Two hate mails…

• TO: THE HAIR ON MY HEAD…

Dear hair on my head,
……………………………..F**kers, that’s what you are. Ok, I have always known that you never did like me a lot… this letter’s just to tell you that the feeling is very much mutual. Thank you.
For one, you were never very obedient. I’d comb you this way, that way… but you’d always have to have your own way, na? Forever acting up like how Jack’s stupid beanstalk did. You’d rather break than bend. So, one day I’m gonna rip you off your stupid roots and weave somebody else’s more obedient hair into my head. That should teach you a lesson. Bah! (I’d stick out my tongue at you, if I could)
Then came the time when I carried you on my head to college. But no, you didn’t help me much there, either. Quite obviously, I was the only one being educated to be nice.
So I decided to make the most of you while I still could; thought I should colour you blue. But no, you had to play spoilsport again, didn’t you? You decided to turn a dirty shade of green instead, and for months to come, I had to go around the place looking like I had leafy vegetables growing on my scalp. Oh, how I hated you!
But the last straw was yesterday. I could set you on fire for it, but you know how much I hate the smell of you burning.
You know I have always wanted to grow you a few feet and look a bit like Val Kilmer in The Doors. And while I am at it, straighten you into submission.
So, it was all going fine… I even went to a few haircut saloons to check how much they would take to knock some sense into you and finally, I just looked a few weeks away from my biggest dream realised. At long last, I was going to look the way I always wanted to.
Which was when you started rebelling again.
You suicidal moron. It was just then that you decided to start falling by the dozen, didn’t you? You’d rather kill yourself than see me happy. And even as gaping patches started appearing on my head, I realised that all was lost – the barber’s scissors were inevitable now.
So I gave in to all that pressure. What my parents couldn’t do… what my friends’ jibes couldn’t do, you did just by starting to come off. A pity. All that willpower (and five long months of growing you) gone waste.
Anyway, when I asked the barber to take his time slicing through you, I meant to cause you a lot of pain. Which is probably what you wanted in the first place.
I don’t understand you. You are so incorrigible, you could put me to shame. I hate you.

• TO: THE A-HOLE WHO DROVE A NAIL INTO MY BIKE TYRE THE OTHER NIGHT

Dear a-hole who drove a nail into my bike tyre the other night,
……………………………………………………………………………………….You are probably feeling pretty pleased with yourself. This letter’s just to tell you – don’t bother.
It was twelve-thirty in the night. I had innocently parked my bike beside the road, and gone to meet a friend who was recovering from an accident. I came back an hour later and hopped on it, only to find the poor thing wobbling weirdly. Which was when I discovered that little pointed object you had driven into my tyre.
What followed was a painful experience. I had to drag my crippled vehicle for nearly a kilometre, all the way to the nearest shelter. Then I caught an auto to a friend’s place in the vicinity (He charged 50 bucks! May you burn in hell).
Okay, it was a pain. I had to come back the next day, drag the bike again to the nearest motorcycle maintenance shop and pay 200 bucks more for a new tube. But then came the silver lining… the repair guy said it was good that the tube got punctured that day, because it was in a pretty weak condition and was going to happen sometime in the near future anyway. And I thought that yes, probably it was a good thing you drove that stupid nail in.
But I know you didn’t do it with any noble intention in mind. And there are many bad things I have wished for you, most of which I wouldn’t tell the nice people who are reading this. But they will all come true, y’know – and I would hate to be in your shoes when they do.

Remember, you drew first blood.