It was raining in the morning, So I didn't get my bike.
Its not that I couldn't ride it, Its the weather that I like.
Sometimes to clear your mind, all you need is a walk.
But something that surely helps, is someone with whom to talk.
The sweetest loveliest breeze, cheeking you by.
Like someone from a far far land, kissing you a Hi.
The sun smiling from behind the clouds, the grass covered in dew.
I'm glad I'm starting my day afresh, and I'm thinking of you.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
My Roomie and the Garbage Collector
My belief that it is not possible to change people come what may has been strengthened time and again by my roomie's behavior. Leaving his hair on the wash-basin choking it up, eating with intermittent burps, and not attending to regular nature's calls and thereby subjecting us to its horrible repercussions are some of the mentionables. Blightful but delightful as he justifies them to be, I've still tried persistently to rid him of his annoying traits, for his and for his roomies' benefit. But all to no avail. Six years of friendship leaves you with littel options. I finally gave up!
But some people never give up. Like the garbage collector of our building. He dutifully rings the doorbell atleast three times in order to wake me up and collect my share of the baneful plastic. “Stop screwing the doorbell, as**ole!” has been my consistent and now almost subconscious response to his early morning pestering. On weekends it takes the form of a few more abuses and finally an on-his-face door-slamming, expecting that he won't show up the next morning, and knowing at the same time that he will. Its as if he has a firm conviction to bring about a transformation within me, as if he's my Gandhi, preaching the cliche “early to rise”, something that I so despise.
I've heard that life is a game. Every now and then, life brings up a new pitcher, and you're supposed to deal with him (no offense to the other sex, but with baseball, it has to be “him”). I somehow feel that I've been placed against the wrong opponents. You'd agree that my roomie v/s the garbage collector would be a better game to watch. Ufff! I wish my roomie were to change, for good. And I so much wish the garbage collector would stop trying to change me.
But some people never give up. Like the garbage collector of our building. He dutifully rings the doorbell atleast three times in order to wake me up and collect my share of the baneful plastic. “Stop screwing the doorbell, as**ole!” has been my consistent and now almost subconscious response to his early morning pestering. On weekends it takes the form of a few more abuses and finally an on-his-face door-slamming, expecting that he won't show up the next morning, and knowing at the same time that he will. Its as if he has a firm conviction to bring about a transformation within me, as if he's my Gandhi, preaching the cliche “early to rise”, something that I so despise.
I've heard that life is a game. Every now and then, life brings up a new pitcher, and you're supposed to deal with him (no offense to the other sex, but with baseball, it has to be “him”). I somehow feel that I've been placed against the wrong opponents. You'd agree that my roomie v/s the garbage collector would be a better game to watch. Ufff! I wish my roomie were to change, for good. And I so much wish the garbage collector would stop trying to change me.
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