Nothing to bag about

This is how a conversation went between me and my AM when he came across my bag lying on my desk. He had to come across it because of an obnoxious abundance of blackish don’tknowat on it and an embarrassing absence of anything remotely green on it. I say green because that was the sprightly color when I bought it from Janpath in Delhi about ten years back (if you go by its condition) and a couple of years back (factually).

He came to my desk and seemed to be making his mind to say something. That set me thinking about all the traces I must have left somewhere about something I must have done sometime. Anyways this is how it went.

AM: Nice bag
Me : I am gonna wash it soon.
AM: No I did not mean that. . . . Anyways if you wash it all that is black would just smudge and it would get uglier.
Me: No it would be better if I could devote two full days to it. Anyways I don’t use it regularly. I had to carry some junk today (showed him some official documents for proof).
AM: Oh I just said it like that. Don’t mind

Is he thinking I am actually going to wash it?

Me: of course not. I don’t see a reason for that.

He thinks I am sulking now. So he launches into something totally unconnected to the 190 bucks now-black-previously-green bag

AM: We are all dirty. When we live in a country where the supposedly purest thing Ganga has gone dirty, what do you expect of everything else?

I just look at him and half nod and smile my way through before I realize that he won’t stop staring at me till I actually tell him what I expect of everything else in a country with its purest thing gone dirty.

I look to my monitor hoping , as if, for an answer to emerge from among the script that had chosen that precise moment to behave normally and hence was incapable of being used as an object of digression. I look back at him and stammer something about things having to change and human beings et el. I spoke half to myself in such a low voice that even I don’t know what I said to disappoint him enough to cut off any further communications on lines similar to the one used by blogs that turn you mad with their depressive leanings.

That was a steep learning curve for me. I come armed with my bag today to office but it is safely tucked away under my desk hidden courtesy its natural smoky camouflage.
My AM passes by me and I just move my chair synchronously to make doubly sure that the bag is hidden.

I am definitely gonna wash this bag once I fall ill next week for my medical unless I feel really emotional about this dirt thing and let the bag be like that to symbolize the common depressing grounds broken.