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the incident in the morning

What ensues when a person of fitful sleep, requiring (rounding off to the nearest minute) a 'solid' 10 hours sojourn lasting well into sunrise is woken up before sunrise?

A freind of mine lives in Delhi. For some work related issue, the poor soul had to get up at 6 in the morning one day. In the recent past. One of those days when the temperature dipped below 2 degrees celcius (34.7 F) and the wind wasnt too kind either.

So before galvanising himself to dress, he thought a cup of hot tea would do him good - cheer up the world and so on. Cheered at the prospect he got himself a cup of water and proceeded to empty the contents of his millk carton into the saucepan. However much he tried, nothing seemed to emerge from the heavy and evidently full carton. Even when he increased the size of the aperture, gravity seemed to have become an alien concept.
Till is dawned on him - the milk was frozen. Five precious minutes of an unearthly early morning wasted. Cutting open the carton he proceeded to hack away a chuck of milk ice. Something common, I am sure, in the nether regions of Earth, but fairly uncommon for our man here.A perfect morning it was turning out to be.

Soon an icy piece of milk was found floating on the water in his slowly heating saucepan. Freezing, standing in the cold draft entering through the kitchen window, our hero decided to utilise the waiting time by exercising.
Not the gently-touching-your-toes kind of man is he. No Sir. Neither for him the rythmic swaying from side to side and mobilising his waist muscles. This fine peice of humanity wanted to sweat it out on the cold winter morning.
You can visualise the gleam in his eye as he looked out of his window at the staricase. The rush of warm blood to his cold cold brain igniting the idea - which blossomed to fruition. He ran and scurrried up and down the stairs in an attempt to increase blood circulation through his body.
Warmer and definitely awake now, this fine young man remembered his sure to be boiling tea and eagerly went upto the door. The door that separated the apartment from the rest. The door which seperated the house from the stairs.

It seems the wind was pretty strong that day. The door had closed.And sympathy of doors is well known to be absent. After a life time of separating people from people, The Door had developed its own brand of indifference, not buckling under the entreaties of its part-master and bangings and certainly not his kicks.

There was the man who braved all ill and woke up early morning, wanting to savour the beauty of a sunrise with a fine cup of tea and a searing metabolism, stranded outside his apartment, his pyjama wafting in the cold cold winter breeze and the sweat h had so industriously acquired freezing on his brow. While the pot of water merrily bubbled away to make peace with the atmosphere on the otherside, chirpily steaming away and waving goodbye to him.

Luckily, winter had spared his vocal cords and the morning made sure he exercised them. He had a flatmate. A kind soul who took the trouble of opening the door with only a vile look and a mouthful of ... words.

Alas, at the end of the morning, there was no tea, and he was late.

I think he has vowed not to wake up early again this season


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About Me


Regurgitations of my mind. Specific, Vague, Memorable, Forgettable, Thoughtless, In-depth.

More variegated than your dreams or colours off a crystal. More than I can pen down. What I can, you can read.


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