Exploits de` Dragonular December----Part 2: THE ARRIVING, THE STAY

MOOD INDIGO

Before starting to expound on this particular and incessant yin-provider chapter of my trip, I would like to make a declaration. This expanse of four days happen to be one, if not the most memorable time of my life as on this day of 1st January, 2012. Therefore any instance of dramatization and exaggeration should by compassionately forgiven and not accounted for.

I, whose word power has already declined to alarmingly sloppy levels, will surely not be able to string it all up in words...so first things first...I think I'll have to invent a whole new lexicon to describe precisely how I categorically feel about the whole thing...just almost like that impossible girl "RAAGA" did in DIL KABADDI to arrive at a precise, descriptive word about "husbands"... (yes, totally laughable!)

I (we) reach Mumbai, after the two-hour lone travelling siesta, we finally alighted at the Kalyaan station, on the dubious and purely sheer guesses of a "respected" senior who had absolutely nothing listed to his credit about Mumbai to guarantee a righteous decision...but on the occasion of a complete void of any other suggestion provider, we religiously subverted to his advice. After another half an hour of aimless wandering about the station, and asking local tea vendors about the much-needed advice on local-train conveyance in and around Mumbai, which made us look almost like a bunch of lost, hapless, third-world tourist contingent, we managed to gather that a certain station called Kanjurmarg is the aptest station to go, for reaching Powai Vihar. Incidentally, Aman had also mentioned the same when asked, but the fact being, I could not remember this overtly Marathi name at all, (I actually ended up mumbling Kodaikanal, thankfully, only to myself :P) I had kept mum throughout this excruciatingly embarrassing session of ignoble questioning.

One of the chief reasons I was farthest looking forward to this trip was, I had a painfully grinding fortnight at my own college, just before emplaning. I don't fancy my bragging about exactly what I did, but 

really looked fwd to take a break after the hectic fortnyt at my own college after organizing two mini literarure n quizzing fests...do din se kuchh khaaya nahi tha n mom claimed by face looked like that of an underfed sparrow...yes it did...i gathered after looking at the auto-rikshaw mirror....after encountering a mirror after 4 days flat!!!

Standing at the entrance of India's best college, watching a humongous rush of students, all impatiently trying to get inside the gates of an institute they all, at some or the other point of their lives, with different magnitudes of desire, wanted to get admitted into, in itself answered the plethora of doubts that topsy-turvied my intestines throughout the journey. This is the place I had yearned to be in, although agreeably, not with the desired amount of ardour that would have forced me to work harder than I did in those seemingly impossible couple of years, had tortured myself poring over subjects that were beyond me, had gained 30 kilos of extra weight doing absolutely nothing (yes, I was almost 80 kgs when I started my college, those extra pounds have thankfully vanished owing to the magnanimous size of my campus, and the forgo-able food served in our mess, where, for some strange, undeciphered reason, we pay to be fed in) and forgot to look attractive with braces adorning my geeky appearance. This was the place, I would have been, if all had gone right, if on that fateful day, I had not stepped inside the kitchen trying to satiate my ever-growing hunger for anything edible ,and if the rice starch would not have burnt my back, and if there would have been enough aloe vera inside the fridge, and if our house would not have been so far from the hospital, and if I had not missed the couple of months of organic chemistry whiling away precious time on a queen-size bed all the way down in Chennai. Arghhhh...horrible remeiniscences never ornamented any blog, and I feel too lazy delete the wordiness of what's written above. Honestly, this was a place to BE in.
Anyways, Aman (The Techfest Guy, dude..this nick is going to take major proportions later in the story) comes to meet at the Gate. Honestly, when an old and super-eminent friend meets you at the end of a 29 hour long Indian train journey, you feel everything, the whole caboodle of profligacy and courageousness was totally worth the pain.
Quite unexpectedly, I am still having trouble believing this actually happened and the fact that I don't possess a  single photograph of the trip doesn't help either. One particularly jocular friend whose nick is unfit to be publicly declared actually took advantage of this fact trying to trick me into believing that none of this  happened  de facto and I was merely suffering from another of my drastic-daydreaming-bouts, only a particularly major one this time.

