Listening to Tori Amos’ ‘Happy Phantom’ (a happy, happy song about death) and it occurs to me: If when we die, our souls migrate to another world where they convene on a regular basis post mortem, what happens to our identities?
Maybe there’s a place where each and every identity is dumped – a Salvation Army for lives lived. Imagine them mingling at a soiree, bumping into others that gloved the same soul at different times.
A ditzy South Indian, then, bumps into a soldier from the East India Company (if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from Raaz-Pichle Janam Ka, it’s that everyone was at some point either a British or French soldier in the 1800’s), a Navajo Indian and Billie Holiday (hey, a girl can dream) and they are all wondering just how long it’ll take that soul to learn that if a guy doesn’t call back after a date, he’s just not that into you.
Also while listening to Tori: walked past a pretty young girl who was all dolled up (read, not dressed up in oversized frumpy clothing like me) and just out of nowhere, thought, “skinny bitch!” Obviously, the thought was more verbal than internal because she looked up startled and really, really hurt. So, skinny bitch, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I hate it when people judge me on the basis of my looks too.
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