"Ahh, my eyes!"
~Oscar Wilde, on conjunctivitis.
I chose the worst time to go home. Not only did I miss out on Dabangg, I caught the wave of conjunctivitis going around in my area. For me, this meant a nightmarish train journey back to Hyderabad. There was little I could do with the whimsical laptop chargers of Dakshin Express. The SoP wasn't going to write itself. Nor was the grand art of CUDA programming burrow itself into my brain telepathically. My esoteric collection of movies and tv-series sulked in a corner like Andy's toys. I tried reading "Did you say Mathematics" for a while but the lights were switched off before I got very far. I was left to listening to my outdated music collection on my phone, trying to lull myself to sleep.
Eyes are probably the most overworked organs. A fact, the obviousness of which dawns only when they choose to swell to double their size. Realizing that every bit of activity that I did not classify as a waste of time, involved some use of the two distended orbs of tissue, which otherwise silently toiled away day and night. Taking the disease as a cue from mother nature to give them a rest, I decided it was time to transfer the onus of keeping me entertained onto the other pair of sensory organs- the ears.
One of the many wonders of the electronic world is the readily available enormous, albeit illegal, treasure of movies, tv-series, music and literature. While rummaging through the oeuvre of the queer yet talented Mr. Stepehen Fry, I noticed the Harry Potter Audio Books collection. They say it takes just one shot to get hooked to heroin. Mrs. Rowling and Mr. Fry make for one such heady cocktail that has you hooked right from the humble beginnings of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. I was pleasantly surprised at how much had already been forgotten about the wonderful world of the boy who lived. The bitterness of the seventh book being a letdown was washed away quickly by the sense of wonder last felt at F-29, Rajendra Bhawan.
It should be illegal to write about worlds so fantastic that make ours look like a cheap imitation. A statement of purpose that is not addressed to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry feels unambitious. I try to shake the feeling off, wondering if prolonged isolation has thrown me off the rocker. It must have, because flying cars and wand wielding wizards make more sense than today's newspaper.