One of the many aphorisms that I must have added to my visibly intangible fact-sheet can be crowed out with the support of two, rather simple words from the English dialect and they, with least element of surprise, are: Don’t Panic, in the given sequence. When purposely engraved on the cover of one of the most exciting of works of Ursa Minor, the great publishing house, it quietly attenuates some of the admonishing waves of dread, which after all (once again with least element of surprise) turns out to be a very useful and interesting object, when at the disposal of hitch hikers. When at the disposal of strags or for that matter, the non-hitch hikers, it possesses even more utility but betrays far lesser interest.
Now, just before a very funny event occurred which I shall not describe here for the sake of my modest approach to life, my ape-descended brain was mulling over a probable possibility of the ravenous bug blatter beast of traal mugging in three pints of the pan galactic gargle blaster. But just before I could come to any improbable conclusion, that funny incident occurred, which in any probable case, I shall not explain in order to preserve my modesty.
Now, only a few months back, one of the people I happen to know from R-land and who happens to be too good to be called a friend of mine, as a very friendly suggestion, suggested me to type the following words in google: the answer to life, the universe and everything. When I followed his command out of sheer curiosity to continue that friendly consortium of friendly actions, what he too friendly had suggested, a very unfriendly thing occurred. A number 42 popped up on the screen which quite incredibly did not surprise me a pair of dingo’s kidneys.
Now, it is not that I had always known the result of that ephemeral action and wanted to impress all those arthropods buzzing about their own ways in that rainy day or that I am an impassive humanoid toad who can give other toads a run for their torpidity but it is just that my not-yet-fully-developed mental faculties were too efficiently inefficient to derive any possible probable meaning out of it.
Now, out of sheer friendliness, I may suggest, Mr. too good suggested me one more task to make the already maddening task of deducing anything meaningful out of the result of the previously conferred task a little bit more decision oriented.
Now, basking under the heavy photons of the various tasks bestowed so unceremoniously on my weak self, I realized that following my friend’s advice and wasting some hours of my useless life on too engaging tasks would be too prudent a decision. I nevertheless decided to do it just because I had nothing worse to do at that particular time.
Now, so determined was my lazy self at that time that I managed to read the full 221 pages of that so mind-bogglingly, awesomely, seriously serious book in a mind-bogglingly whiff of one quarter less of a year. This, not in the least sense, failed to surprise me at all and that is not due to the reason that I had not expected it but it is not the fact either that I was not surprised. This whole account of being surprised or not being surprised may be a little bit ambiguous from the writer’s side and from the reader’s point of view but it does not change the fact that I am really surprised for an inconspicuous reason that I am having unrelenting and uncontrolled feelings of being a gay.
Now, it may have easily occurred to you that I am starting to touch newer and higher heights of lunacy (which though I am but for other meticulously concealed reasons) but I do possess that foolhardy knack of arguing with others when I think I can and I can now bet a pair of dingo’s kidneys that you will also have those gay-ish feelings after going through the book for a very simple reason that Douglas Adams happens to be a male. (Ladies, I am sorry but I happen to believe that this blog is never bothered to be read by all but one or two utter morons who by infinite certainty are males.)
Now, the main problem which inspired me to go through all this ass-ache was to find out the significance of 42 as the most correct answer to the ever hindering question of life, the universe and everything but instead of simplifying things, it ramified them into more rigorous and befuddling formats because the book made me realize that even if the answer to the question was known, the question was itself missing.
Now that since I have thought about this problem rather too pensively and I have passed almost half of my time in the restaurant at the end of the universe, I feel that the missing question and its known answer form a pair of mutually exclusive orthogonal observables which follow a strange rule of unrelentivity principle that is to assert that there is a finite improbability of unity of finding them in a single universe at a given point of time.
Now, that has made me feel relaxed because after all, why bother chasing a mad bull if it is sure to whack his own head on the wall and you can’t do a pair of dingo’s kidneys about it. May be, continuing doing things without actually knowing the real hidden reason is the best thing we, the organic simulations of the programs of the most powerful computer ever to be built in the history of history i.e. earth, can do.