Love Letter to Miss Karl Marx
22 July 2021 — 14.47 hours — Thursday — Nainital — Mischievous clouds are pissing ever so slightly — the million-million-year tree is my umbrella. Tea has little milk, no sugar — fried eggs have little oil, no salt. Hey, Miss Marx At the Academy, most kids don’t mind me, but most adult humans don’t like me. The deal is, I don’t like most people — because I’m rude to almost everyone or fail to recognize them when I see them — they, as a consequence, dislike me. And I swear to satan, bad reputation is real easy maintenance. P.S. “The trouble with us humans is — we all love to hear the truth, but the moment we hear it, we instantly realize, we aren’t ready for it. Because truth is a lot like death — they —truth-&-death— aren’t nice, they’re just fair.” As I was about to leave for Bombay on July 4 th 2019, I was adamant to get someone to teach Meher — someone who wouldn’t walk out on her within 2-3 weeks. We screened a bunch of volunteers. I didn’t like any of them. I knew they