when you (can) say nothing at all...

Bypassing any romantic implications the title may have and coming straight to the point, it's getting difficult to brush your teeth in peace and solace.
I am not even talking about the no-show of Coriolis Effect in the collecting ,stagnant waters . Right. Ewww.

Barely awake, I float off to the Confluence of Brushing People and wiggle between million elbows to subject my teeth to the second half of the morning maxim, that is, SHINE. When a certain over-chatty conspirator decides to make the most out of the assembled crowd and hold an early morning Election Poll right there. The poll question that I have to apparently answer is
" Who are you voting for".

I am (literally) foaming and frothing at the mouth and thus rendered speechless, preventing me from giving a fitting reply ( Batman, in this case), and E.C has to back off, disappointed .
Meanwhile I say a silent prayer of thanks to the Tooth Fairies, for early morning Poli-themed conversations are super-bugging.
Poli is not even a welcome topic in the afternoon, evening or night for that matter.

There are other times when one might be speech-deprived.

One is when people breaks stupidity records and coolly and confidently state the fact that a swine is undoubtedly, a type of an insect.

Or when the Prof who looks EXACTLY like a lion tamer ( complete with chinese mafiaesque moustaches and metaphoric whip- weird assignments ) ends every sentence of his with a HA-HA-HA. The HA-HA-HA is not any staid HA-HA-HA; it starts at B-flat 2, slides off into F2 before fading dramatically into silence. Tears, yes, tears stream down as you are bent triple from the task of not being able to ROFL properly.

But it is unexpected news like FOUR STRAIGHT HOLIDAYS which makes the thorax stutter with emotion and manage only a poor WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE in response, that takes the cake for the awesomest speechless moments of the past few days.

Sixty Minutes

This was the hour that elapsed between 6 am to 7 am (on my birthday) that I shall never, never recover from. It started with The Troublemaker dragging me unceremoniously to the LBS grounds. Barely awake, my poor brain was addled by a string of sweeping statements- discoursed with the air of Aristotle by ofcourse, the Troublemaker.

'We will go back at sharp 7 am.'

'It is so hot.'

'Damn, it sooo very hot.'

'I am hungry.'

Each statement hit me like a vicious bullet. I feebly tried to plug my ears, but the sonic boom was unrelenting. When the killer of the lot- 'Let us take a round of LBS' hit home, I felt my heartbeat shift to a lower gear.

Well, if you would have sent for the doctor then ,I am sure he would have given up the case as one for the 'I'm Still Alive' series. The poignant point was that I would be slipping into my hearse on my very birthday. Agreed -my biographer would have it easier to put down my age as a Perfect Twenty -but it still seemed unfair to me.

I was dying, but I was to come out of it alive

The interesting part comes HERE. . This would be one of those Near-Death experiences for I had slipped into the transient space from where the Dead depart to either heaven or hell.

I had technically zoned out, but I knew I wasn't dead and somehow I wasn't worrying about it anymore. A beautiful song was playing in the background and it was a long time before I snapped away from the music and looked around. I was in the middle of a passage.

It was then that I felt Uplifted. The meaning to Life, The Universe and Everything became clear...the music ebbed away and the passage turned dark even as a blurry symbol appeared at the end of the passage. The suspense rose to a crescendo as the image sharpened and a number glowed in the dark.

42!

Taking cue, a pacy soundtrack began to play and then an imperciptible swish of curtains...and I felt myself thrown out of the passage, hurtling faster and faster, unconscious...

...and then found myself lying on the ground ...I was alive. I had survived.

The Troublemaker insists all this is BULLSHIT and that I had merely fallen down as a result of the kick-in-my-shins she had just administered to me. I maintain my version of the story, feeling a little smug for I, and only I possess the Answer.

P.S.: It was FB that named P.S as The Troublemaker and though not unopposed to the general meaning it suggests, I beg pardon. Besides its ALL a joke.

The End Draws Closer

P.G's WoodHearse ( established since 1989) is sad to announce that Summer-break '09 has booked a hearse for itself. Undertakers from IITR have announced the day of its death- 22nd of this month.

Not since the demise of Sirius Black have I found myself so completely choked and cut up. Needless to say, its an early, cruel death for these upstanding HolyDays, and allow me a last hearty sob into my kerchief before I read out the funeral speech.

* Background music: Another Brick In the Wall By Pink Floyd*

I am P.G. and I would like to say a few words in memory of The HolyDays.

A whole glorious summer of wallowing in laziness has passed, and it is with surprise that I note that we all made it through, despite the scorching sun, the unyielding rains and The Hangover.
Looking back, the HolyDays fit into the general scheme of 'life is one grand, sweet song'. One could be lazy. One could be greedy. One could loll forever, atleast till one's spine suffered permanent damage.

My brief but beautiful relation with the HolyDays took me to the most breath-taking heights of Joblessness. It was this vast space of time which let me sit for hours appreciating the singular beauty of an earthworm trying to crawl out of the earth after the first showers.
It seems so unbelievably far-away- the day when Shendi ( Agent XAGR8) and I held up Monginis, snubbed a w.h.i.t.e. and snuck off to KFC for reinforcements, ( missing Agent Blonde and Agent BroomSTUCK sorely) and met the Chinese gunman Chu-ha .
This is all I can manage to say, because at the moment, grief has rendered my thorax dysfunctional.

One more week and the green and lush Roorkee will pop back into sight and life will screech out its answer to the meaning of Architecture, Second Year and First Sem : 42.

Vacation excesses

This isn't my debut on blogspot. It's easily my 5th blog but I hope it won't die an unfortunate death like the earlier ones. A deep sense of foreboding fills me as I write this First Post...
Will P.G.'s WoodHearse escape permanent burial within the reams of other webpages? Will the blogger within me finally resurrect and sort of stick to this irksome concept of self-documentation? I suspect the former but no use worrying...

I planned to go into estivation these hols but Greater Forces objected to my 24-hours-of-sleep agenda. While the lucky half of the animal kingdom ( lizards, bees and the kind) dozed off all summer, I was often made to wake up at SIX AM and face the cruel,blinding morning light. Turned bitter against the homo sapiens species and their belief in healthy habits, I decided to try my hand at suicide driving. So I joined a driving school nearby and for 15 days, Noida shook and cowered from 11:30 am to 12:00 pm as I zipped through its streets and alleys at breakneak speed. Cows hopped aside, dogs discovered wings and people scattered as I ( After Stupefying the instructor) tore past madly.

But gradually, maybe out of no other choice, i began to enjoy early mornings ( the cusp of melting moonlight and virginal sunlight and all that). No use ranting when it's true that there's no time like early morn and so, my attitude towards The Homo Sapiens Species softened.

So did my Road Rage.

Now I am recognized by Yogendera Driving School, Sector 12, Noida as a responsible driver. I await the state's approval.
I love U-turns. I trace oblong O's as I circumvent the same U-turns. Baffles the traffic inspector because he sees the same car going in-and-out of the turn for about half an hour.

Somehow driving brings to your mind the quaint tunes of 'Fun, Fun, Fun' by the Beach Boys.

The lyrics are truly inspiring:

" Well she got her daddy's car

And she cruised through the hamburger stand now

Seems she forgot all about the library

Like she told her old man now

And with the radio blasting

Goes cruising just as fast as she can now

And she'll have fun fun fun till her daddy takes the t-bird away(fun fun fun till her daddy takes the t-bird away) "

..which is all i can think of for now.

Here's me abruptly signing off.

P.S.
The Lamborghini Murceilago is a pretty car. With the stunning kinetic streaks running past its composite body and THE KILLER SPEED it promises...hmm..I'm giving it a thought.