But gently, gently, as I watched this video, and listened to this overdressed, singularly venomous and intelligent creature explain, and explain, his late, poor, young wife's "mahasamadhi," the awareness crept upon me that he had murdered her, and, as murderers sometimes like to do (especially egotistical murderers), he was showing us (but, cleverly, not telling us) how he got away with it. He doesn't mention, I think, how he bribed the police and the prosecutor's office--and that may be the way to drag the sordid truth to light. After all, the murdering of wives, is a favorite pastime in modern India, and very little opprobrium or risk is attached to it. Let's hope he didn't tell her that he was going to murder her--or at least that he did promise her that he would not murder her daughter; but creep and sadist that he is, we can imagine that he probably tried to frighten her to death before he strangled her.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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