My Computer>> Music (F:)>> English>> Enrique Iglesias>> Play All
*Do You Know*
Okay, plan worked. I did dream well. Disha, Tiyash, Sritama, Payal, Yealeena, they all were there in my dream. We all were busy doing some biology project (oh yes, everyone is in Xaviers’). Disha’s Mum was supplying us with good food, non-stop. Yealeena had a boy-friend, played by a strange, dark-complexioned, curly-haired guy. Sritama had her birthday or something. Never mind the details. There were numerous “Is it just me, or do you really have killing eyes?”-moments, and it turned out later, that it’s just me! Good dream!
Is it just me, or do you really have killing eyes? I can’t get them out of my mind. Not even the view my dream favored me with! Ok, I’ll write about something else. My Dad and me are having the longest fight, in the history of our “living-together”, so far. It’s been more than a week now. It’s a strange state of things. It reminds me of some poem/story I’d read somewhere, which had the following description: Two men living under the same roof, yet never talking.
I’ve taken my iniative to talk. I just didn’t persist. I just woke up, and found two packets on the dining table, with “To Be Taken To Durgapur” written on them. Those candies for Bhai. Today morning, while Dad was in the next room, I quietly slipped out of the house, and sent him a text, “I’m leaving. Will be late.” When I returned in the evening, I gave him a call, asking him if he had an umbrella. He replied. But, moments later, when he returned home, there was no sign that it was the same person I’d talked to, moments ago.
*Wish I Was Your Lover*
I asked him whether I’d make him Maggi, I asked him if he had something else for his dinner, I tried my best to strike a conversation. He pretended not to hear me. That’s the same way he reacted the previous time I tried to start talking and resolve things. Last to last time, I tried to talk, in Sayak’s presence. It ended up in a bad scene. He screamed. I, though taken aback, tried to say something illogical in my defence. It was my bad luck. I’d though I’d locked the gate, but I hadn’t. The lock and the key had betrayed me.
I have gone back, but I still haven’t found the reason. I don’t remember exactly when he’s angry from. Shochi Mashi, once said, that it’s the time from when my friends have started staying at my place, that he’s unhappy. But I remember talking about Mal’s foot-prints, after the Disha-Mal stay. Next thing was Sayak’s stay. And he was already angry days before that. I can pin-point the day, which onwards, he’s angry, but I can’t find the reason. Phew!
I’ve taken iniatives, so I’ve got nothing to worry. The reason why my efforts have been half-hearted, is because, this is a first-time. Never before have our fights continued during Shochi Mashi’s absence. We always made up the night Shochi Mashi left, with whiskey, and a dinner together. Today, err…last night, with all the monsoon-like rains, and cold winds, I can bet he wanted to drink. Because, so did I. Maybe he did, alone, upstairs, in his own room. I found the monsoon-nicotine combo intoxicating enough.
*On Top Of You*
Anyway, when I play-all-ed Enrique Iglesias, I had consciously decided to make myself upset. The best music to turn my mood off, instantly. “Addicted” threatened to do so, no other song came closer. I’m not exactly “smoking-with-eyes-closed-and listening-to-it”. So, I won’t be entranced now, I know. But, I have taken the risk of playing this guy after months, and I’ve survived it. No lump in the throat, no muscle-contractions, no limb-shaking fever, not even anything close to a bout of depression. I realsie I’m sad, but then, this is what I feel almost all throughout the day, I can’t call this sadness.
*You’re My Number One*
Wish I could go night-walking today. But my feet hurt a lot. I can wear socks, and the tie-the-lace shoes, the blisters won’t affect them. Let’s see if Picco’s awake. Else, I’ll just write. Or start studying. I’m quite in the mood now. No internet connection, yet. I’ve gotta wait till 10am tomorrow to post all this. And see what happened on Facebook last night.
*I’m Not In Love*
I won’t call Picco. If I go out today, I’ll go out alone, and I’ll be wearing my slippers. I can walk as slowly as I want, I can limp as much as I can.
I’m happy, I’m happy. Being happy is just not having to cry. Period.
*Hero* (I played it again.)
I’ll call Picco. I don’t want to be alone. It’s not that being alone makes me sad. It’s being alone that makes me realise that I’m sad. Actually sad. I had realised this on my way to teach Anshul today.
*You can take my breath away*