SAC-The Student Activity Center of IITB was reached by adopting one of their heftily efficacious modes of transport, the bus. The entrance to the place featured a stupendous multitude of PEOPLE. I mean, sooooo many same-aged people, all huddled up in a place clearly dissident to handle such crowds, waiting for accommodation, (now THAT alarmed me...after a 29 hour journey, any commonplace female concerned about preserving her sanity, would be completely stumped at the prospect of waiting for another 10 hours, just to get a place for slumbering their clearly-not-meant-for-any-more-exertion-body). The place was teeming with pioneering food stalls with terrifyingly exorbitant rates. After another couple of hours of idleness and eventlessness (as the Techfest Guy was catering to his indispensable duty at The Techfest organization) I discovered the presence of a Bath at the SAC, and much to add to my joy,it was clean. Leaving my things (AND a Manchester United original merchandise "Black Jacket") with a girly-gang clearly not meant for handling other people's stuffs, I hurried to melt down 29 hours worth of grime collected over a vast expanse of 5 states. Having managed to find a great pastime at last, which lasted for an hour, I was jigsawed at a certain hostel 8. Portraying great time management skills, The Techfest Guy reached exactly at the same moment (I fancy giving myself the liberty of saying that as I am unaware of the exact amount of time Aman spent standing outside the SAC). Following another painfully boring hour of waiting to get fitted at the hostel, we finally embarked where I would first taste the unrestricted and supposedly addictive Mumbai air. Aman promised to take me to a "Stud-maxx" place, where he said, the world's greatest garlic breads are served, and that the ambiance is "God"...After a fatal wait near the much coveted gate once again, where the auto-wallahs were more choosy than the kids, nowadays, are with their food, we managed to reach Pop Tates..the "unrestaurant"..where again we were duped by an unavailingly long queue, which remaindered enough time for  a quick coffee at a nearby CCD..How I missed my hard earned coupons following the precedent tiring week isn't exactly what I would like to launch into a discussion about at this late hour. Yes, it is 3:35 in the morning...n its drizzling here in Ranchi...my hands have almost frozen from typing, I am UNBELIEVABLY sleepy, and the only reason I am still struggling here with my eponymously delayed article is that I undertake such petty challenges a bit too seriously than presumed.
The Pop Tates tale was another unforgettable stretch of two hours indeed..after warming the seats at the bar for about 20 short minutes, that mostly comprised of us altercating between the random-est things under the moon, no breezers (or anything loftier in the hierarchy) needed to provide any kick whatsoever, gazing at the framed posters of Rolling Stones list of top 50 bands of all times, with live telecast of "The Hard Rock Cafe" blaring mutely in the background, and Aman finally declaring the place to be closest to his preposed Heaven (read Goa), we helped ourselves to a particularly sumptuous (veggie) meal, to kick start Mood I and it didn't harm either that the dessert at the end was free, fit for manic gluttons, totally exclusive to the fact that we were so full we could not complete the paid-for pizza, leaving which unfinished had no otherwise legitimate reason whatsoever. Followed the visit to the almost boarded up R-city (which, believe me, was the need of the hour, as I had foolhardily not brought any of my summer clothes owing to the infamous sub-zero temperatures at Mesra and my complete inability at predicting a stark contrast somewhere within the same country), the pointless and crazy reverberation between an affordable and a chic cinema, finally ending on the chic one (you can always expect such happy and coincidental endings to dilemmas with the Techfest Guy around) for the nail-biting, seat-shifting and O-mouthed movie MI4 (not, aptronymically, to be confused with MoodI). Interrupted by a shifty phone call claiming to have discovered my lost ManU jacket made by one of my own college seniors and the fabricated conversation extending teeteringly dangerously into the night, I could not wait to snuggle up inside my sheets and finally call it a day.
The next morning (technically just a few hours away) was inaugurated by a failed attempt to get up at the crack of dawn for a ride on the Hot Air Balloon scheduled to be queued for at 4:30 AM, calling up Ravi and explaining to her in length (and in roaming) about the events happened yet, trying to make her feel jealous and guilty about abandoning the trip altogether and a disastrous discovery of my arms being carelessly left unwaxed. Using a sworn-never-to-be-used cream, and skipping the sleeping bodies of many unrecognized silhouettes, breakfast was had at the canteen, which would cater to the cuisine needs of almost all the guests at campus for the next four days, after The Techfest Guy was done with his Techfest Thingy. No quizzing events were lined up for the first day of the fest, and I, with Aman, bursting with energy appeared for Word Games, which at the end of it, were a serious blow to my supposed braggadocio and the fact that we were late by 40 minutes didn't exactly made us jump with happiness either.
