If there was an award for mastering the art of falling into the
trap of wrong timing, I would irrevocably and irretrievably bag it. There was a
time when it used to feel mortifying (it still does sometimes) and sad as well.
But as it happens in most cases, when the tragedy goes beyond the limit of
normalcy it turns satirical. So my life has now become one good, old saga
of Shakespearean drama with a dollop of black comedy – so many erroneous
decisions and cataclysmic events following it that it would actually make the
audience question the sanity of the protagonist.
After a long time I was out to join the weekend crowd of the aam
aadmi brigade (I’m in no way a follower of Kejriwal, please I am yet to become that insane) and soak up all the fun and
frolic before another sinfully boring week took another bite off my already
decaying soul. Five minutes into it, and I realised my mind had pathetically
but not quite surprisingly abandoned me, and it was out on its own wild goose
chase. So for the rest of the evening I spent chattering, laughing, roaming and
clicking photographs while secretly fidgeting in spite of myself and my
slightly forlorn eyes kept on looking for one familiar face in the crowd. The owner of the face, however, was approximately 1400 km away, and so was my
mind.
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