Random Acts of Madness

What would happen if I had not bunked a Mechanical Workshop class one afternoon on a whim and gone on a limb to a desolate mall along the bypass with a guy I had just got to know? Cool chap. Crazy about music. I was terribly depressed about something I cannot recall clearly. He was heartbroken about something else. Bothered by what seemed to be grave matters at that time we set out aimlessly. 

A pointless impulsive act of randomness changes your life more than the the really important stuff. Most of the things that really makes me who I am today are not things I planned or decided to do. Strangely what matters in the end are things I never really actively decided. Many of the plans I had about life did work out. But I cannot think of one decision that involved a lot of thought and planning that brought half the memories as the impulsive ones did. None of the things in life that I would guard with my life are things I thought would be of any consequence when I came across them first. Because I was busy looking at things that matter. I was worried about my own designs on life.

I might be worried about a lot of things right now but I know that none of the things I am worried about will actually cause me trouble. May be there will be no trouble at all. Even if there is any, they will be because of things I have not taken into account. I love the way life works. I totally do.

Madness matters. More than method, in fact.

[To the techies, do let me know what you feel about the cardinality of the class relationship?]

I see You, You see me: The Magic Numbers

I have made my peace with this place. It is fine. I have met some people who are nice. I have my group. I won't think about you. You who can crawl to Chayer Dokan after a day at work. You. And You. I love the food here. I love how there are no mosquitoes here. How I have wide footpaths. Pruned shrubs all along the way and archways of more pruned shrubs to change lanes while walking. I love the Tangri Kebab at Punjab King. It is a two minute walk away from the ATM which is a two minutes walk from my room. Asma I don't think of you any more. I don't think of you Spider Man, you who are dusty from hanging on to a pole in front of a dying New Empire and a flourishing KFC. I only read the Calcutta pages on The Telegraph and TOI everyday. I know you are alright. With every passing day I hear rumours that grow dense with despair. It becomes increasingly clear that I won't be returning soon. Anyway. Not that it matters. Not that I would let it.

At night I close my eyes and I am walking on Park Street. How are you?