Fluff.
I like fluff.
Movies, TV shows (prefer The Great Indian Laughter Challenge to Yes, Minister anyday), Books (I still unashamedly read mills and boon romances at the ripe old age of 23) Art (cartoons, landscapes and pictures of people please), blogs… whatever…
For me, blogs are like movies. The fluffier, Karan Johar-er, the better. Not to say that life begins and ends at fluff, but the few minutes I spend reading someone’s blog should be time spent either, a) smiling b) admiring the subtleity or c) enjoying the timepass.
But am I defined by the blogs I read and write? the friends I make and the places I go to? Does reading fluffy blogs mean I’m all fluffy too? Just because I prefer David Dhawan to Syam Benegal or One-Day Cricket to Test matches or DOS to UNIX does it mean I’m becoming a fluffy person? I know my new haircut indicates that I am, But… Agh! Just think what you want to. I’m too lazy to try and explain.
Srini said once, “Why does every thought of yours begin with an if?” I haven’t quite been the same Sambhavi since…
Fluff, Zindabad!
