There is a dim sensation of reality, as a bus comes hurtling down the road, gulps down and then spits me out into my home, with naked globs of blu-tack sticking out of the white walls. Fallen photographs look up at me with bruised egos.

I'm thinking of the faces people put on while getting on a bus, or a train, or when they say hi to you at the corridor of your workplace. Oh, there goes Mr. Intense, Mr. Top of the Morning, Ms Bitter, Mrs. Serious Journalist and Ms I-Have-one-cat-and-over-200-cat-statues. I put on my Ms. Pastless-who-was-born-yesterday face, so that no one will expect anything smart out of me. Its my defense against stupid. Two days ago, it struck me that I do have a past and it might be very becoming when worn. When you come across as guileless and guilt free, people deal with you as if with a child. That used to be a good thing, an attractive quality for those looking for love and smiles (until the 'condititions apply' tag reveals itself. Then there is shock, disbelief and accusations of betrayal.) But these days, I've been introduced to an unfamilar breed of the intelligent person, who just doesn't trust the twenty three year old picture of innocence. Thats a long time for nothing to have happened.

How do you get the attention of someone who's simply put, above your league?
You close your eyes, meditate and meet them at their level. Thats how Shakti gets her Shiva in every one of her incarnations. You have to be, unshakable, if you wish access to someone unshakable.

Now its going to be a bloody mess tearing out Ms.Stupid-face's face.