A Newspaper To Block Ze Door.

There is something or the other which always bothers someone or the other. Everything from figments of my imagination to notions of how well the next instances shall pan out. An overdose of depression to rumination of delight, it was Sunday.

Saturday was fun too. Wine and Poker ensued and had all ingredients of a perfect night. While I lost Rs. 40 on a basic game, another odd one made Rs. 800 on one round of 'matka' alone. And then followed a time which was so high in expectations from what I had been asked to believe. Gullible myself.

I hate people who do not involve themselves when the remaining are in activity, not because they are not interested but because they are unable to understand whats up and then spoil it for those in the queue. An whole evening wasted. People who get so inquisitive as if it is their birthday party and they still do not know their age. Retards.

Either way.

Today morning began early, Sunday Morning - Maroon 5. And I left for the best parts of Mumbai. The same old. The good part was when with an old friend, slightly intoxicated, we walked into the hallowed national gallery of modern art and spend up to 2 hours just staring at masterpieces. Interpreting what they meant to us etc. I want to meet a certain Nalini Ramani who has some really amazing stuff there and especially, and if they are depressed enough to say 'hello' to me, M.F. Hussain and Tyeb Mehta. Splendour in the heart of the city.

Got back. And thus, did nothing all over again.

This faded vanity, an attempt to sublime discussion that is just about becoming nada and this lack of provoked sadness, that too which is becoming prolonged. I have this tendency to get lost in the middle of sentences, on the way to the station, and while deciding upon 'selected reading'. Goodnight.