Tick Tock

Cliched as it might sound, "I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane". On the night of the Sixth Of August, I scoot out of here, and might dissapear for a decent amount of time. In other words, "I don't know when I'll be back again".

My final days in Delhi are being counted down, and as is usually the case in circumstances such as these, I'm wildly oscillating between being scared, excited and nostaligic. What a wonderful combination. To add to my perfect cocktail of emotions at present moment, my stomach decided to cave in on me a week back, and I'm back on my old routine of medicines and "Why Must I Eat This Horribly Boring Food" diet. As some may recall, about seven or eight months back, it had reached the stage of "More Acid Than A Hippie Convention", whereas right now it's at a more sober "More Acid Than The Chemistry Lab" state. I shall, of course, screw the entire diet plan and indulge in a plate of Gol Gappas before I leave. Can't miss out on those.
Everything I am going to miss about Delhi, strangely enough, relates to how amazingly imperfect this city is. I'm going to miss travelling on DTC buses, I'm going to miss the sweat and loud very bad music they provide. I'm going to miss yelling, outwitting and generally abusing autowallahs who try to take me for a ride(metaphorically, of course). I'm going to miss trips to my Never Took Off local market, a place that hasn't changed in 18 years. Or More.
There are of course, some wonderful things I'm getting nostalgic about too. They're mostly parks and other green surroundings. I am, however, assured that the Brits ensured that Singapore didn't get left out of a fair share of those. This pleases me. God Bless the Brits. They've ensured pockets of urban paradises pretty much everywhere they went.

Keeping all this in mind, and the fact that it's lonely here in Delhi, with everyone off in college, or busy at DU, it's remarkable that I've kept myself decently happy. However, I am thrilled that my Holiday Existence is about to come to an end; I've had about enough of this. There's no stimulation, and it's only by re-reading my Bill Bryson's that I've rekindled any kind of joy of learning I've experienced since School Ended. In other words, I've been thinking. This time, it's a good thing. There's a story that's come out of it. People are going to die in this story, so it's a "Bhavya Classic". It's almost written, so you can check the dormant but not dead Fountain Of Uncouth over the weekend when it shall be brought back to life. May I reiterate the fact that I'm back to a stage where I can appreciate the sheer malicious joy of killing off my characters. Nasty buggers. When did they ever deserve to LIVE! Muahahahahahahaha.