Thanking You, Sincerely

No, the last post is real rubbish. Tonight I am supposed to be sleeping, because I have a class to attend tomorrow, and attending classes is something I have not done in a long long time. But when did I say that I would do things that are expected from me.
So, what am I doing at 0254 hours? I am scrambling through my collection of hindi music, struggling to identify my mood, besides constantly refreshing facebook pages. Lame.

I had a bad dinner with a close friend, someone with whom I rarely agree, but it was a pain today. Suddenly, I realize that everything in life is falling apart. I want a new life, with new people, people who do not know me, and do not claim to know me.
I had the strangest of chats today. Somebody slyly prodding me, teasing me, tantalizing me to give relationship advice. Me? Am I not the one who broke every nice thing with my very own hands? When I was young we had a home-science class at school. It was the only class where I could lay prostrate on the floor and look at the ceiling while my friends painted, concocted snacks, stitched and made merry. I never did homework at school, I never had a classwork copy, I mostly never had pencils with me. My bag used to be as full of rubbish paper then as it is now. So, home-science.
I did sometimes stitch (there is this card holder at home where your wedding card will rest), and I painted sometimes (that nib painting I did and re-did and re-re-did over weeks) and that tiny glass painting, I over painted. Ma, you had given me a strong chiding that evening about how I made something beautiful, and then re-touched and revamped it so many times that it was finally rendered ugly. Could you, at least, not have said it so bluntly? It stares me back in the face today.
But then there is this utterly silly habit of washing away everything with tears. Lame, again.

Oh so coming back to the present, I am still struggling to find the right song for tonight. And here is the battle in my mind about everything. Micro-voltmeter, Nano, CPM, India, Obama, film music, proverbs, Dirty Dancing, you, cetzine. And then I want to scream out. No I am not crazy. I am but a little sane. With that drop of sanity I am trying to drive forward, counting days, finishing one job after the other.
Yes, you were right, some things are certain. Like I will have my exams on so-and-so dates, I will graduate, I will have a career, I will get married, I will try to have a family, I will make them grow as sane as I am. I will get tired. Finally, I am an orthodox old-fashioned croon. I fight for equality, but never flinch from becoming a dying word. I quarrel for my rights only to give them up for the ones I want permanently in life.
I could never earn my living by writing, because I cannot write for a deadline, for someone who will throw my words down the basket, for someone who is pocket-pinching. But I also cannot reconstruct formulae and fabricate strange theories of nature.
Where I am today, I long for a vacation down Seyechelles, on the reclining chairs with an umbrella-adorned cocktail, and somebody paying the bills. No I do not want to earn myself a richer life, I want someone to do it for me. Too much to ask for?
I want to practice dancing, learn Bharathnatyam, learn French properly, write short-stories, try world-cuisine, stare at the ceiling, advice people, gossip and travel, while he earns it all for me.
Somewhere in the streets of Oxford are candlesticks I fancied, and in Paris a pair of rings I can only dream of.
Platinum, round and shiny.
You.
Some things are certain.
Others are just illusions.