To fall in love again

It's been an interesting week. Ever since I arrived in Delhi a week back, to begin what has been called by various people at various times as my: new direction in life; break; vacation; party and oh! my chance to get a girlfriend it's been revealing, entertaining and certainlly funny.

I have laughed. By God! How I have laughed. If I introspect I suppose I would find out that tiredness, pressure and stress just bring out the farcical and deeply rebellious and subversive elements in me. I don't buckle under pressure. I just laugh it off.

I had two hours of sleep over the last three days. Two hundred people. It didn't matter. I found the experience liberating. Not having to sleep. Having to do something well into the night, to keep doing it. It's fun.

I also achieved the zen like state of being there and not being there too. If you can alone see what that means.

Interesting bit.

We had a talk by Ishita Swarup. CEO. A company called Orion. We had had just three hours of sleep over the last two days. We had been falling of our chairs, sleep not just knit the sleeve, she bound us to her. We slept in doorways, standing up, anywhere. We had just slept through a lecture by the Dean.

Ishita Swarup walks through the door.

She's petite. And bubbly. I can't guess her age. Two hundered sleepy people. One woman.

She takes stage. She talks.

We don't sleep. Forget sleep. We sat up. Sat straight in our chairs. Looked into her eyes, concentrated for an entire hour at her. Pin drop silence.

No shuffling, no scratchings. No body looks at their neighbour. We just look at her.

Listen to her bubbly enthusiasm for her slight eccentricity as she calls it.

What the combined efforts of fifty proffessors, each excellent in his own way, distinguished in academia, knowledgable and intelligent, and veritably bald and fat--if you are not tickled pink and refreshed from sleep by the sight of a fat pink bald man, exorting everybody to wake up you sir, don't have any sense of humour at all--couldn't accomplish, one young petite girl did.

With flair.


Which she had already done. But she did it again and again. As I think she will. Since she had done it again and again.

Provided she can do something which others can't. With flair. Panache. A sense of humour and a smile.

As she bewitched us, inspired us, serenaded us with siren songs, as we fell in love with her (two hundred sleepy people with three hours of sleep in four days), we hope she'd do it.

Again and again.

As she will.

Again and again