I convinced someone for giving me an interview at last, after a few talking and a good no. of pleadings (Though I feel he was pretty interested about it from the beginning). He is a man of honor, the finest boy one will find anywhere, and does have a talent. That’s the reason I chose him. Now as I type these words in the night before the day of interview, I feel free to express the stage which was setting up for writing something different.
I was away, for a couple of days from my home. And as usual, kept on thinking about the fate of love, liking, happiness and relationships that can or can not exist in the world we live. In the odd hours of noon, as I sat in the room I was allotted, I would keep looking at the distant horizon and whisper millions of things to myself. I thought about the girl from the neighborhood, I thought about Pallabi(I must admit I should stop taking her name in public). I thought about the novel, ‘From the Ghats of Varanasi’. And then I smiled at myself. I looked at my right hand and smiled again.
“I can write a novel right now.” I muttered.
I thought about Friday, where I had to use a good no. of interviews, and then I chose to write something new.
And here, as I stop my rubbish writing, trying to concentrate more about tomorrow, trying to think about what I should ask and how. The Gajals are on at a very mild volume in my laptop as always.
Nothing much to say really. I was convinced to myself that I will post only stories and story-like things to the blog, but changed the plans.
Love and happiness will end in a few no. of days. No sign of new ideas for this one though. Bad for me.
Appeared in a test a couple of days ago. Horrible. 100 questions in 150 mins.
Still confused.
Should I start seducing girls? I will make a good one.
Life still roams around the lake places and Southern Avenues. Hate it. This silence. It’s killing me.
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