Moksha, my oldest friend, in true sense, my "Diaper Buddy" entered the scene here. She made a dramatic entry into the Lecture Hall where the verbose Wordy Games were going on, and was received by me with a great show of plain, raw anticlimax. The fact was that, I could still not drink on the fact that I was decisively meeting her, after a gap of more than 3 years. And Dude, did she change, being completely metamorphosed into a Manipal girl..like an MIT girl and all..slim beyond recognition, tanned, lensed, with a girlish purse dangling from her arm, a flashy cellphone somewhat remotely similar to Aman's (My Karbonn seriously needed space to breathe at this point of time...it was enjoying a peculiar sense of exclusive superiority like baby rabbits do in the presence of growling bards), brace-free teeth, she was hardly the erroneously aptronymed Miniiiiiii...I mean, you get the hang right, like CHANGED.
Moksha and I loitered around, trying our luck unsuccessfully first at the Fish Pedicure Tank, at the Karaoke, and at the non-veg food stalls, finally hitting gold at the Fresh Face award, and getting treated to a Lux Gift Hamper...the package was massive enough to make me happy. Six struck surprisingly early that day, and Moksha was supposed to be let gone off. Struggling again with the autowallahs, pleading them to drop us off at the lucklessly close Kanjurmarg station, me making a complete ass of myself at the local ticket reservation counter (no, sorry I am not expounding on this), us girls quite conveniently helping ourselves to the first class compartment without tickets, Aman calling to suggest me the measure of trying to weep off the ticket checker in case he confronted us for the "offense", and the three of us disembarking at the Marine Lines station, Moksha was saw off at a taxi and we wandered away to the outstretched expanse of the phenomenal Marine Drive. The exit to the station was teemed with a great multitude of hawkers, vendors and musk-smelling horses, another sight that has etched stubbornly on my mind, ironically followed by an Ambling aimlessly does give you those pangs of tingling pleasure Ravi keeps mentioning about and I had never really believed her to turn out true at this, but at my own expense that day, I found out, the immense truth of her words. With not one worry to hammer your head (Yes, I would like to reminisce about it that way inspite of it not being exhaustively true; the incessant worry about flunking my Basic Electronics paper always exasperatingly lurked about in the background) you really do feel Red-Bull-ified (wing-ified) without actually being so. Bugghy rides were yearned for, which in Aman's words were "infy" expensive, talked, stared into infinity, talked, looked at the famous skyline of Mumbai, talked, fancied buying the Worli-Bandra Sealink, talked. I ended up concluding that Mumbai was absolutely a livable city, provided you have enough rokda in your pockets, to fulfill all your desires, all those rosy dreams into the future which, for me, definitely included buying a place at Lavasa, and for him, going on a world tour, (Anshul reckons Aman would be the first one amongst us to buy a flashy car, and geeky gadgets being the outrageous spendthrift he is) and what not. Chowpatty flanked this, and the experience was a true definition of being poles apart from the one, the night before. The fun quotient remaining expectantly the same as of the night before, if not more, and the components included the devouring of Pav Bhaji, Aloo Chat, Meethe-Mirchi Golgappe and sitting on the "Chataai" with my four inch high heels off for the first time in the last 18 hours, which in itself was a memorable moment. Icecream (not at the chowpatty) followed the Great Indian Chowpatty and I tried out my first ever Coconut Flavor, which was praised quite sarcastically about in Two States by CB. It was thoroughly worth my money, no offences meant to CB. Gateway, and the grandiose view of Taj, so close up and aggravatingly magnified in front of my disbelieving eyes were doubtlessly a treat for them, and I would not be exaggerating things if I choose to mention that somethings are far more beautiful when not caught inside the domains of bromide. The sight of the Victorian paved road, the boarded up exhibition shops, the renaissance lighting of the streets and the marauding clicks of my heels past all of them are again something not to be forgotten in a hurry. We could not think of anything better than watching a movie again this time round called something that really made the gentleman in A man seek insidious resort (Ladiezz versus Ricky Behl) in a more important-to-be-mentioned hall, The Regal Cinema, one of the oldest cinemas of India...I googled it out..the Britishers made it and it was here that they had infamously written "Dogs and Indians not allowed". Totally getting into the groove with the musty smell of past and the shared love of Vintage, we annihilated the movie, in the middle of which I had tirefully dozed off. In another tyky turn of events, we happened to miss our last local which resembled a stunt straight out of a Bollywood movie, which was again, thankfully avoided into completely being made so by shelling out copious amount of waterproof, green semiotics from the tight budget I was SUPPOSED to follow.

