The morning of Oct 15th was a bit cloudy , a bit unusual compared to the past few days of that autumn as I clearly remember , yet the flowers were in full bloom and the vroom vroom of Baba's scooter chased away my dear sleep . I was two months and twenty five days short of eleven and that was not what ringed in my mind then , it was only the last night's talk with P and the smile over the call that made me smile once more . Once more the feeling of being by her side gathered as goosebumps quietly over my arms and neck . I knew that school had to be over after eight more hours and all the rubberbands and paper bits stuffed inside my pocket would be finished by then drawing some more smiles , some more frowns and surely some more unnamed emotions . I had my bag packed though the feeling of liberty had already crept in as one of my assignments for the last day before the festive vacation . Soon , Ma came hurrying with all her love stuffed inside Rio . Nah , what you're guessing is wrong even you know , cause Rio isn't a place full of people that hosted earth summit or the summer Olympics . Rio , my tiffin box , inside which it was nothing more than a meal for many , but to me it was nothing less than maidenly heaven . I touched Ma's feet and ran down the stairs surveying the bored insects over the walls and sprang behind Baba . With the gear picking up with a jolt , the scooter flew like the chariot of Lord Krishna . Baba asked me " What's there in schedule today ?" . And I was busy in mindless indulgence of sightseeing . Now with a raised bass that resonated with the blowing winds , Baba said " Don't lose any of your books or copies today ". I knew this and I knew everything lined up as the verbal script of Baba . I told him not to race today as I wanted to enjoy what was going around to the fullest else Baba and I would race down the streetways before we reached school . Needless to say , Baba raced at over fifty and curls dressed up my forehead . My heart started beating faster . Baba washed my sleepy face with a splash of water from the Milton and I waved him a bye before entering the gateway like a lionheart , often a sneaky mouse in front of P . Umm , what'd you expect ? I was a child unaware of the maze life would gift me after years . I kept imagining my cheeks grazing against hers and her arms around mine . I had all the time in the world to think of her , to blush with the verses that Madam Sophia read out loudly in a class of paroxysms . It was break and it was a number of things more . It was the time to grab food off the quanta of heaven scattered over patchy wooden benches . The blackboard grew old each year , much like me , much like the lady wearing a well made fedora (ofcourse P in my imagination) , much like the fresh paints over the bamboo canes of the pandals that tend to fade over the seven days of puja , much like the sailing boat that bears all storms , much like the wrinkled skin of the town that was trying its best to look anew . A couple more hours before I met her at the rickshaw stand , pushed her by her nose and gave her the tightest hug . I looked outside the window and saw my everyday chum , the sparrow that came to greet me between classes which could seldom have my tough attention ! The bell rang thrice and everyone of us just threw ourselves out of our places like popping popcorns and shaked our bodies , hands and emotions to rush outside in a deformed queue . I felt the zephyr , brewing out odour of a pretty image of kashful (kans grass) and I waved a farewell to my friends to find out P and insignificant others near Ratan Kaka's (Uncle's) rickshaw . P was talking to G about how she would spend her vacation . I would've kissed her everywhere I could get my lips on (I was a child okay ? Dirty minds of ya'll huh) but I didn't . Mr. Bald took his son as it was his holiday and I was more happy , just because the weight on the rickshaw crashed down much like the stock charts of my present company . There were a great many places and objects in my head and amidst all of it I and P were the only constants . My current girlfriends would just have pillowfights with I don't know whom after reading this , haha . This was all thirteen years from now .
Often I see the stupid HoD talking bullshit , these days . And there's an incredible amount of information piling up like the municipality garbage . I ponder how things would turn out to be a few years down the freaky timeline . It's not about bucks , it's not about all that I have but it's about what of I have would I lose ? This threats me now and then . Last Friday it was P's birthday . I don't know if she remembers anything about us . It's been thirteen years since . Life's not the same . Even a minute I miss , I lose the time to mark the last LRDI set out . Even though I live in the eleventh floor , I miss the flawless skies of childhood .
To all the kids out there , here's a warning board that says " Find out what's hidden right now . Cause all you got is NOW " I bet , life won't be the same as it is now . Never ever . Believe me or try me out . It's your choice .
The earth is a giant plate . It holds endless grief in its crevices , the rhymes of neophytes who feed and sing , the odes of strides , the thrust of fields and what not . Still it misses a few definite things . One of it's a knife . A literal knife . Which I now drop . Look ! The knife goes down . I watch it glide down the forces of nature , slowly . Who survives ? The earth or the knife ? The earth has lost something of it every other day which sprouts up like a duality at some other time , in a different slice of space . It survives again . And the knife ? The knife was supercilious . Never have I seen the knife even think once before hurting . Skin and apples . Flesh and bones . The knife overpowered the one holding it . Dicing with sublime forms of death , the knife never lost till now . 52nd floor is from where I dropped it . The binoculars give a dramatic watch to the ceremony . A feat . A feast . Smitten by the ferocious windblasts it dips straight , down below . The distance it covers is not mere distance . But is a combination of time too . And it strikes and breaks . The knife strikes the plate . This time the knife breaks and purgatories its torso , of metal . A miniature of Kilauea Caldera , Sandwich Islands is painted . The intensity of the paint is profound . This one is not by Tavernier though . It's by a stupid fall . A satisfaction that deserves a recreation . A better one . If you're the one reading this , just know that the writer lived . Lived in the recreation . The stupid fall . The world demanded a reclamation and here I am , the one smoking justice to it .
52nd floor , the railing is wet . It's just the beginning to a perfection . I know how to survive . The art of losing self is worth conquering . I cling to the wet railing and look down . It's satisfaction . The world demanded a reclamation . A few seconds . I breathe in . I remember mamma always telling me to breathe in deep . And breathe out next . I exhale . I liberate .
47th floor , I clutch time . I gasp in . I run for memories .
43rd floor , I see . I try to open my eyes . I can't cry . I can't scream . My brain's bleak . My limbs are frail . I try to clutch time again . I buy . I trifle . I buy distance too . This is thrilling . The velocity praises me . The acceleration curses though .
41st floor , Hans Zimmer's beautiful composition on Time plays . A testimony to my senses . An inception .
37th floor , I missed to tell you that seven squared is forty nine . How can I miss data at this moment ? The wedding illumination was the finest .
31st floor , Margo loves me . 'Margo we will see the world together'
29th floor , The rooftop seems drunk . The sunrise seems blood .
23rd floor , My spine . It's breaking . My Margo ! Take care of Marta . She's young . She's beautiful . She's ours .
19th floor , I can't think anymore . Can you spare me ?
17th floor , I told you I can't think of anything .
13th floor , The birds . The flowers . The winds . Now it's concise . It's harmony again .
11th floor , I dabble with eddies . It's general for the dawn to be calm . But this is no ordinary dawn . It's roaring egotism . The reflection on the glazing surface travels and gathers glories .
7th floor , I now feel for the knife . I am true . I never thought of killing smiles . Fates . I am sorry .
5th floor , I own this end .
3rd floor , This beginning .
2nd floor , A debacle .
A hollow living spectre . The earth is now complete . Prime .