Nocturnal diary
Well, it’s 1:30. I just came back from the wash room. After applying cool water at my face already moistened with perspiration, my eyes longing for a sleep, the darkening circles haloing them and my soft nape which retains the coolness of the water for a relatively longer period (Like a lover caressing his love the water sent its cool shivery sensuous touch in every part of that softness), I am back to work with a renewed vigor.
And while writing the case analysis for Club Fed, putting myself under the mantle of a French-Moroccan, Jack Amazllag handling recruitment in US for a US subsidiary of a French company, I am trying to come up with the numerous possibilities that I am sure never occurred in Jack’s mind and not to occur in anybody’s mind who is/was/will be in Jack’s place, but only serve in getting me fair marks (hopefully) in this assignment which holds 1% weight for a 1 credit course I find its absolutely alright, if not necessary to take a little beak to talk to you and invite you to a short walk down the lanes of my earlier romances with night lives in my earlier days.
I remember my days in Hyderabad - coding, decoding, coding and occasionally breaking the code of the office in watching a movie in between, coding again, attempting to fit myself in a combination of a 4’ sofa and a chair in a recumbent position and waking up after sometime to get back to work. I remember my solitary walks through the Begumpet road at this point where the street dogs, couple of drooling police men, a number of women cleaning the streets(one of them flirting with a policeman) , few speeding vehicles, a languishing white ambassador looking for someone to buy for a night coexist altogether in different points of space and time, I pace up towards my residence at DK Road. The moon and stars give me company, the roads guide me , I knock at the door, I ring the bell once, twice, seems I m waiting for infinity, a drowsy voice responds after another ring or a missed call and opens the gate, I trudge myself to my bed and crash…
Not too long way back, there used to be half night outs like these, for nothing. There used to be night outs for fun. There used to be night outs over a “Tinku”, a bread-butter, a coffee toast, a round lawn in front of a building with a tower where the lights have never dimmed for fifty years with the exception of the blackout days of 1971 war between two brothers fighting for a disputed property. There used to be nights of plays, practices of the plays to be acted and the actual staging of the plays we are always taking part in this world -taking part simultaneously, sometimes coherently, rarely discordantly.
But u know, time changes, place changes, face changes, dream changes, inspiration changes. But night remains with its unallied enigmatic appeal --- Dunno why she appeals me so much…
And while writing the case analysis for Club Fed, putting myself under the mantle of a French-Moroccan, Jack Amazllag handling recruitment in US for a US subsidiary of a French company, I am trying to come up with the numerous possibilities that I am sure never occurred in Jack’s mind and not to occur in anybody’s mind who is/was/will be in Jack’s place, but only serve in getting me fair marks (hopefully) in this assignment which holds 1% weight for a 1 credit course I find its absolutely alright, if not necessary to take a little beak to talk to you and invite you to a short walk down the lanes of my earlier romances with night lives in my earlier days.
I remember my days in Hyderabad - coding, decoding, coding and occasionally breaking the code of the office in watching a movie in between, coding again, attempting to fit myself in a combination of a 4’ sofa and a chair in a recumbent position and waking up after sometime to get back to work. I remember my solitary walks through the Begumpet road at this point where the street dogs, couple of drooling police men, a number of women cleaning the streets(one of them flirting with a policeman) , few speeding vehicles, a languishing white ambassador looking for someone to buy for a night coexist altogether in different points of space and time, I pace up towards my residence at DK Road. The moon and stars give me company, the roads guide me , I knock at the door, I ring the bell once, twice, seems I m waiting for infinity, a drowsy voice responds after another ring or a missed call and opens the gate, I trudge myself to my bed and crash…
Not too long way back, there used to be half night outs like these, for nothing. There used to be night outs for fun. There used to be night outs over a “Tinku”, a bread-butter, a coffee toast, a round lawn in front of a building with a tower where the lights have never dimmed for fifty years with the exception of the blackout days of 1971 war between two brothers fighting for a disputed property. There used to be nights of plays, practices of the plays to be acted and the actual staging of the plays we are always taking part in this world -taking part simultaneously, sometimes coherently, rarely discordantly.
But u know, time changes, place changes, face changes, dream changes, inspiration changes. But night remains with its unallied enigmatic appeal --- Dunno why she appeals me so much…
posted by moodygoody at 2:26 PM
2 Comments:
which hall and which batch are you from? I already miss kgp so much I am going back there for convo. even when arjun singh is the chief guest
looks like the street dogs of greenlands are going places! They sure are worth mentioning.
Nice post dude...
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