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  • Writer's pictureVedashree Khambete Sharma

Damn You, Google

On Friday, my phone rang. It was a South Bombay number.

“Yeah, Dad?”(Now what did I do?) “So… you have a blog.” (… that I didn’t know about till now.) “Erm, yeah. How’d you know?”(Shit. Shit. Shit.) “I came across it on Google.”(You’re busted, kid.) “Oh. Right.”(WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GOOGLING ME FOR?) “It’s been around for a while now.”(… and I still knew nothing about it till today…) “Er… yes, a couple of years or so.” (This is not good, this is SO not good…) “February 2006, it says here.” (I own you now.) “Yeah. Ok. Cool. See you at home?” (This is absurd. I’m an adult. I’m not scared of him. I’m just shitting my pants.) “Yes. Bye.” (Muhahhahahahahahahahahahaha.) PS: Dad, if you’re reading this, PLEASE STOP.

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