An Auto to Frankfurt

Well, thats what I felt when I called an auto to go to Fly Fortune World Travel Services. They have been kind enough to book my ticket to Frankfurt. No, its not for free. Punched a hole in my imginary future pockets. Side pockets, to be precise. May be even a gaping chasm, rather than a hole.
It still hasn't sunk in. I mean, the whole hole has been carved all right. But if you tell me that in less than a month, I will be more than just a few thousand miles from here, I might feel like punching you. Or may be even biting off your ears. Or I may just accept it.

Like I accept the frequent anonymous comments I receive on my blog. They all say the same thing, and point back to the same website. A website which seems to offer the cure to just about everything - from failed love to insufficiently grown body parts. Thanks, but no thanks.
So, yesterday, someone (or something, in case it is a smart crawler written by a pseud programmer coding his way to $$) had this to say:
"Hmm I love the idea behind this website, very unique."
If you come back again Mr/Ms Anonymous, and if you can understand what I am saying, Thank You. If you can't, our bad luck.

Reminds me of my last trip to Germany. How the five of us survived on the food we ourselves cooked. Went on a shoestring budget to numerous locations. Spent five working days of the week planning the mode of travel for the weekend. Ate and drank merry.
Mom, before you chatack me,
[chatack]
no I didn't drink any liquour. And didn't befriend any gori mem.
But I missed the food you cook at home.

Yes, I am full of anticipation. Also a little trepidation.
Will it be fun? What of all the things I am leaving behind? Will I enjoy?
Will I miss all my friends I am leaving behind?
What I will do when I know I can't ring up didi any second I want to?
Innumerable question, only one reply. I don't know.

Raksha Bandhan just passed by, and I was caught in this place. Its been years since I spent RB with didi. This year, even the postal department #$%$ played foul. The registered post hasn't arrived yet. The whole context prevents me from invoking my imagination... but I really want to blast the seven generations of everyone working in the Indian Postal Department.

Its 5:38 am, raining outside and the weather is so pleasant.
I have just come to know that there is an avid reader of my blog. Thank You indeed, AR.
I tried standing on the balcony but the water dripping from the top, bouncing off from the iron railing and landing on my cheeks was too irritating.
I still managed to have a passing thought.

Will this road take me to
Where I want to go...
But wait, do I even know, where I want to go !
[Sorry for the poor rhyming scheme... I am not given to writing readable verse! :D ]