The Perfect Crush : Its All Coming Back To Me Now

##SATISFACTION##

This article has been posted here because www.rashoney.blogspot.com is a known blog and this article has the potential to hurt personal sentiments as people don't dedicate mere songs to the person discussed (whose nick, by the way, is the random amalgamation of four keys picked arbitrarily from the first row of keys of the keyboars while "playfully" attempting to mask self-identity in a pseudo-chat) let alone blogposts, which may seem a bit over-the-top and a bountiful mass of rashness. I only wax-free-fuly hope this post does make it to Honey_Ras someday.

##KOI NAHIN HAI##

I am about to introduce a new feature to all blogposts of Honey_Ras and Lipstick Chronicles(except the poetries....it would then become too cheesy to be of any practicality). I hereby swear I will mention at each respective point here, the soundtrack playing in the background while I write my blog. Being a strawberry-lover and thereby, according to many ice-cream-analogous-tarot-card-readers, an eternal pessimist, before stating the reasons why I chose to introduce this seemingly barmy idea, I will try to clear the reader's possible and very much justified qualms about my sudden surge of self-obsession and narcissism. No, my idea is NOT letting on the negligible amount of readers(with completely non-negligible magnitude of respect nevertheless)my vivaciously vibrant and crazily arranged playlist, nor exuding any sort of non-existent undeciphered intellect associated with it. The idea is to justify the imbalance and mispropriety of the placement of different paragraphs which have no other reasonable clause abiding their existence. I myself am yet to collect any ciphers connecting the songs to the paragraphs or lines following them and therefore hardly expect the readers to make anything tangible out of them either. Nevertheless, if you do believe you finally ended up assigning any pattern whatsoever with the inputs, your ideas will be met with a complete unscornful gesture of gratitude, nullified nitwitty non-skeptism and an abundant amount of awe.

##HOTEL CALIFORNIA##

Yes. I agree this article is being written at an insane period of time. Precisely 11 hours after the end of my 3rd semester exams..also coincidentally exactly ONE semester after this blog had been created for, as mentioned in the stale description bar above, the sole purpose of whiling away my last couple of days after the fateful end of the Second semester. If I can get away with me being a bit over-the-top-girlish for what I am about to say next, I shall be indebted to the reader for, well lets be rational here , about two weeks. I think I can aptly celebrate the "Yayy-my-blog-is-a-semester-old!!!!!" party at Arambaghs here in Lalpur, Ranchi. All my coochi-coo friends are invited for an afternoon of self-paid, self-served and self-tiring bout of plesantry-exchangings thusly.
Getting started:
The 14th of Feb, 2010. How the day started, I remember not; there was nothing very eventful about its commencement. Though I would not say the uneventfulness of the day was unpredicted. A great hoopla had been created mere weeks before my first Valentine Day at college through a highly-hyped-by-sucky-at-relationships-engineering-sophomores-Facebook-page, which called itself "we will be busy killing mosquitos on Valentine's Day". I had haplessly clicked the like button as  I frequently used to, at that time to a HUMONGOUS number of pages. At the last count, my likes were at an almost unsurpassable high of 100000. I had decided to wear black for the day: a no-mourning-no-protest black, just as an ode to an insane colour code created by a viral pre-valentine sms, which assigned codes-of-conduct for dressing up for the occasion according to your relationship status. I, of course, don't remember the full code (even if I would have, I would say the same as a pathetic attempt of saving myself from the juvenile facial expression of the "respected-reader" for remembering trivias amounting to such unaccountable aftermaths).

