1. Am I a character in a book or a movie ? I often ask this to myself when dreams turn into nightmares and I get some freedom to rest.

2. I walked with a few boys in the stadium. One of them was putting on an act. It was related to a previous act. I found an element to admire about the teaching through play. Accountability: the guy works for Karuna foundation in the morning and coaches in mimicry and acting in the evening.

3. Most people I met here switch between multiple jobs. Just one job or duty is not enough. What would life be like in Tokyo or New York if it’s so difficult to survive in a city which metamorphosed into a division before my eyes?

4. I have seen a girl who was not afraid of lizard. I had a classmate who said he used to kill lizards with bare hands. I never liked the idea but did feel that he was courageous. A classmate stopped by the poha stall this morning. I saw the architecture. I realized that my death in my class in which he held my neck for far too long as I was gasping for air had some relation to his brother’s suicide. But it was merely a news. I never saw his brother. He turned out to be a bully later on. I might have been a violent guy before that happened. I used to take a great interest in organizing wrestling matches. In fact the whole environment was an arena. Like it’s today and I kept crying peace. It’s never going to change. Thus I kept working on certain skills : this is the only investment I would have made for the past is only a memory. Some fond others not so fond. Since then many apocalypses have happened. I bookmarked, earmarked, benchmarked certain sites, spots and themes to understand transformations. The Groundhog Day, Timecrimes and Triangle. Inception. Inland Empire. The Couch Forum. Mad Philosophers. I was convinced about linearity and then I saw nonlinearity as well as theatrics. Flux. Nirvana. The Bhagwad Geeta that I read in the childhood didn’t tell that Vaasudev Krishna stopped the time to sing 700 songs. I heard an advertisement on a Cricket ground . It was about the washing powder 555. As I went to drink water the jingle was being played. Last time around the memory of a journal was deleted: I wondered if it was the head of the trust or the boys who were preparing for exams. Then it kept happening. Today a scooty with press written on it came to pick a new kid who had stammering. He was new to academy. As I was approaching to him : he distinctly nodded thrice looking at me: it meant he was thinking that I was a member of academy like the coach. Well, it meant certain other things. I was feeding monkeys. Another guy used to do that. The head of the monastery saw it and a cow was entering the garden. The priest was present. I knew it: somehow I was being held accountable: what followed was family members approaching. Background check. They knew all the time that I was there. The whole story was woven to serve many purposes. Myths were busted. Or I had no grace. Never enough. Finds were: Prasanga Paarijaat. And Guru Nanak Dev’s biography by Jairam Mishra.

5. The people shouting seemed to suggest I had dropped something. I recalled that my pant had a pocket torn as I was walking in the stadium and kicked a ball. Earlier in the morning: no matter how hard I tried: the volume was repeatedly muted by certain agency as I sat on a bench doing WordPress.

6. The steel ring that dropped near the wickets meant something. It was too vague. The coach of academy was nonchalant about it. He had shown that his use of a Bundelkhandi tone might indicate two things: one: he was familiar with the lingo. Second: he was a localite. I don’t know the truth but the anxiety created for a moment by the guy on scooty was kind of useless in terms of expenditure of energy as it adds nothing to my learning.

7. With the music : all the demons were gone. But I don’t have unlimited supply. This stadium has openings and closings. It was not like this before. Now it is draconid institution like most others streamlined under central government. I hope to see a book where every event from every angle in every instant of my lives is written. I will be fond of that book. I was never born. Why do I have memories of being too young and unable. Why not of the time before that? Where did that family get me. Which lab I was made in? They are the questions which are only for the individuals. For gray regions. I know more than all the spiritual books I ever read combined together. It’s despite the lack of photographic memory. And yet…did I bring the wallet or did I not?

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