It’s that time of the year again. Or would have been that time of the year, if that fateful courier had not arrived to tell me, again, that I shall not be returning to R-land for some time. The extended vacations have been heavily punctuated by marathon reading sessions, loads of comic books, and the rush to gather stuff before going west. In between, there have been some inspired/nostalgic/plain unnecessarily sentimental posts, accompanied by words of wisdom by the many who have nothing better to do than go through the ramblings of old men telling tales from a near forgotten era. I did not become another name in the burgeoning list of the senile retirees of R-land, though it was not for the lack of trying. False starts have plagued me for a long, long time, and, frankly, I had better things to do with my time.
I’ve been rediscovering Batman, in avatars both darker and merrier than the one donned in the Dark Knight. I have also carried forward with my old flame, who never deserts me come what may. Ah, I wouldn’t sacrifice my affair with books for love that lasts a lifetime. At a tome a day, you can’t help but wonder, is there any better way of spending your life? I once remarked to a friend that if I get a single wish to design my own paradise, I‘d make it in the image of a small, paper-musty, but well-lighted room, the air pervaded with petrichor, and the walls stacked with full length shelves of books. Oh, and all the books in the world exist there. Every now and then I dream about this vision, and I never regret that this is the image of heaven as I see it. I won’t mind a laptop and an internet connection in the place, though.
I am stuffing myself on all the good things in life. Come two months, and I won’t be exactly sure what to expect. I am an awful cook, in the sense that I know very little cooking. I can hardly be expected to subsist on potatoes. I hate doing chores. I would love to have company across the hall, but I can’t raise my hopes up. I’ll be barely able to make ends meet. And I need to work really hard. When was the last time I worked that hard? For the Transport Phenomenon course back in my sophomore year. I needed to save a grade, which I did admirably, after hitting rock bottom in the internals. That was two years ago. Or was it a century? Long ago, in galaxy far, far away….
From what I hear, all the people who decided to master management met Machiavellian monsters in their chosen destinations. The only thing that springs to my mind when I ponder over their fate is a chain gang sentenced to 2 years hard labour breaking rocks. I can imagine Lefty’s prided palms being scarred in two months with more work than he has done in four years. And in the west, there are people being left to find solace in Surat. Pity that the journey would take longer than a week’s sleep. I got to know from well placed sources that things ease up after another six months. Hang in there people. At least you get to work.
I have been trying to put the few words I have in verse, with little success. So I’ve just decided to take up reading poetry on a large scale. After my little known quatrains, I do need to put in a more concentrated effort towards writing lines that learned voices never spare. Another of various diversion techniques? Sure, but at least now I can bore you as much as I have been bored.