Being a Pontla person in this imperfect world isn't easy. It gets a lot less easy when people confuse you with a certain somewhat objectionable vegetable. All you careless casual gooks (if you don't know what I'm talking about please read this), note that the name is Pontla and not Potla. For non-Bongs who don't know what I'm talking about, just pronounce my name with the 'occasional' and not the 'orange' kind of 'o'.
And if you are a Bong and still don't know the difference/think it matters, go boil your head.
That said, the Pontla phamily are all busy and no one is taking the Pontla to shop/watch movies/eat out/ vacation. We Pontlas are not known for keeping a stiff upper lip. We cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. We blog away the blues.
(Pontla'r prem doesn't know he's dating a Pontla. The poor guy's in for a rude shock.)
Anyway, what with the heat and the humidity and existential angst, this Pontla leaves you with some phunny Summer Stuff (in translation, but it can't be helped). Also the serious sugestion that next time Balmiki Pratibha is performed by the staff and inmates of certain correctional homes in West Bengal, you go and watch. No other performance I've seen comes even close.
Regards
Pontla
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