##FROM THIS MOMENT##

but what I do remember is that black stood for "single and uninterested".

##TUMBLING DICE##

I and my then future roommate were tirelessly roaming about the campus for attaining the bejewelled signature of a certain Mrs. Someone, the details of that endeavor could be searched for in the blogpost "Spo(o)ils of KIIT" if interested. We were supposed to meet a certain SOMEONE at the ticket counter. What I had not realised on that day, that second was the strategic timing of the encounter.

##BEAST OF BURDEN##

Now that I have ended up developing a lasting-longer-than-three-weeks-crush on that SOMEONE do I decide to peek into the plethora of hovering flashbacks of all past sightings and scrutinising them to the point of killing my cronies of boredom. The other day I tried assigning a "first-saw-date" to this crush and ended up realising I did not even have to cook up any discreetly vicodified date. The day was in itself was haute enough.

##RUBY TUESDAY##

So what DID he say to me the first time we met?! I distinctly remember him asking in his characteristic baritone,"Sneha?! Right?!"

##STREET FIGHTING MAN##

To which I had replied in my overtly-rusted-from-lack-of-usage voice, "Yeah. Right." Some random dscussion about reservations later, he was a blissfully forgotten five-minute-period from the toe-tiring day.

##AASHIYANA##

I had fallen asleep yesternight writing this article, as Ashiaana started playing. So I resume not literally from where I had hung up last night but from today, when I finally sat down and jotted down reminiscences; in the true snse of the word. I LOATHE myself from doing this and further minimise myself owing to the fact that I am actually writig this. I jot this down only because I swore to myself before penning down this particular post that I would be TOTALLY honest while mentioning facts. So here I am.

##JIYEIN KYU##

I opened my Gmail and like an innocent-and-overtly-curious puppy, clicked the "View past chats" button. Right from the first chat ever, which, by the way was Way before I actually met NEWNICK (Yes, thats what I refer to him as amongst my friends, as he is so damn sharp, witty, Robert-Langdonish and with so many ears attached to his innumerable friends spread throughout the cyberspace that I don't find any other nick more saturated with propriety, secrecy, and codified honesty that could truly represent him.) The past chat viewing option is something I plentily resent, because they are like cyber foorprints, always poised with fearsome readiness to blab out your long-forgotten words, like a judicial alibi. But I did make use of it all the same because money and to some extent, crush makes my world spin.

##I WILL BE ON MY WAY##

HOLY CRAP!!! was exactly what came out of my mouth when I finished reading the first few chats.

##GUESS THINGS HAPPEN THAT WAY##

I was like a slimy leach, not a lot different from those in Lemony Snicket's A Series Of Unfortunate Events, whenever I chatted with in those days. Tot!! If any of my juniors ever bored me to such torturous sessions of Gtalking, I would have reflexively blocked them from my chatlist forever, for their own good, lest I would end up reprimanding them over their joblessness.

##THE DREAM##

I kept pestering him over his explicit excellance in quizzes, blogging, and I even considered his Facebook DP self-portrayed. I am definitely not going to delve into the exact contents of the conversations as that would be equivalent to idiomatic paradigms like "Eating one's own hat", "Hyper-hypocrisy" and "Bray-bragging".

##WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS##

What wouldn't I have given the song "To know her is to love her" to play at this particular juncture, only with the subject priviledged to be known being changed to "him". :)

##BABY'S IN BLACK##

As I have left no stone unturned to deviate from the topic in hand as much as bloggably possible, I would not
restrain myself from mentioning my little doubt here. Has this BIB song got to do absolutely ANYTHING with LBD?!

##TILL THERE WAS YOU##

Now I have thrown the chronology of events out of the window to the winds and  will write about anything that strikes the parallel-universe-theory-believing-mind of mine, which has zilch respect for time, and would call the coveted dilation theory to come to my rescue and save me from the wrath of Brahma!!!
$$love was there all along but till now I never heard it sing$$.... woow!!!

