...

*yawn*

I like my template.
When you are as organized as the Kumbh Mela - you learn to appreciate un-cluttered things, be it warehouses, Animal Planet or simplistic blog templates.

I think I've reached 9/10th Calcutta Saturation Point.
The summer-honeymoon was over a while back.
Then the euphoria began to die down, friends started to leave, and blog posts are being churned out.

I miss college, a bit - but more than anything else, I'm pretty tired of not having anything constructive to do here.
Basically, Im shifting the blame from the city to my life, or the lack of any.

It isn't the same magical, mystical Calcutta wrapped in memories of Egg-Rolls,Park Street, Kal-boishakhis, Eden Gardens, and B.B.D. Bag buses and tied up in nostalgic flashes of friends, school, adda, jhal-muri and all that jazz - which I long for, dream about, and allow myself to be drowned in regular bouts of homesick-ness over, when in college.

The buffer between the 9/10th and 10/10th - is family, and some last few good times Im looking forward to sign off with.

I want to run back to college, so that I can run back here in winter, refueled with that magic.
I'm basically longing to long for Calcutta, which I am not, presently - even though I know I'm going to be a sentimental and overly depressed retard 2 weeks later, as my time here draws to an end - or very possibly even sooner.
I just don't get it.

But I will never tire of the Egg-Rolls.
Never ever.
Shotti.

*yawn*

Good morning.
Im off to bed.

"No mean feet"

Through the grass, and a visit to the Zoo,
Down the river, in a red canoe.
To the market, or back to school,
You buy the costumes, while I chase the fool.

The path less travelled or the common man's road,
I figure the signals, while they handle the load.
I dont cycle by choice and I can sense the grin,
The soles seem colourful, but they're known to sin.

When the path is murky, the steps reassure,
Choosing one while closing many a door.
One leg calls it luck, while the other yells fate,
If only them toes pointed straight.

I wish the job ended with deft touches on sand,
But having come thus far, it's not mine to demand:
---
But still, why not the road which led to Rome?
Or the one where shoes come free?
The one down which the well-fed kings strode?
Why not my very own yellow brick road?
---

Comes, say the Great Flood, to drown us all,
Lose your dry heels, but lose not your mark.
The pair of you, like rabbits and geese,
Shall find a place in my very own ark.

But the regrets and mistakes shall never drown,
Nor will the dark lanes you led me down.
They'll linger around for years, again,
Waiting for some more shoes to stain.

If life were a game, then blame is my ball,
Yours to catch, or trip over and fall.
Now take the next left, for I must go on,
Untie my laces, but then be gone.
---------------------------------------------

Who am I kidding, my life's mine to complete,
For I have no excuses, I control my own feet.