So many things

The topics floweth over. There are so many things I want to write about. On my way to the bakery at night I can spin up something or the other in my head and it all seems so good and I get real eager to put it all down in some form or the other except that I cant and it's all gone the next morning; the content, the fervor, the passion of storytelling as well as the excitement. It is as if no ripple existed where once a storm was.

The perplexing part is that there are always interesting things to write about and unlike dreams I remember all of them even after the desire to write them has gone prompting me to conclude rightly or wrongly that writing and writing well is more an indicator of mood and the desire to write as it is of what you write and how you do it. I know the next time I tread the same path I will feel for all things not written; things ranging from seeing four guys dining together in a strange manner in a house on the way. They open the living room door, stand in a circle and eat holding the plates in their hands. One fleeting glance and you would feel that there is indeed a short round table between them. This ritual of theirs amazes me every single day and my reactions now have moved on from bewilderment to appreciation. It is better to eat together, however oddly, than eat alone, something I usually end up doing.

Then I want to write about the day I felt everything was going to end that very instant. One of the most surreal feelings I have ever had, in fact my only one and the interesting connections it had with the 'deja vu' of Matrix but this all is so interesting that I am definitely going to write more about it soon than try and put it here in an edited way and spoil it all.

I want to write about my literary pursuits right in the midst of annual exams; an exercise aimed more at avoiding the task at hand than maybe genuine interest. I want to write more about the hostel life, in fact a lot about it because it had so much to be commented upon. Even as I write about hostel life I find Naved online because he has bunked his office to take care of his previous roomie's horrible CPI by running around teachers and clerks and I decide I SHOULD write about hostel and the people there.

However, the latest to occupy my mind is writing about various teachers I have come across, the ones that brought out the best, the worst or some inextricable parts of my personality to the fore either as a matter of survival, compliance, cooperation or sheer rebellion. It still is close to heart not as in getting personal but more so as a tribute to some of them. In fact I finished about a teacher and deleted everything because it did not have the likeability that it had the previous night.

The night that had me walking with air blowing in smallish gusts with a coldish nip, the silence broken sporadically by Cabs whizzing past with sleepy employees visible through semi-tinted panes sporting Company logos, occasional stray dogs and the entire atmosphere pregnant with mayhem that would again unleash itself the next morning when it's an hour to starting the day in front of your monitor.

I know I am going to lose the thread yet again...in another 6 hours
The morning rise a lifetime’s passed me by