How is a 3am post different from an 11pm post? Well, who said it is?
Anything which remotely resembles work is repulsive these days. Somebody help me. We stand all day outside our rooms and do random, pointless bc. I should be try finish all that work.
But the most important reason for writing this post is that I need a good (or at least decent) quality audio of the 'tic tic tic' song featuring Rajni ka Baapu, Mithun ka dada, his holiness annavaru Rajkumar himself.
If you have it, please mail it to me. Main aapka ehsaan kabhi nahi bhulunga. (Waise yaad rakh ke bhi koi teer nahi maar lunga.)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Q&A
I'm staring blankly at the grey evening sky. This time of the day always brings a strange feeling. A little restlessness. Perhaps melancholy would be the right word.
I remember looking out of the window of the coaching class to find children flying kites on terraces, mothers taking their kids out for a walk, samosas being fried on the little cart across the road, some fellows stopping for a smoke at the shop right under the window. A day of hard work coming to an end for them. On this side of the window, it was only beginning. Strings, pulleys, aldehydes, ketones, conic sections, differentials, integrals... spread all over the board. A whole bunch of tired eyes and minds trying to keep pace. What for?
I also remember spending evenings sitting on the terrace in Kota. Scores of students kept the bicycle repair shops on the ground floor busy. We wondered where all the girls went for their bicycles. All the main characters of this little evening show had nicknames. Though now, I can't recall any. Our conversation would time and again stop at the point where we could not understand our reason for being there. For an exam? Was it worth all that? As the evening gave way to darkness, the questions were postponed. More mundane discussions about food and girls occupied the void created by the pensive silence.
Today is no different. My disappointment seems absurd. The questions are still the same. What is the purpose of all this? Is it worth all our efforts? The answers still elude me.
I remember looking out of the window of the coaching class to find children flying kites on terraces, mothers taking their kids out for a walk, samosas being fried on the little cart across the road, some fellows stopping for a smoke at the shop right under the window. A day of hard work coming to an end for them. On this side of the window, it was only beginning. Strings, pulleys, aldehydes, ketones, conic sections, differentials, integrals... spread all over the board. A whole bunch of tired eyes and minds trying to keep pace. What for?
I also remember spending evenings sitting on the terrace in Kota. Scores of students kept the bicycle repair shops on the ground floor busy. We wondered where all the girls went for their bicycles. All the main characters of this little evening show had nicknames. Though now, I can't recall any. Our conversation would time and again stop at the point where we could not understand our reason for being there. For an exam? Was it worth all that? As the evening gave way to darkness, the questions were postponed. More mundane discussions about food and girls occupied the void created by the pensive silence.
Today is no different. My disappointment seems absurd. The questions are still the same. What is the purpose of all this? Is it worth all our efforts? The answers still elude me.
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