I am pretty sure that the instant I was born, God made sure that there was a dinosaur whose existence would also be defined by this very moment. And the primary reason for this beast to come to life would be to chase the hell out mine. And rest assured we have been at it ever since. Dinosaurs! you say? You knew that I was off my rocker by a long way but prone to hallucinations that too of the Barney kind? And I ask you; don't you see this great, big, spiked, fire-breathing, paw-trampling monster snapping at my heels at all moments? Don’t tell me that this dragon called Woe-e-Saurabh is not visible to you. Maybe not behind me but take a look at my face and you would know that utterly-bamboozled, plain-confused, not-at-all-polaroidworthy, please-get-me-out-of-here look was proof that I was Jerry and he was Tom, I was running he was swatting, I was horrified and he was gratified.
Now you may realise my love for Tom and Jerry. It has nothing to do with the cuteness of Jerry's tail (as if I give rat's ass for that) or the funny situations that Hanna Barbara create (nope they don’t catch my wits either). I like the cartoon series purely for the fact that it’s so poignant. I identify with the squirming Jerry as he finds himself in the thickest of soups for apparently no fault of his. Here he is merrily walking down the streets trying to make the best of whatever little legs God gave him as the curtain goes up and not a minute would have passed when out of the blue all the worries of the world would be attributed to his existence and there would be the bane of his life straining its breath to snuff out his. My situation exactly. Here I would be waking up in the morning to a beautiful sunshine and no sooner would I step out of the house, something would sound the horn that the one idiot to take care of all the blame of anything that has gone wrong today or will go wrong in the next 24 hours has left the building. So it has come to be that I have resigned to this cursed existence with my Tom on my back. It manifests daily in the form of make-me-late-for-office traffic jams, has-there-been-an-idiot-like-you-before boss' stares, not-at-all-you-are-the-biggest-one-yet boss' lectures, I-know-you-want-it-but-I-gotta-procrastinate subordinates, gawd-just-kill-me deadlines, wish-I-could-extract-Bill-Gates’-gut Microsoft presentations and a hundred different things but these hyphenated adjectives are becoming a pain.
But if you thought life was all tears for me, then you need to hit those cartoons in all earnest. You have definitely missed the endings. Jerry always makes it to his hole in the end. He might have received a red behind or a bump on the head on the way but at the end of the day, it is Tom who bangs his head on the wall as Jerry prances into his lair. Jerry might be cornered but then again “a cornered mouse is one of the most dangerous creatures”. So you see my dinosaur friend may find all the satisfaction in chasing the living daylights out of me the entire day but inside the confines of the four walls I pay rent for and call my home, this dinosaur is off limits. Yeah I am the king of the universe at the end of the day and didn’t Shakespeare, the great bard himself say “All’s well that ends well”. Ha so there you have it. Who’s your daddy?
But why do I have this sinking feeling that as soon as I step out in the morning, the dinosaur is going to squash me with a fly swatter? Sigh that’s life I guess
Now you may realise my love for Tom and Jerry. It has nothing to do with the cuteness of Jerry's tail (as if I give rat's ass for that) or the funny situations that Hanna Barbara create (nope they don’t catch my wits either). I like the cartoon series purely for the fact that it’s so poignant. I identify with the squirming Jerry as he finds himself in the thickest of soups for apparently no fault of his. Here he is merrily walking down the streets trying to make the best of whatever little legs God gave him as the curtain goes up and not a minute would have passed when out of the blue all the worries of the world would be attributed to his existence and there would be the bane of his life straining its breath to snuff out his. My situation exactly. Here I would be waking up in the morning to a beautiful sunshine and no sooner would I step out of the house, something would sound the horn that the one idiot to take care of all the blame of anything that has gone wrong today or will go wrong in the next 24 hours has left the building. So it has come to be that I have resigned to this cursed existence with my Tom on my back. It manifests daily in the form of make-me-late-for-office traffic jams, has-there-been-an-idiot-like-you-before boss' stares, not-at-all-you-are-the-biggest-one-yet boss' lectures, I-know-you-want-it-but-I-gotta-procrastinate subordinates, gawd-just-kill-me deadlines, wish-I-could-extract-Bill-Gates’-gut Microsoft presentations and a hundred different things but these hyphenated adjectives are becoming a pain.
But if you thought life was all tears for me, then you need to hit those cartoons in all earnest. You have definitely missed the endings. Jerry always makes it to his hole in the end. He might have received a red behind or a bump on the head on the way but at the end of the day, it is Tom who bangs his head on the wall as Jerry prances into his lair. Jerry might be cornered but then again “a cornered mouse is one of the most dangerous creatures”. So you see my dinosaur friend may find all the satisfaction in chasing the living daylights out of me the entire day but inside the confines of the four walls I pay rent for and call my home, this dinosaur is off limits. Yeah I am the king of the universe at the end of the day and didn’t Shakespeare, the great bard himself say “All’s well that ends well”. Ha so there you have it. Who’s your daddy?
But why do I have this sinking feeling that as soon as I step out in the morning, the dinosaur is going to squash me with a fly swatter? Sigh that’s life I guess
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