This is as silly as it gets... This was my response to a challenge to use three words( which are in bold) in a tale... He was thirty five She was in her twenties He was a pedigreed Londoner She, from the subcontinent He felt colour and religion were of no matter She had a face that shone with joie de vivre He watched her every evening by the Thames She was his raison d’ etre, he felt He believed in oriental Karma She was destined to be his He didn’t know how to approach her She once was accompanied by a sardar He followed the Indian that evening She was worth any trouble He befriended the affable sardar She must have a name, an address he groaned He bought pints of ale for his new friend She was worth every single pound He even started dining at Tandoori Nights She was worth all the antacids he gulped down later He felt his love grow more and more intense She seemed unaware of all the havoc in his life He met her along with his new Indian friend by the Thames She as always, was happy, laughing and bubbling He exclaimed, ‘God! What a girl! She is rambunctious!’ He looked at his Indian friend who, shaking his head, said She? No sir, she is Punjabi…. and she is my wife He knew enough of Indian society She was wedded…. for life and forever He knew there was no chance for him She obviously adored her consort, he realized He accepted that his love story had been ephemeral She blissfully continued her riverside jaunts He nursed his broken heart in solitude.
Dear Twinsmom Of all the love triangles I had come across in my life, this one is the jolliest! What an affable and considerate loser our hero is! Looks like it is attributable to the antacids he kept swallowing! It is the acid that causes the killer instinct and he had it under control thankfully! Sri
