The He.

Waqt ki qaid mein
Zindagi hai magar
Chand lamhe yahi hai
Jo azad hai..
Inko kho kar meri janeja,
Zindagi bhar naa taraste raho ...

He woke up to a feeling of loneliness and desolation. All was lost. There was very little hope. Voices from last night, that spoke of how weak and docile and weary and defeated he looked still churned in his head, like an irritating song stuck in your head that wouldn't go away.

I mean, to think of it, he stil knew, somewhere deep down, that all these voices were wrong, as they've been in the past. He tried to remember the promise he made to himself -- about doing his own mistakes and learning from them, rather than listening to what other people say, based on the knowledge that serves their life, their perspective, their dogma well. Good for them. But definately not as good for him.

"Listen to the inner voice."

"Pay heed to the basic instinct."

"Impulsive things are among the very few intended things that you actually convert into action - respect them"

But then he thought he was giving himself too much gyan. Philosphising where there was no need to. Ending up being somebody else by trying too hard to be himself. Thinking too much. Not giving enough importance to himself. Giving too much importance to what people thought of him.

So, there. He decided to go wild. Though drinking always made him feel sick in the end .. he decided today would be different. And he would make it so, by not trying too hard to make it different. It all started flowing, The Release. The innocent Freedom (acquired through uninnocent means). The utter, blind contentment with the universe as a whole. That inconsequential dance that made him smile. The nicotine that made his world go round and blissful. That golden, carefree walk across colaba from Cafe Mondegar to home, singing Free Bird out loud. The finishing cigerette butt he threw behind his stride, as a mark of unswerving respect to the fact that in the end, everything -- everything -- fades (it wouldn't be so perfect any other way). The leaf he tore as a replacement of the cigerette that made him fly, as a symbol that would remind him of his flight even after he lands.

And when he went back to his bed to sleep, he realised that he is perfect, doing things he was meant for. Everything in this universe was. That there was hope all around, and it was up to him to convert it into a smile. He decided to go ahead and take the plunge.

This post might make no sense to you, if the you actually exists. Well, catch me if you can.