A few more days

Here they are, these days, and in their midst I, trying to slow time down, make hours count, make days dense. In no time, which of course means in a week or two, I know I'll be thinking of tonight and the thing that I'll recall first up would be that I had been thinking on this day that I'd be thinking of this day in some days. This is not redundant thinking - this is how you make minutes count, this I guess is how you make nights dense and slow and leaden when you are all by yourself; wait, I think it's dawn now.

I had a look at the window barely five or ten or fifteen minutes back when everything was deathful black and now suddenly the sky outside is a large plate of murky grey iron, stained a little darker with greyer trees, and greyer distant buildings. In no time, which of course means in half an hour or so, the birds will be out in force - chirruping gleefully while swooping at each other in playful morning energy, the expansive sky turning blue with envy in the background. Really, birds are children. I, all the same, would still be lying on this bed slowly slurping water from my plastic bottle, and telling myself it's tea, and obviously not believing it. There should have been some tea-vending facility here.

I have an exam tomorrow. These may as well be the last academic exams that I'll ever take, and unbelievable as it may sound, I wish we had a couple of more subjects this time around, it's all going to be over so soon you know. I wonder how it will be in some days, when I'll have no business sticking around here - would I still linger aimlessly for a few more days until official compulsion would lock this room away from me, or would I, like a hard-boiled twentyfirst-centurian, party a night, hug and rush home, and catch IPL with my entire attention shifting smoothly to boundaries and wickets and, what's that new fad, Zoozoos ?

I went out to ride around the campus roads on my motorcycle an hour ago - the roads empty and inviting as they are at this point on the clock, but as I was starting the gears felt all jagged and I was mawkishly tempted to tell myself that it's a sign of how it doesn't want to go, how it too loves being here. Yes, that thought did burst forth, till I soon realised how terribly affected by Reema Lagoo it was to be thinking like that, which made me puke with angry self-reproach. And so, you know, it isn't everyday that I slurp water continuously and slowly at this hour.

And ... the birds are out.