Imagine a man, bare knuckled and lusciously bearded, living in a forest, and beating up palm trees with the sheer force of will. While his mind is still sharp and his toes are still stubby, the many years of sedentary existence have left him badly out of shape, so much so that people who try to relate by walking a mile in his shoes are inevitably left short of breath.
One fine day, somebody calls him and suggests that it would be a great idea to walk across the desert to an oasis to get some water. Despite him not exactly wanting to see an oasis, despite the sheer craziness of walking across the desert to get to water, and despite the damned well in his own backyard, the man agrees; for he loves this person very much. He sets off in his trusty hiking boots and his trusty, but by now, somewhat tight, hiking shorts.
When he arrives, a perilous journey behind him, he frowns at the sight of a crowd the size of a small country, queued up as civilized people tend to, all waiting for their turn at the oasis. While he started out as fresh as a baby’s bottom in diaper advert, the journey has wearied him and right now, water actually seems like the best thing since sliced bread. And speaking of sliced bread, he has also grown hungry. But he waits in line with the rest of them. And then finally he is there, at the front of the queue, in a gold-leaf adorned chamber, finally at the watering-hole he has traveled so far to see.
Now imagine his utter fucking dismay, when the only water in sight is a muddy little puddle at the bottom a suspicious looking wishing-well; and before he can even get a good look at the water, much less slurp at it greedily, he is asked by a couple of burly, tonsured men to bugger off. And on top of all that, not even a sight of the promised (free) Laddu.
