October 06, 2003

Muse: Bovine, gasoline & others

What would you remember a person for? The best of his qualities or the worst? And even if you were to make a conscious choice, how would you weigh a good in relation to a bad or vice versa. And that, my friend, is the key to amazingly complicated puzzle called as relationship, be it romantic or otherwise. Time to get off the soapbox. Your turn now.

On a festive night, inebriated, the man had no reason to budge from where he lay. The middle of the road, semi-conscious and a constant stream of decked out crowd passing by without wanting to even find out if he was dead or alive. Confession: even I did not want to. My friends did, they shook and slapped him and he came around for a while. We ended up picking him up from the middle of the road and left him on the pavement. Contrary to popular perception, compassion still does survive, at least in the hearts of people I know.

We were singing as we walked down the road from market one to market two. To be honest, I was pretending to, since what sounds like orgasm induced braying does not really embellish the better, and in a few cases really good, singing qualities of the rest of the rowdy gang. For those few hours I was granted freedom from being whatever I have transformed myself into these days. Almost felt like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar to be in the college frame of mind again. Do not worry, I am very much inclined to being a repeat offender.

One high on grass, another high on his ego trip, a couple of couples and us a single couple in a mass of humanity, living out the ultimate manifestation of the herd mentality. First impression of the puja pandals: Everyone looking at everyone else in anticipation of spotting that elusive embodiment of perfection. Other than the odd undocumented case, success is not known to be spotted often enough. Anticipation and expectation, though, have a field day. And I had a nice time.

Back home at six in the morning for a day-long wrestling match with the 2.6 series Linux kernel. Blame it on the impromptu ride, alone and at the break of dawn towards the Tughlakabad fort on the rickety old bike with the ever-enthusiastic two stroke hum and the odd long distance trucks's monstrous roar for company in the audible entertainment category. One of these days I will just fill up my tank and ride alone all the way to Alwar or Jaipur.