“The entire site is plotted and ready,” says Deputy D.
I had imagined that would be great news. Inspiring. Liberating, even, after so many days of hard toil. I was wrong. This news means that Phase II can begin. But Phase II is not completely ready.
Local vendors have inflated costs at the last minute. The festival is held hostage at so many gun-points that there’s hardly any space to squirm. Twenty five brains are working on how to cut costs without cutting down on the dream.
Withdrawals on the account are instant. But deposited cheques are bouncing.
Promised materials are running scarce locally. Transporting from other states is too expensive.
The team is still on its feet and running. But that’s probably because they are all slightly mad. There’s a method to the madness. A week back, Kaptaan was telling the team to keep joking around. Keep pulling each other’s leg. Keep each other on their feet. It’s the only way to stay motivated through all this.
Stage emerged from a shower just now looking all chirpy. The loos got installed only this morning. I haven’t had a bath in three days. I tell Stage that I’m getting used to it. I could have my next bath on the 15th.
“Yeah,” he says. “But that will only happen when the madness begins.”
“When it begins?”
Sometimes I wonder what world he lives in. Stage believes it’s all smooth and it’s all happening. One day he got a shot of the team dropping exhausted to their feet on the dunes and has since convinced himself that, oh, they were all just chilling.
Chilling? In the desert?
I fear for him. Poor boy. He’s not even brilliant enough to be famous as a lunatic. Maybe the heat got to him. Maybe the stress. Maybe the diarrhea.
Whatever the reason, he has totally lost the plot.
And then I look around at this highly motivated hive of a team and wonder… maybe it’s me.
I had imagined that would be great news. Inspiring. Liberating, even, after so many days of hard toil. I was wrong. This news means that Phase II can begin. But Phase II is not completely ready.
Confucius say, never mark sand with chalk unless you want your plans to fly away
Local vendors have inflated costs at the last minute. The festival is held hostage at so many gun-points that there’s hardly any space to squirm. Twenty five brains are working on how to cut costs without cutting down on the dream.
Withdrawals on the account are instant. But deposited cheques are bouncing.
Promised materials are running scarce locally. Transporting from other states is too expensive.
The team is still on its feet and running. But that’s probably because they are all slightly mad. There’s a method to the madness. A week back, Kaptaan was telling the team to keep joking around. Keep pulling each other’s leg. Keep each other on their feet. It’s the only way to stay motivated through all this.
Stage emerged from a shower just now looking all chirpy. The loos got installed only this morning. I haven’t had a bath in three days. I tell Stage that I’m getting used to it. I could have my next bath on the 15th.
“Yeah,” he says. “But that will only happen when the madness begins.”
“When it begins?”
Sometimes I wonder what world he lives in. Stage believes it’s all smooth and it’s all happening. One day he got a shot of the team dropping exhausted to their feet on the dunes and has since convinced himself that, oh, they were all just chilling.
Chilling? In the desert?
I fear for him. Poor boy. He’s not even brilliant enough to be famous as a lunatic. Maybe the heat got to him. Maybe the stress. Maybe the diarrhea.
Whatever the reason, he has totally lost the plot.
And then I look around at this highly motivated hive of a team and wonder… maybe it’s me.
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