Is it too late to slow the pace?
Is it too late to change the mirror?
Is it too late to dust out the cobwebs
From corners behind the blaring tube?
Is it too late to turn the page?
Have the spring terns flown away?
Or should I venture out in the woods
And search amidst the dewy haze
For trivial delights now unknown?
The missing picture in the album,
The careless leap below the laughing sun,
The cherubic charms dropped behind
In the maze of trees while on the run.
Is it too late to reverse the change?
Is it too late to learn
Lessons they didn’t teach at school?
That youthful trees would later freeze
Their libido stolen by recurring summers
To be replaced by sceptic stares
Wearing a different green
Yet a shade of yester’s hue.
Another mark of transience.
The past weekend has left me with mixed feelings. Had an interview on Saturday which denied me the pleasant (and much awaited) experience of going for a trek with my college buddies, really gave me a rotten feeling since I’d promised them I’d be there this time and had to back out just a few hours before we left to conquer Rajmachi (a fort in the Sahyadris) in a second attempt – had been there last year as well but ended up circling the plateau after losing our way which erased all thoughts of scaling the peak (just in case you need a detailed report, check out this link – http://www.xanga.com/item.aspx?user=live_dont_exist&tab=weblogs&uid=99435164.)
Anyways coming back to the interview, I spent a good amount of time reading my project report – after I’d diligently wiped off all the layers of dust it had accumulated over the past 12 months – in an attempt to refresh my knowledge (that’s too strong a word, guess awareness would be more appropriate) about internet security before making a dash for the scheduled interview. Now this bloke who interviewed me obviously didn’t impress me with his sense of humour – asked me if INFT (read IT) had any relation to NIFT (some institute for fashion designers), me thinks he probably had an overdose of scrabble and was working out all possible anagrams. He further enquired about my probable acquaintance with a certain Mr Dias who he claimed was from the same geographical location as mine (yeah right as if there was only one guy by that name in Kurla). Sheesh!! And I thought this was meant to be a technical interview. I felt envious of all my buddies as I pictured them wading through rain-fed streams on their way to Rajmachi, my misery augmented further when I later learnt that the trek was called off thanks to a poor response, leaving me feeling guiltier than I had felt the previous evening.
Thankfully Sunday was better; I was in much lighter spirits though I could not attribute any strong reason (other than it being Friendship day) to it. After a long siesta, visited Kaustubh (twas his b’day) in the evening and all of us had a great time panning India’s pathetic display against the Lankans while savouring the delectable puran polis. It was much like old times; Spencer, the punster, was in swashbuckling form with his spontaneous one-liners, Kaustubh not too far behind with his witty wisecracks. But Selwyn took the cake, the engineer in him coming up with the accurate yet utterly useless calculation of India needing seven consecutive sixes to win the match.