A Failed Attempt.

This piece of writing, I bring to you, on the back of several drafts and re-drafts, which have ended up as many, many paper balls tossed in the dustbin.

Saturday.

10 AM –


I got up to my mother’s loud and clear voice coming from somewhere very close to me. Drowsily, I opened my eyes, the alcohol from last night not making this arduous task any easier. I saw my mother talking to one of her girlfriends over the phone, and sitting suspiciously close to me, the reason for which I instantly get… ‘Yes, he is STILL sleeping… No, no, he’s doing NOTHING in these holidays. Just eating, playing his stupid FIFA, watching the ‘Two Men something’ TV show, and sleeping.’ I know my mother well enough to judge this as an indirect passing taunt.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ I said to myself, ‘I’m gonna get up right now, this very moment, freshen up, read the newspapers, maybe start reading a book, do something constructive today. I’ll also write an article, and maybe….’

I went back to sleep.


1 PM –

I got up to the annoying monotonous BlackBerry ringtone. Picked it up to be offered a Home Loan from HDFC Bank! ‘I hope her day is ruined!’ I swore under my breath after hanging up annoyingly. I sat with a pen and book, with an intention to write something. ‘What shall I write about? What’s happening new?’……. And my mind drifted onto the drunken escapade from the previous night. ‘I really shouldn’t have had that last round, but it was totally worth it!’ Snap out of it! Article! Focus! I shook myself out of my daydreaming.


1.30 PM –

I somehow managed to get in the writing groove, with me penning down possible topics to write on. ‘I could maybe write about….’ Little did I know, in no time my wandering mind was doing what it does best. ‘Saturday today! Football time! Great match….’ Focus! ‘between Liverpool and Manchester United….’ Focus! ‘I hope Liverpool kick some….’ FOCUS!! ‘…ass.’


2.15 PM –

Staring into the page, which by now had a Homer Simpson and an Arsenal logo drawn on it, I’m as clueless as a Malbari guy stuck in the midst of 100 British aristocrats. My eyes drifted onto my BlackBerry kept at the far end of the table, desperately waiting for the red LED light to flicker. And flicker it did. I leapt onto my handset, very similar to the way a hungry lion would leap onto Chicken Tandoori, and saw an SMS claiming I have won Rs. 5 lacs as my phone number was chosen in a lucky draw! Options - Delete. I returned back to the pen and paper, utterly disappointed.





2.45 PM –

By now, the vigour of writing and doing something constructive had reduced drastically and reduced down to just sitting on the chair for the sake of it, playing Pen Fight and humming ‘How To Save A Life’ under my breath. I turned around and saw my bed, the impeccably made bed sheet, beckoning me. In a jiffy, I found myself closing the book and heading towards the bed. My feeling of disappointment of wasting the past few hours was alarmingly overwhelmed by the anticipation of a good nap.


I’ll write something once I get up, I promise. I assured myself.