LXV. Martin and the Martian
- aliya anand
- Oct 24, 2024
- 2 min read
Updated: Oct 26, 2024
“There are two methods that humans use to survive, One is calcification and sequestering and separating: my stuff, my tribe, my this, my that. And then the other half is so open to everything. Those people fall in love a lot more, but they also have a lot more heartbreak.” Reads the little Martian out loud, with a funny expression on his face.
“What are you narrating so officiously?” I ask him.
“This Martin chap. I bet he’s a Martian just like me.”
“Martin?”
“The Coldplay guy.” Says the Martian, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. I didn’t realize the little Martian and Chris Martin was on such close terms...
“You know him?” I ask
“Not yet...” says the enigmatic little Martian with furrowed brows. “They did a piece on him, in
the New Yorker. “
“Ah.”
The Little Martian's latest little obsession.
The Martian has decided that aspiring to live in New York simply isn’t enough. He must write for the New Yorker, to be a true New Yorker. And not just any writer, he wants to be the first intergalactic editor in chief of the New Yorker.
"Aiming high isn’t enough, we must be delusional in our quest for cosmic greatness!" chants the Martian , each morning as he sips coffee out of his massive red soup cup.
His obsessions are frantic and fanciful, but there never has been a dream that the Martian hasn’t made true. A couple of years ago, he watched Mad Men on a beat-up MarsPad, and now here he is…
“He’s so spacey.” Says the Martian, about his new bestie Martin.
“In a good way or a bad way?”
“I’m a space traveler so duh.” He retorts.
I shrug. The Martian looks flabbergasted, his little yellow raincoat straining against his emphatic outbursts. We really ought to go shopping for a cooler outfit soon.
“Like, hear this out..! ‘““I’m just sort of doing what I’m told, the way an apple tree grows apples.” Reads the Martian out aloud, practically beaming. “God, he’s cool!”
I let the words wash over me, like a splash of cold glittering water from a forest stream. I let my soul soften in the silence, for a moment or two.
“The way an apple tree grows apples!” repeats the Little Martian with a grin.
The Martian is practically gushing now, he looks like he is about a minute and a half away from revealing Chris Martin’s face tattooed across his bare ivy-striped chest.
“I should meet him. Don’t you think? The whole lot of them...these Coldplay chaps.... " he wonders out loud, with a dreamy expression.
“D’yo reckon they're coming to Bombay anytime soon?” asks the Martian.
I snort.
The Martian doesn’t read the news much.
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