Dream

Dream. It's dusk. No one around but her. How perfect. She's walking up a flyover, though pedestrians are not allowed up flyovers. It's Her dream, she can do whatever she wants. She reaches the highest point of the flyover and stops. She stands at the edge of the side railing and looks down. High enough. No, she's not thinking of jumping and ending her life. She puts her right hand inside her shorts' right pocket and pulls out her mobile phone. She smirks. She stretches her right hand forward and drops her phone. She watches it. Contact with the ground. Debris. It's dark. She pulls out her earphones from her left pocket and plugs them into her ears and smiles. Pearl Jam's You Are.

She walks down the flyover, cars have appeared out of nowhere. Bikes too. A bike slows down next to her. The guy riding it is wearing a grey coloured helmet with a tinted visor, for obvious reasons. You're not allowed to see his face. She smiles at him and says, "Done." They zoom past the adjacent vehicles and get lost in the traffic ahead.

She wakes up and finds him next to her. He's sleeping. She looks beside his pillow. Her phone. Time is 3:33 A.M. She leans over to him and gives him a kiss on his forehead. He shifts a little. Her head on his chest and his arm around her. She falls back asleep.

Birthday

It is eight minutes past midnight. The 6th of December. Her birthday. Three of her friends call her up and wish her. One sings to her, another plays a song. Few send text messages to her phone. She's sleepy. Bed. Inviting. Her parents had wished her good night at 23:23 and gone to bed. Nothing will happen, she sighs. She lies on her bed and the room goes dark.`

She feels a nudge. Her eyes are closed. She opens them slowly and feels the sudden rush of electric impulses from her cornea to her brain. Well, not really. You can't feel that, can you? She squints and looks around. People in her room. More than four people. She counts again. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Her eyes hurt. Voices. Is she dreaming?

"She's going back to sleep?!?"
"Oye, enough acting, wake up."
"Happy birthday!"

She opens her eyes. Smiles. Not a dream. Birthday surprise. Happy. Her friends in her room. Birthday caps. Balloons. She smells food. Time? She asks aloud. 2:06 AM.

Someone whispers, "Now, now."

And a cake is smeared on her face.

Happy birthday to her.

Rain, again.

There is something about rain that's indescribable. It makes me feel something new everytime it makes me feel anything. Sometimes I hate rain. But when I love it, I Love it.

Huge drops on the car, the loud sound of rain lashing against the windows. Get out of the car and half of you is wet in seconds. Wet grass after rain. Wet jasmine creeper after rain. Shake it a little. Take a walk when it's drizzling. Smile at the people standing under the parapet of shops. If you find a wet dog on your way to wherever you're going, pat it. You won't catch anything from him, don't worry. He just had a bath. Walk slowly. Be aware of every step. Things smell different after a spell of rain.

If you wish you had company, find someone.

If you don't find/have anyone, stop wishing you had company.

Random

Dark clouds. Gloomy weather. Rain. Big droplets on the ground. The guy on the bike stops under the tree in front of my house but it doesn't help. He places his hands above his head. Like that helps. Aunty is walking with umbrella. Pink umbrella with yellow dots. Doesn't get louder than that. Stray dog runs for cover too. The cow in the empty plot is just the way she was before it started pouring. She doesn't feel cold?

Bike uncle is drenched head to toe. Toe is covered with wet off-white socks. I can see they're torn. Bike is Yamaha RXZ. Red colour. It looks clean now. But bike uncle doesn't look at it that way. Aunty is back. The lower half of her saree is wet, but she doesn't seem to care. The two polythene bags she's carrying are getting wet too. She brings them upto her chest and covers them with her pallu. Helps a little I guess. Oops, the umbrella slips a little. She stops, shifts the umbrella to firm position and resumes walking. Uncle was looking at her. Aunty is out of view now.

It suddenly stops raining. Uncle is struggling to get his bike started. There, it switches on. Kick started. Uncle is out of sight now. Out of sight, out of mind.

I feel cold. Good feeling.

Will have ice cream. Kwality Walls' Chocolate. Very nice.

Will click Publish Post now.

I want to write something, but nothing comes. Roland Garros began, Nadal wore shocking pink, Jankovic and Safina played well, yet I don't feel like writing about it. I could say how much I don't like Ivanovic too, but not worth the effort I guess. Weird mood. Happens to everyone, right? It's not even the writer's block. Could it just be plain laziness? This sucks. 

A funny name I read today- Rui Machado. 
A name I like- Philipp Kohlschreiber.