##NAI NAI E AADHAR THEKE##

Following will be some completely random pieces of trivia. Bear with me.
1.) Only the other day, the narcissist in me took a backseat and I googled out someone's else's name for a change, NEWNICK, precisely and got hold of some really ZAZZY and UNUSUAL pictures, pieces and diary-cum-scrapbook blog that NEWNICK used to maintain when he was in class 9th or 10th I presume. Sweet !

##DON'T IT MAKE MY BROWN EYES BLUE##

2.) The blog was served by some certain "Multiply". Quite understandable. My first blog too used to be on a nothing-resembling server called "Wetpaint". AH! Wetpaint...one of the few people on earth NEWNICK is who has actually taken the pains to go through www.tulip4u.wetpaint.com , and had called it "good". How insulting and wannabe that blog is, only I and my murky board exam days know.

##DEKHA TOH MERA SAAYA BHI MUJHSE JUDA MILA##

3.) He is so deep, bound-to-family, down-to-earth, multi-talented, friend-caring, inspiring, Victorian-age-romantic, self-restraining, spontaneous, well-read, sensitive, fun-n-people-loving, true-to-himself, respectful, aspiring, high-willed, an impossibly-and-thus-painful perfect combination of docility and anchor-attitude, practically sane and impractically fabulous, OH DARN!!!!!Whatever happens to my words whenever I try to describe him in full proportions. The word is just there in my gut, or maybe at the bottom of my tongue but gets lost, diluted, reduced to proportionless dimensions while travelling down to my fingers for getting typed. I officially leave the endeavor of describing him and in finality render myself unable to accomplish the undoable.

##NAHI SAAMNE TU##

Just one, last hapless attempt....
4.) He is so imperviously sure and crystal-clear about what he wants from himself and the world that it makes him inapproachable and sometimes feared, even despised by people, weaklings, who get intimidated by his painfully perfect demeanour. Strikingly similar to The Howard Roark I always fantasized about though it would be an act of sheer immodesty to call oneself The Dominique. He is a raw artwork of piercing clarity, unveiled and indispensible absoluteness. His stare resembles the dark epiphany of an X-ray machine, as if he has the capability of seeing right through you. He is non-judgemental, self-believing, ungullible, and adorably laconic. How can one know him and not fall in an infinite bout of irrevocable admiration(exactly that) with him?!
Finally, a cornucopia of vibrant possibilties :D as thanksgiving was just about the corner.

                                        -----------------------------X---------------------------                                                              

LIPS DON'T LIE

1.____word 1_____ Software was founded in January 1998 in order to develop 3D modeling and animation software.
­­­­­___word 1_____ is Latin for "­­­­­___word 2_____". We chose the name for the ­­­­____word 1___ Fir, a rainforest tree native to British Columbia, Canada. It also grows in the US, where it is called the Pacific Silver Fir.­­­­___word 1____Software is located in the Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada.
BEFORE GOING ANY FURTHER, READ THE WHOLE THING, THEN COME BACK AGAIN IFF (the double f is not a typo) U WANT TO.
2. The bearer of >>

 in terms of

Now... there's a bit of information for you, my name is "khan and i'm not a terrorist"....
cheeking!
I M
(word1=word2)in hindi  + answer 2.

now now, this NOT a wannabe attempt at divulging my name...its just that I had a bet with a girlfriend of mine who challenged me with 3 pairs of Grampians slippers (u dunno how serious matters became after the lager) that I somehow reveal my name to you. You are absolutely free to chuck dis down the drain or feed it to the pigs.
(personally, I would rather you DO chuck this down the drain and that you did not waste too much time solving this stupid puzzle, as :
1.)this is not exactly the way I want you to know me!!
2.)This is too easy for you to solve!!)
yippeee!!! there u r!!! ur a genius...
hope u wont stuff this piece of paper in some "use me"s in this campus again.... pls do solve (at least when no one is around).
(HAD TO write this because of the lager...believe me!)

