Aisa mere saath hi kyon hota hai?

So the head's churning away and the eye balls beckon each other to get out of the sockets, like a rocket that counts it way down, to get out of the orbit. The senses are still trying to attune themselves to the externals.

They fail miserably.

What a hangover-of-sorts from yesternight. Minus the alcohol that is.

But the seeds of this current predicament had ben sown from the 31st night itself, when sleep was obviously at a premium. 2 hours only.

The next night saw me snooze for 3 and it seemed to get better with just under four hours day before. Why one may ask.

Match and all at five. Why was the word 'obssession' ever coined. That has rubbed onto Sam as well these days, who cannot stop raving and ranting about the game. But that is a story for another day.

But just as one thought that algebraic progession would logically see me sleep for a period of five hours, lightening stuck. Or rather, in my mind.

2 presentations to be made, beginning to end. Starting 6 p.m. yesterday. Would have been done by 12 had I had no dinner.

Would have been 1 with dinner.

And 3.30 with a phone conversation that lasts two and a half hours. Of all the nights, yesterday.

And lest one forgets, a reiteration of the fact that Ganguly and Sachin Tendulkar were going to get to bat at the wee hours of the morning again, 5 a.m. to be precise. How could I not respect them. How, tell me how?

Let's spice it up further. Unlike the Mumbai mercury which surprised everyone by it's special fantasy towards gravity last week, my temperature shot up to a shocking 101. All of a sudden. For no plausible rhyme, or a reason. So two crocins popped, and back to work. Err...to the phone call.

By the time, the phone convo. ended, the ppt finished and the crocin had started taking it's effect, it was just an hour and a half to go. For the Ganguly-Tendulkar show. Remember?

And for people who did not major in biology - like me - or for that matter zoology or botany, or to whichever branch of -ogies that it belong, a higher dose of crocin ensured that the hangover I spoke about, was just around the corner. For small measure, the fever had ceased to exist.

It still is. The hangover that is.

So, to summarize, I finish my work at 3, I have a temperature running - and so is my nose - the crocin is seducing me to the bed like Rakhee Sawant cajoles everyone to put the mute on. Or for that matter, Navjot Sidhu (now, why did I not think of the Sidhu analogy earlier than Rakhee Sawant), and like a tug-of-war match, Star Cricket does the same to me. Seduces me to set the alarm for five.

One hour is the max. I close my eyes, before I am in front of the telly. Bleary eyed. But fortunately, with a lot of positive energy flowing. Unfortunately, out of me.

I was soon left energyless.

And I had a ppt at 9. The rest of the match missed. Gone. Tendulkar's ton, Bhajji's antics and the fightback of the team. All missed. For something constructive on environmental management. ISO 14001 it said. Why on earth should that matter when Tendulkar is blazing away towards his ton.

Crazy I tell you.

But tomorow is another morning. No more crocins or ppts. No more phone convos.

No more nothings.

Just me, my cricket and tanhaayee. Not quite the third one, but it sounded good. That's why put.

The head, by the way, is still churning. The bed beckons yet.