I’ve been called a schizophrenic. Again. If one believes in the relativity of truth, then perhaps if enough people say it, it must be true. And if it is – my being schizophrenic, that is – then at least I can take comfort in knowing that I’ll never be alone. And I can never be accused of being just another me-too. Hey, it could be any number (I read of someone whose greater whole was more than the sum of eighty parts). A tower of contradictions. Tower of Babel? Nah, that would have nothing on me. I’d be housing a parliament raging in full session. A man of many parts, that’s what I’d be. Maybe even a new kind of super-hero with limitless powers of confounding his enemies (I almost wrote ‘critics’ – that came naturally). Come to think of it, Ravana may not have been a creature of myth after all. Ok, I could be a not-so-new kind of super-villain then.
Now, if only I had the limbs to go with all those parts of an entire soap op inside me. Kartaviryarjuna (another multi-pronged villain who’d top Doc Ock hands down) cracked that one, I wonder how.
P.S.: This post does not intend to be insensitive to a serious ailment or to cause hurt. Please laugh it off or ignore it. This post or the goat who wrote it do not merit any other reaction.