The Day That Never Comes...

Yesterday, a funny thing happened. Funny in my own queer sense, i mean. Those without my warped sense of humour may find it slightly exacting, and since this part would consist of the world's population minus one, I suggest that the intelligent reader may skip the rest of this post as it is just about blabbering balderdash.

To put it in a nutshell, I have not been having the best of times with my dear not-so-old friend Shantanu of late. Basically, there were a couple of things, mostly professional and a couple of normal civil etiquette which I did not like about his behaviour of late. And a couple of days ago, I endeavoured to tell him about them over a mug of splendid coffee at Java Dave's. Now I know that the music being played in the place named above was capital, but it does tax one when one is talking serious stuff to a supposedly good friend and the supposedly good friend is looking at the roof, the floor and everywhere but towards one, all the while tapping his foot away to the song being played with the slightest regard to the piece of friendly advice being dished out. So to sum it up, I was piqued.

Then sometime later, this supposedly good friend decides to organise a bonfire on behalf of all bachelors present here, without having any discussion with the rest of the people who expect to be in the core group of things. As I have had the occasion to remark earlier, I was piqued, and then some more with this new act. So in spite of the fact that I would have loved to be a part of the festivities, I deliberately absented myself from the proceedings of the aforementioned bonfire. Now, the bonfire taking place almost right in front of my room, I had to be elsewhere at the time of the proceedings so as to avoid a scene. Hence I decided to leg across to Chandigarh Club.

It was there that I met this old gentleman, a retired principal of some college. We started talking and before five minutes were up, the gentleman became emotional and refused to take no for an answer when he ordered a beer for me. Over a couple of drinks, he came to divine that I was feeling piqued. And lo and behold, I was, probably for the first time in my life, on the receiving end of a verbal discourse over my pet philosophy- the philosophy of no expectations.

Listening to it like someone who is listening to some far fetched fantastical idea for the first time in his life, I realised I had forgotten my core thoughts again. And that is why I was feeling whatever I was feeling. However feelings being feelings and not chalk marks on a blackboard cannot just be rubbed off like chalk marks can be. So I was still kind of piqued, but U decided to come back to the bonfire and at least, bid a farewell to the friends going out of our place.

And as luck would have it, on the way back, my ipod started pouring in "The Day That Never Comes" by Metallica (Death Magnetic). Heavens sending signals???

The Bucket List

Being the patient of inertia that I am, in that I find it difficult to take a step apart form the things I have to do to sustain my (I must admit evergrowing) tunny, I find it slightly inconvenient to go watch a movie. Even the harmless verbal barbs and the not so harmless kicks on my again evergrowing butt by dear old Swapnil and dear not-so-old Shantanu rarely makes me leave the arguably cosy confines of my room.

So it is no surprise that I have not yet seen The Bucket List, which by all accounts is a most excellent motion picture. Not only is it excellent but also from what I have heard, it is a rare person who is not forced to think after watching it. So as I observe the much bemedalled Baghel sir sitting next to me through a boring lecture, passing the time making his Bucket List, undoubtably having seen the movie last night, I also start thinking about my Bucket List.

Think as I might, I could not come up with anything to do. Tried scratching my head, my elbows, my knees, my heels - no bright spark, no eureka.

Conclusion- I was setting myself up for the wrong task. No bucket, no pail for me. I should have tried to prepare a Mug List- A Beer Mug List.

PS: This was jotted down by yours truly during a boring lecture in a more boring seminar a couple of days ago.

PPS: Wish you all and your family a very very happy and joyous Deepawali.

Anniversary

One year has passed. Exactly. A few minutes more, to be precise. But the events of this day, that year would be etched in his life forever.

Not that he did not know what he was doing. Not that he did not know what results to expect. But then, she was such an unpredictable girl. So, having been the best of friends for quite a few years, when he decided to propose to her (again, as he had done so in veiled words some time back, only to get a veiled refusal), he hoped to succeed but expected to fail.

Why, then, was he still unable to get over her? Why would hers be the first name to come to his mind, when he was troubled by something he could not talk to anyone else about? And why, indeed why, was it that he was still not sure that what he felt for her was what they call love???

The sudden feeling of heat on his fingers told him that the cigarette between his fingers had burnt through the filter and was threatening his skin, but surprisingly it was with a sort of wishfulness that he stubbed it into the ash tray. The ash tray he had purchased from Happily Unmarried. Was he happily unmarried?? He did not know.

The phone rang. He did not know why, but somehow he hoped it was her. He hoped that like him, she also remembered that it was one year and a few minutes since they formally broke their friendship. And he hoped that she had had second thoughts.

He picked up the phone. The feminine voice from the other end said, "Sir, I am calling from Vodafone...". He disconnected the call and picked up another cigarette, as he got up to fill his glass with another large of Johnny Walker Red Label.