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  • May 01, 2011
While i am still figuring out a label for this post, you can go through what i did go through.

Its 5 a.m. and many of you would like to call it as an early morning, but it still was a late night for me.  Having eased at least two from the embracing hands of Nellcor Puritan Bennett, i stepped down the stairs to get the powdered milk coffee which somehow everytime managed to power me away from somnolence.  The coffee was same, but not the compass. It was too bright for a 5 a.m. May be i haven't seen any 5 a.m since this summer.  That pushed me a few meters outside under ozone, though mentally was tied with the next hour, the ''pricky' job of piercing deep into some young radial arteries.

In a lazy 40 seconds walk, there i was, at the newly made car parking wedged between two 'advanced' buildings, having left with only a sip in the plastic cup.  For a moment, i thought i was standing in a place which fitted a little forest. It was indeed a great idea, of whomsoever it had been, to care the trees while making the road for cars.  Neem, Mango, Guava, Bamboo, short, tall, spreaded.. there were all kinds.  And the best part of it was the birds they sheltered.  I am ashamed to say here that i could identify only crows among the wide array.

Morning ground was healthy.  Yes, i better call it as morning.  Those few who ran around in shorts seemed happy.  A father was bowling at his son's bat.  I wonder how fast a father could throw a ball at his son to get him out.

Walking back was not easy but compulsary. 

It was delighting to find the newspaper arriving at the gates so early.  It became one rare day, reading it fresh before the pages being spreaded in the coffee room.  Filled in them were all the passport sized faces which topped the year's IIT-JEE. 89% were boys yet it was the first girl Sumedha's letter to her coaching centre, which featured half of the first page.  With a clean flowing handwriting and a striked out helpful to convert it to helpful^ed, it exhibited her school pen throughout.  Staring at the clock, i left leaving a sat sri akal at the the smiling desk.

Then the Class.  The last 's' sounded 'h'.

Harmony retrieved when i shared a piece of sweet with a kid from the box offered to me by someone.  It was a busy thursday clinic, and she strained to find me before leaving to offer, 'Uncle, Happy birthday!!"

Its 3 p.m now , and i call it a day.  

An oxymoron (from Greek ὀξύμωρον, "sharp dull") is a figure of speech that combines contradictory terms. such as a 'perfect mistake'.

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