The Anarchy of Thought

My Favourite 4-Lettered-Word

I have had rather interesting conversations either with or about my cousins, and what particularly astounds me is the fact that I always seem to be (re-)discovering newer ones as I grow older. In 2003, for example, a college friend of mine wrote to me :

Dear Mimon,

I have got married to Swapnaa last week. Hope you are doing fine.

Stay well,

Pranav

To which I replied in my usual instinctive one-line ironic fashion : 'Is this some dream-girl you are talking about or is it for real?'

And pat came the reply : 'Oh, it is as real as it gets. Swapnaa is your cousin'.

So after a bit of investigation, it turned out that I do have a cousin called Swapnaa who (apparently) knows everything about me. Everytime I go back to Assam, I have this sinking feeling that people there are covert CIA agents; (almost) the first thing they tell me, rolling their eyes round and round, is : 'Oh, we know aaaaaall about you!'

Anyways. Back to the past, and this time we are in 1998. I first come to meet a cousin called Madonna. At first, I think that she is trying to be *cool* with a *hep* name like that; perhaps she has been listening too much to The Material Girl who hates the Vatican. But no, it is as literal as its gets : her mother is Roman Catholic.

Anyways. (I always say 'anyways' a lot when I am around her.) One day we have the following conversation.

'Mimon, what is your favourite four letter word?'

'It depends.'

'Depends on what?'

'Oh, on all sorts of things you would have never imagined.'

'Name just one?'

'Well, let's say it depends on how *chic* you are trying to become?'

There is a moment's silence between us. And then the barrage of questions is resumed.

'So, please tell me naaaaaa! What is your favourite four letter word?'

'What?'

'What what?'

'What?'