Fernando Verdasco. It's my blog, I can mention his name whenever I want. His black and white outfit in Roland Garros looks ugly even though he's hot. 
I wish I had watched Sharapova play so that I could criticise her. 

It's the time of the season for loving.

A line from the song Time of the Season by The Zombies. The only version I've heard is Blake Lewis' on American Idol.

She knew the time had come. She didn't want to do it, but she didn't have a choice, as always. Her dad told her she had to do it, or else.. Or else, her younger sister would have to do it and she did not want to put her sister through it. "I can do it. I've done it lots of times before, I can do!" she tells herself. But can she? Her sister looks at her from her bedroom. Her father is waiting in his bedroom. Her mum is out working. It's 8 minutes to 8 p.m. Her mother will be home in fifteen minutes. And what she has to do will take just 3 minutes. She takes a deep breath. She walks towards the kitchen. Her dad asks, "Are you done?" She says, "Just a minute daddy." She reaches the garbage bin. She picks the black plastic and ties it at the ends. She walks out the front door and tosses it in the cheap metal bin lying next to the post box. 

When she enters, her dad is happy. He says, "I'm proud of you, child." She's glad. 

Vote.

I voted! My first ever vote. I was actually nervous, scared that I would mess it up, press the wrong button, or I would slip and my face would hit the machine and two buttons would get pressed when I would try to get back up on my feet and hence my vote would be invalid. Phew. Thank god none of that happened! 

I also met my college building's attendance slip collector in the polling booth area, I don't know his name but I spoke to him. He was happy, I was happy and he was yelling out the name of the political party that I was going to vote for, so, all was good.

And my current favourite song- Warning Sign by Coldplay. I started reading The English Patient my Michael Ondaatje. I haven't watched the movie, I always prefer reading the books first. I googled the movie and read that it won nine academy awards. A very bad adaptation of a book to a movie has to be the movie Eragon. It was very very, very bad.  

It's 30 minutes to midnight. Listening to few random songs. After the playlist has ended, I will watch the movie Gone Baby Gone. 

The story of a boy and a girl.

She's still crying. They are sitting next to each other in the park bench, his arm around her. She says, "I can't believe it! I'm so happy!" He says, "Me too honey. It's perfect." She says, "Let's get married in December!" He says, "Anything you say honey." They are in love. The two boys playing football nearby can Feel it. Oh yes, they can. It's so strong that they awkwardly move away from each other. His mobile phone rings. Damn. If only that phone never rang. He answers, "Yes.. speaking. Are you sure? Uh-huh, all right. No problem. I'll be there in five minutes." He puts the phone back in his pocket and looks at the girl and says, "I have to go honey. I'll meet you for dinner tonight, I can't wait to tell my parents!" She hugs him and says, "Me too! Go on now, I love you." He says, "I love you too." He gets up and walks towards the pavement. She looks at the rock on her finger and smiles. He stops just before crossing the road, turns back and looks at her, waiting for her to look at him. He's walking backwards, still waiting. She's still smiling at her finger. He takes another step backward and is hit by a black SUV. She turns and finds him dead.

Monte- Carlo Masters

Nadal won the match, but it was a three set one! Awesome. Djo had a sudden surge of power and technique in the second set and he won it. Third set he completely lost momentum. Nadal was patient, forced Djo to commit errors and the match was won. 6-3, 2-6, 6-1. Fifth consecutive Monte- Carlo Masters title. 

Formula 1 racing- Well, I couldn't watch it, but so far it's been the worst start for Ferrari in 26 or so years. Kimi was tenth. Massa didn't even complete the race. Hamilton somehow manages to land himself within the points. Is it luck, always? Anyway, Vettel and Webber make it one-two, followed by the current leader in the ,championship points, Button. And now that Red Bull is thinking of using a double diffuser, we can only wait and see what happens next. 

Yes, I can talk about only sports today. 

 

What happened today.

I met a friend for lunch and ended up having just a samosa.
Had ice cream with another friend later.
Got home and fought with mosquitoes. 

Watched the semi-finals of Monte Carlo Masters, Nadal beat Murray 6-2, 7-6 (4). He'll play Djo tomorrow. I predict a straight sets victory for Nadal. 

Don't care about IPL.

Arsenal rocks (or so they say). I don't watch football. Kavya madam does.

Reading Stephen King's 'It'.

Bought Michael Crichton's 'Sphere'. 

Word most used today- 'Yo'.

Done.