A desire to rewind

My shadow walks ahead of me
And a future, seemingly, has fallen behind
Hazy memories through which I hardly see
All that remains is a desire to rewind.
Beads of sweaty destiny trickle down my forearm
It slips away;
As I attempt to catch them in the palm,
Leaving behind promises of a new day
The day, which is never born
The promised sun, which never rises
Clouds of brood, which never melt
And a searing loneliness, which never ceases
A togetherness, which I never felt.

BACHELORsutra
I believe, the way you wake up and spend the first fifteen minutes after that are indicative of the phase of life and frame of mind you are in.
Every day, after switching off the snoozing alarm for approximately the fifteenth time I finally decide to wake up to yet another torturous day with the groggiest possible eyes, the foulest possible mood and the messiest possible hair. Then follows the ritual of stretching the body at the oddest of angles and simultaneously shouting morning-fresh expletives for as long as humanly possible. This ritual, to my mind, if passed on with adequate care to future generations may go onto to become a part of ancient bachelor wisdom and stand in the same epic league as the kamasutra.
As i get out of bed with an amazing degree of predictability, invariably two questions cross my mind. The first one being, how do i manage to turn in bed whiling sleeping by that precise 179 degrees from the original angle at which i slept? Second, regardless of my displacement in bed and disposition in the mind, every morning how do certain members stand at the same angle? Both, i shall attribute to some incredulous phenomena of Mother Nature.
With my eyes half – closed, i drag myself to the bathroom and dig the toothbrush in to my mouth and gradually trudge towards the door to pick up the newspaper. The headlines are read with one eye closed and one hand busy in setting the water to a boil for the tea. At this point, the predicament which stares me at my face is whether to do or not to do. That is, whether to wait for the milk to boil or address more critical issues of nature. It isn’t really a question of choice in matters like these. More often than not you succumb to calls of nature and the milk tends to spill over.
The morning also reaffirms my theory of classical conditioning and violates the theory of gravity at the same time. No matter how long i sit on the hot seat the act simply refuses to perform itself unless i have the newspaper in my hand – that is the way Pavlov would have exemplified his theory instead of the dog had he known of a living creature like me. Newton was certainly wrong while formulating the theory of gravity. There are actually a few bodies which do not fall downwards unless applied with artificial pressure.
Usually by this time it has dawned on me that there is just about time either to shave or take a shower. The decision is made depending on whether I’ve shaved the previous day or not. This,again, is based on the hypothesis that I’ve evolved through empirical observation over the past two and a half years of my working life – a one day old stubble is passable, a two day old stubble will earn the scornful glances of the boss and a three day old stubble will ensure that you are sent back for a shave.
Clothes to be worn for the day are selected basis there rank in the pile in the wardrobe. Socks necessarily have to be of two different colors. The tea which has gone cold by now is gulped down. The switches that were left on yesterday are meticulously switched off today – only to give the other ones a chance to remain switched on today. The laptop bag is hurriedly slung on the shoulders only to figure out that it is too light to have a two and half kilogram laptop inside it. The next ten minutes are fruitfully utilised in hunting for the laptop on the bed, under the clothes pile, in the loo, on the kitchen shelf and inside the refrigerator.
All of this leaves very little time for the door to be locked peacefully. So it has to banged shut and the aunty-next-door has to be appeased as I have almost shaken her apartment to collapse with that bang.
Considering all this, it shouldn’t be difficult for you to guess that this routine in my life is indicative of the working-and-single stage of my life. But my mental disposition is clearly independent of my morning routine. It is more a function of who I am waking up with and who I slept with....