It was a wet morning in Pune, as the drizzling was spread throughout the city, trucks and cars drove fast on the road as cockroaches and ants,
I was sitting in an auto, thinking about the excitement level, inside me. How it use to go, high up in the sky, when I had first came here, and how much, deep under the ground it was now;
The cracking and vibrating sound of the auto was constantly ragging through my ears, as the auto-driver dragged the auto tiredly on the upward sloping road ; he arithmetically accelerated again and moved it on to the complex gate, to stop.
I paid him the money, and he left as quickly as he came.
I walked over to the building, where my friend lived, and went straight to the flat on the 10th floor;
Lali , his cook and cleaner, let me in and went back to his work; I walked over to the bed room and saw three guys on the bed; they all had their faces covered in their own blankets;
The one closest to me, moved and shook it off. It was my friend Garry. He opened his eyes, and pointedly asked for two minutes.
I told him to take his time, and came out in the balcony. I thought 'How all these years I had seen people pass out, graduate, and start their post graduation like my friend Garry, 'How I had been stuck in a college, with a course, I had no interest in' 'How I kept moving towards it unwantedly'. it even killed the little excitement that was left,
I lighted a smoke to give my self a release, when suddenly Garry came out with a box. In it was a half stubbed joint and some raw weed. He told me it was from last night and went back to his room.
I lighted the joint from the cigarette cherry and kept it aside. In a few seconds it kicked in and made the view mind jabbering;
The road I came from looked thin and long, and was rolling around a mountain as a thread.
A Grey hue colour prevailed the atmosphere, as the black and white clouds left no space for the sun to shine out. It was as if, a shade of the underworld was ruling above the constructed complexes, which were scattering virginally.
I believed that my mind was an auto driver, and my soul was the auto itself.
It didn't wanted to move up, but it was being moved through arithmetic accelerations; it wanted to find romance in a lost age; it wanted to bully itself to swing out some rage on a page; it wanted to spit blood on a humanitarian grave;
It was adapting the swaying trees in their silence;