The Corridor

Yesterday evening. Someone pushed a notice into my room through the gap under the door. I ejected it right back into the corridor as I realized it was nothing important but usual trash. Now, the person who slipped it must have gotten angry… the paper slid back into the room like a fighter plane! I got irritated and pushed it back (kicked… would be a more accurate term) with my shoes. To my fury, the paper came back like a cover drive from V.V.S. Laxman, surpassing me and finally resting almost under my bed.

I opened the door in a fraction of a second with the paper in my hand and looked around for the person who is so adamant on making me read the flier. There, of course, was someone one room away from my room, trying to do the same thing to someone else. I crushed the paper (of course, with a Clint Eastwood face) and dropped it into the waste basket right in front of the room. Now, this guy got all shocked with my behaviour and started saying things which I didn’t understand since I don’t speak his language. Whatever, I thought he got my point that I don’t really like notices being pushed into my room especially when I am quite happy that I have finally cleaned the room of all the papers and wrappers.

But, no! I was wrong. The man slowly walked up to me and gave another flier and moved away. Moved away, thankfully, because I was toying with the idea of crushing his skull between the door and the panel. Now, what do you do when something like that happens? Whatever it is…..

I stood in the dark corridor like a ghost…

Escape

I wanted to write something today. Unlike all the other times when I feel spirited, I write and publish the post without even checking what I wrote; just bearing in my mind the only question, ‘Why I wrote?’.

It’s not a special case today. I was like any other day…. I woke up, cleaned up, ate, read, took a nap, read, walked for a tea… same thing all over again. I don’t plan to add the other helpers like my vehicle and computer without which I cannot pass a day. But, seriously, I wish to live in some place anonymous for a while. In some other name, as some other person… no phone, no vehicle… nothing to determine/judge my identity. But, Is that even an identity? Judged by your Voter ID card (when the last time you ever voted was in 2005) or PAN card or even a driving license (just because you can drive through a maniac infested chaotic city).

There must be more to the day, since it isn’t over. Ther e must be more… (Hmmm. Why do I think about Robert De Niro?). Comfort? Escape? Chaos? What about those little meaningless papers I had, kept secretly in my almirah…

(I say, im not spirited and here I am going over the wall like a freakin monkey!)

I am not where I thought I’d be! I’m not satisfied. I’m just one of those easychair philosophists whom I have despised all through my life. This was my second option. I wasn’t meant to be here. Now.. Now… there are good things for being here. But, the other things seem much better. Other than this freakin’ blog, what do I have?

(Since when did this become part of my existential angst, I don’t remember!)

Its just the feeling that this is not where I am meant to be. But….