Cleaning my room!

(A note to self, a leaf from my real life, I guess after cleaning the room, I need to clear up my head as well!)

Cleaned my room. Momentous event. Rarity. Transition from chaos to order. Walls without cobwebs: turned lifeless by my lust for cleanliness. Can walk in my room without the need to jump: can't be jumpy anymore. Found Virginia Woolf's To a Lighthouse, and Dr Zhivago: both novels that I had bought and forgotten all about. Recovered notes for "Bade achchay lagte hai", my flute would be elated to hear it come out again. Found hundreds of notes to self, random poetry, back of the envelope calculations, plans, timelines, deadlines, seeds of oranges, twig of grapes, a dry mushroom that crumbled on touch, a ping pong ball, forgotten T-shirt, a wine bottle that shall be used tonight, toothpicks, old letters, Rakhi threads, greeting cards, including a card that I bought for two friends who got married two years back. Found some lost email addresses, lost phone numbers, even an unactivated credit card that I knew was lost somewhere in my room. Background music: Lata's rhapsodies (kiss liye maine pyar kiya, pal bhar mein yeh kya ho gaya, ab toe hai tumse, jaane kya baat hai) followed by Led Zepplin III, followed by Pink Flyod's Wall, followed by The Greatest Hits of Simon Garfunkel (including Sounds of Silence, Boxer, America, Old friends), Bruce Springsteen's Greatest Hits (including Hungry heart, dancing in the dark, glory days, street of philadelphia) and in the end choicest oldies from Madhumati, Razia Sultan, Seema, Khamoshi and Anupama(including Humne dekhi hai, Kuch dil ne kaha, Dil tadap tadap ke, Tu pyaar ka saagar hai, Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai, Ae dil-e-nadaan)! The number of songs testifies to the fact that I spent over five hours sorting the mess, and if you ever planned on entering my room, TODAY IS THE DAY not to, for you will see a mirage that will stay here only for a few hours! In my room disorder creates the sounds, smells, steady state to which all the research papers, empty papers, envelopes, and what not, dances, drifts, decays. Old letters, broken promises, dreams, half-baked love letters, incomplete articles, snippets from past that had gathered dust over time, wires that were as tangled as my thoughts are on Tuesdays, buttons, and even pencils. The room looks too different for comfort. It looks like someone else's room. I need to get out of here!