Resisting the urge to make jokes about how trees are peepul too, or to conjure up visions of Ms. Rai and a tree running around Mr. Bacchan, or to point out that with her thespian talents and his personality the happy couple will probably be breeding dining tables before they’ve been married a year (“Darling, I think it’s time we talked about having a second sofa, don’t you?”), let me say only that I’m intrigued by the particularly unflattering view of the Fates that this bizarre practice (which I, obviously, had never heard of before) seems to imply. I mean think about it. There’s this dread and awesome force that governs the universe, turns the planets in their courses, scatters the stars like so many pistachio shells, and yet apparently it can’t tell the difference between a man and a tree.
heh. Such fun.
Comments
Comments are closed on this post.