Before I go ahead with this outburst , I should confess to have been compelled by the pristine voices in my head that dare me to get them out. But again I write more because I want to throw it all out and get to back to the Class Diagram , which , under the circumstances, seems like a mistress in the waiting to the more imaginative of my senses. Somehow , I've always felt that 3 a.m. is the perfect time to vindicate.
So here I am , almost wobbled by two days of intense sleeping , and at the edge of an influential, if not critical practical exam. It's hard to get what made me get up in the middle of the night , for I had almost pushed myself at the receiving end of this mishap , not that I am saved from it now that I have actually woken up to do some work but nevertheless, the fact I'm able to give up a few words seems more or less to be the silver lining in the dense cloud of nothingness.
There is definitely something satanic about this night , yes , for sure it is. It has never looked more silent to me than it looks now. In fact it spooks me a bit , and right now , I am almost half-willing to wake up dad and tell him that " I think there's something under my bed " . Well, as an event, it's nothing new . Ever since I was allotted an independent bed to sleep , I've made my apprehension felt at the slightest of noises in my room , be it a rat on a conquest or a mosquito on its way to a bloodbath, jumping out of the bed and calling dad at the least audible of unanticipated frequencies has been, for me, the standard protocol . Now, how I survived my hostel room for two years is again a mystery every soul in my house has had a hand at in figuring out, but obviously to no conclusions.
Through out my existence , I've always let ghosts have the better of my imagination. Not to mention here , that I have always, though cautiously, intended to befriend one or two. I'll blame the ever iconic horror show "aahat" for such frivolous tendencies. I remember having always watched it with a pillow in my hands. At the slightest intuition of horror , I would cover my face with the pillow , relishing the freaky sounds like a blind man would relish a strip show. I followed it for almost 6 years , after which the episodes starting repeating , and my interest thereon stooped.
The post would be incomplete unless I give my " baba adham ke zamaane ka radio" a worthwhile mention. I cannot but express how attached I am to this coveted radio box. Of all things that I have so far inherited or plan to inherit in the future from my parents, the radio would be the most prized of possessions. In the most distressing of circumstances the crooning of the radio would keep me moderately upbeat , proving to be more an emotional support system than an abstracting distraction. In fact now that I have had this sudden epiphany realizing how precious it is to me , I think it'll be sacrilege to not have given it an independent post on my blog, so I'd rather not reveal anything further.
So here I am , almost wobbled by two days of intense sleeping , and at the edge of an influential, if not critical practical exam. It's hard to get what made me get up in the middle of the night , for I had almost pushed myself at the receiving end of this mishap , not that I am saved from it now that I have actually woken up to do some work but nevertheless, the fact I'm able to give up a few words seems more or less to be the silver lining in the dense cloud of nothingness.
There is definitely something satanic about this night , yes , for sure it is. It has never looked more silent to me than it looks now. In fact it spooks me a bit , and right now , I am almost half-willing to wake up dad and tell him that " I think there's something under my bed " . Well, as an event, it's nothing new . Ever since I was allotted an independent bed to sleep , I've made my apprehension felt at the slightest of noises in my room , be it a rat on a conquest or a mosquito on its way to a bloodbath, jumping out of the bed and calling dad at the least audible of unanticipated frequencies has been, for me, the standard protocol . Now, how I survived my hostel room for two years is again a mystery every soul in my house has had a hand at in figuring out, but obviously to no conclusions.
Through out my existence , I've always let ghosts have the better of my imagination. Not to mention here , that I have always, though cautiously, intended to befriend one or two. I'll blame the ever iconic horror show "aahat" for such frivolous tendencies. I remember having always watched it with a pillow in my hands. At the slightest intuition of horror , I would cover my face with the pillow , relishing the freaky sounds like a blind man would relish a strip show. I followed it for almost 6 years , after which the episodes starting repeating , and my interest thereon stooped.
The post would be incomplete unless I give my " baba adham ke zamaane ka radio" a worthwhile mention. I cannot but express how attached I am to this coveted radio box. Of all things that I have so far inherited or plan to inherit in the future from my parents, the radio would be the most prized of possessions. In the most distressing of circumstances the crooning of the radio would keep me moderately upbeat , proving to be more an emotional support system than an abstracting distraction. In fact now that I have had this sudden epiphany realizing how precious it is to me , I think it'll be sacrilege to not have given it an independent post on my blog, so I'd rather not reveal anything further.
I started the post saying " Life at 3 am " , now that I end it at 3: 34 am , I'm quite inclined to say " Sometimes , life starts at 3 am".
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