Doc1.docx

I just realized how difficult it is to write without having a topic or subject on your mind. In fact, I’ve begun writing this in an MS Word document and have saved it by the default name, Doc1.docx. I still don’t have a title and probably may not get one either, unless I spend substantial amount of time thinking. Thank you Microsoft.

Well, if so is the case, I should have chosen not to write. I would have been better off sleeping, on this lazing afternoon or may be watching any of my favorite movies. I have the option but I still choose to write. And if you have realized, I have completed one paragraph and am about to complete the second, but still nothing particular to write about.

Why does this happen? Why does one feel like writing but have no topic? Well, the way I look at it, I see the bombardment of subjects. This week almost everything under the Sun, has found some way to be associated with me. Not that I mean to give importance to myself. It’s just the dynamics! So many things to talk about, so much so that I don’t know where to begin.

Just to give a direction to this imbecile chain of thoughts, I would like to begin with my office. We’ve completed the Sprint, as they call it. Successfully! A small luncheon party to commemorate the occasion at a nearby restaurant, followed by a gust of meaningless laughs and gags, ensured that we were, after all, a Team, a good one. Notice how the mind finds everything and everyone, good in the ‘good times’. Just yesterday, I remember, having a tiff with a senior person, from this ‘good Team’ and cursing things away to glory. I showed my brave self in front of all the staring pairs of eyes. But once home, I cried my eyes out. You see, the mind is a funny laboratory. One reaction causes another one and the chain continues, like the organic chemistry.

Nothing gave me solace. No indulgence helped.

The next morning, when I stepped into the conference room, the aura had a charm about it. It was all fine and everyone took a big part in the leg-pulling, at every random person.

Anyways, I still haven’t been able to make up my mind about office. So I shall let that be.
I just read what I’ve written so far. Alas! Still, no title, suitable enough. May be, this one is destined to go unnamed. May be, this one may never be read. Would it matter if nobody ever read it? If yes, how? If no, why?

A small documentary named “Einstein’s biggest blunder” revealed to me that his relativity theory, E = mc2, is merely three-paged. I think of this again and again and still come to a conclusion about the ridicule this revelation brings. A bespectacled gentleman in the video said “Einstein gave us many answers but he left us, the scientists, with more problems.” Even the geniuses aren’t spared. But think about the three-paged theory. I’m tempted to call it a booklet, but it would be an understatement, for booklet, of course. He wrote the most admired axiom and explained it, in a way a kindergarten teacher would explain to a three year old, the meaning of education.

This was yesterday, unlike which, today is not at all eventful. One mind-rippling thing that happened is that my Papa sent me a gunny bag of mangoes, the non-hybrid, the authentic Goan Musraad. Papa knows the best. Let’s keep it at that so I can sign off for now.

It all belongs to thee

This is my land, where I was born,
Richness of wheat, rice and corn.
This is my land where I toddled around,
No worries, no limits to me bound.
This is my land where I played hide-and-seek,
A few missing teeth and a dimpled cheek.
This is the spot I was kissed my first.
Some new feelings, then felt not nursed.
This is the land I toiled with my father,
Being a lawyer, I preferred rather.
Drenching in the sun made no sense,
And money after all covered every expense.

I chose the green notes over the greener paddy,
Being modern I thought was good and faddy.
A new home made far away from ‘home’,
In a city that looks like a posh glass dome.
A place that paid so much in dollars,
This “Independence” really pulled up my collars.
Elated was I to know I was my boss,
This life seemed full and red like tomato sauce.

It was all happening like a dream come true,
Until I was ushered to see things, without a clue.
All that was “real” seemed then, like nonsense,
I wondered what made these houses have a fence.
Was it only me alone and isolated?
Probably something was ill-fated!
The fake brilliance this city had once shown,
I could see through as the veil had blown.

It was too late to go back I guess,
This is an excuse, nevertheless.
Its’ easier after all to “suffer” and stay,
But challenging to walk out and go astray.
And yet if I go that way, once forgotten,
My land where the water never went rotten.
I see that I have to prove my identity,
As if to show I’m sane, a harmless kitty.
This is the place where I now want to be
And yet couldn’t, without paying the fee.

In spite of the affair I had with the land for years,
Why would I have my eyes not welled with tears.
The land, the water, the air was all free,
Until you decided it belonged to ‘thee’.

The worse is that I played your game with open eyes,
So how would I blame you for my own vice!