their dual splendor. And soon enough the boy fell into a deep slumber where visions of not 2 not 3 but all his 30 million nether and come hither worlds went flashing past like boomerangs only never to return.
When our hero woke, he felt a rumbling in his belly the kind which he had never experienced. every sense , every whiff of air he scented he could smell the rich oil and jeera. he leaped towards the kitchen and ravaged every triangle shaped svaoury he could find.
soon the pleasant rumbling gave way to a quieter more gentle sounds of the samosas turning softly in his belly.. . it was almost as if the samosa was talking to him. explaining to him what the big question and the big answer was. every secret of the universe spilled out in front of him like oil on tissue paper, or ink from a pen, or juice squeezed out a mango.. or well you get the picture or the story or ..
The samosa , bobbing up and down in bile was a great storyteller ,while also being a great swimmer.. what Fuchsia Boy- who incidentally knows how to do a fantastic crotch dance - did not know that he had managed to ingest the samosa seer. Soon he was called
dudeshwar raja - samosaon ka baadshah (old frying pan saying)
Samosa seer taught the little boy all about life and everything else, including how to escape if the weird white moonwalker comes your way .. and how to properly digest a samosa ( exact proportion of fluids ) but the most important lesson was - Samosa your secret weapon.. Yes, friends the samosa seer told our boy all the stories about the deadly samosa killer gang of 167 BC ( before cooking) .. and fuchsia boy soon realised he had ruminated on his life calling.. the one weapon that would need no grease. the SAMOSA. and thus the idea of becoming the samosa killer came to be digested..
