Stereotypically Speaking

The Scrawlyst

As I strolled past a magnificent display of world’s most remarkable and ridiculous Lego houses and miniature squeaking dragons, I could picture my father thanking the heavens for not bringing Hamely’s to India when I was a kid. I wouldn’t have tempted my inner kid so cruelly had it not been my mother’s grandfather’s youngest brother’s grandson’s daughter’s birthday. So, there I was trying to experiment with as many bright and bustling little machines as I could before I found the right one.

My public manners are usually immaculate but when I saw her, I could only stare. What was it about this salesgirl that made her seem so outlandish – was it her acid green hair or the sequence of red tattoos right above her eyebrows, I couldn’t decide. What stumped me the most, however, was how comfortably she got along with the children. (In retrospect, I reckon what…

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