Honestly, 2009 was a crap year. I know 2010 is going to be very wired. But maybe things will be different. That's what I hope. Some of you may think that I drink with Charles Dickens, talk death with Edgar Allan Poe and smoke with Leonard Cohen. That's all true, but it's all in the head.
I have started work with my old newspaper (rag) again. Yes, the same one, which led my frustrations to scribble here a long time ago. But apart from the cheap pay, it's not that bad to be back (at least I hope so.)
See, there's so much hope. That's what writing on December 30 does to you, you end up hoping. Hope is not a bad thing. It can be a little pointless, but what the f, everyone's gotta give something, to take something.
I miss writing here. I miss a lot of things.
But there's so much to do. So much to write. So much to finish. It's almost like you forget what its like to be lonely. But Delhi is cold, it's blue. And I just like a good rant. There's so much beauty in drinking tea at a stall and smoking a smoke, while everyone drives over flyovers through the streets lined with mist covered trees. How could I say it better. I don't know if I know myself any better. It doesn't really matter now. It won't matter, as long you are there with flowers and poison. I could go round and round.
But what about all the mathematics in school? And what about the girl? And all the sadness in Christmas cakes? Will we be free? To see that everything has to be. And so many Facebook friends. And so many songs.
Happy 2010.