CONFESSIONS OF A CLINGING-CUSPY-CANCERIAN

THE RING CIRCLE


"They say, unless you taste the bitterness of failure, you can't appreciate the sweetness of success. But I say, when you finally do taste the sweetness of success, you grow ever apprehensive of the embitterments of the past to come and ruin your present. You cling cancer-like to your  beautiful present, in turn, hurting and maligning it beyond repairs. I too have fallen prey to the ghosts of my past, fearing their return, instigating to come back and mock and jeer at my present. I am losing my present. I am scared. I confess, thusly."















Circle. The first shape that comes into our mind when we say "symmetry"...a perfect round body, symmetric from any helluvan angle u look from. The shape of earth, the shape of the world, the shape of earth, the shape of life...and everything that constitutes it.
Lives are supposed to take a full circle, everyone's, and hence, so did mine. A self-centered comment that I would like to make on mine is that it seems to move in a cycle. So many rotations in such a short span of time, that as soon as I find myself getting accustomed to a particular frequency, it suddenly decides to change its time period, AND amplitude.
So one fine Sunday morning which was characterised by an early rise, and an expectant day ahead, I reluctantly withdrew myself from my cozy cozy sheets, banged open my laptop characteristically (I AM harsh wit it inspite of the infinte solace i find in its realms), and looked at the right-bottom corner towards the date and time tab. Its a routine. My eyes automatically dart towards that area as soon as I switch on my system, as I don't happen to possess any other source of time-date teller machine in my room (barring, of course, my cellphone, which is usually discharged, much to the anger of my mom and the resigned displeasure of my dad). My heart gave a little leap of joyous-anxiety and forgot to beat a couple of times...(ie. if I can manage to get away with the above sentence without sounding overtly oxymoronic). It seemed as if the bass-harp, that The Mighty Sheldore very much despises in the second episode of the fifth season of BBT, started playing in the background to supposedly transfer me to the same day , a year ago.
The day, as my personal diary, that doesn't possess any entry after the 4th of january, 2011, reckons, started as any other normal day, without giving away any premonitions of the capers to follow. I quickly skim through the 6 page long entry in my diary and jot down the essential and forgettable bullet-points.
1030 hours: I chop down my left thumb with a jack-planer in the engg workshop, get rushed to the college-dispensary.
1230 hours: I realise my extremely prized Android goes missing.
1300 hours: After returning to the hostel in a completely dishevelled physical n mental state, I realise my Longines is missing.
1400 hours: The warden comes knocking at my door, with a contingent of grumpy looking people, downright ordering me to present my room for a  routine check.
1415 hours: Some strangely familiar bottles are found in my room, containing liquids that oddly resembled pee.
1500 hours: I m taken away for a gruelling questionnaire by the warden, the superintendent and the hostel-caretaker. Accused of being a schizophrenic and an unsocial element with a disturbed state of mind and highly amnesic.
1700 hours: I finally break down.
1900 hours: I give away all the ghory and gruesome details about the people I suspect have a hand in all this.
2000 hours: The named-famed people are taken away for alcohol-check. Test positive.
2300 hours: A sorry note and a bar of chocoalte later, I go back to sleep.

Seems a happy ending to a terrible day. Doesn't it? The day ended but the cleavage-showing, bum-dancing and honey-serving words of the namies don't end here. After receiving a black dot and a couple of reprimands each, the named's finally get down to action again. The semester was all theirs now.
How long have you gone without listening to the sound of your own voice? How many days have you spent at a stretch with people melting away at your sight? How many stories have you heard about yourself whose origin was somewhere approximately near Uranus, the orbit that of Pluto and the end near the Andromeda galaxy...light years away from your own existence?
No, life is not a circle. Its a spiral. A closing spiral for some, an infinitely increasing for the other few. I started small, bumped, stumbled over some pretty thickety rocks, Grew, and seem to have fallen again. This time, on a broader chasm than before.
 They say, unless you taste the bitterness of failure, you can't appreciate the sweetness of success. But I say, when you finally do taste the sweetness of success, you grow ever apprehensive of the embitterments of the past to come and ruin your present. You cling cancer-like to your  beautiful present, in turn, hurting and maligning it beyond repairs. I too have fallen prey to the ghosts of my past, fearing their return, instigating to come back and mock and jeer at my present. I am losing my present. I am scared. I confess, thusly.