Raindrops keep falling on my head

I heard this song today and it hovered my head all day -

Raindrops keep falling on my head... And just like the guy whose feet
are too big for his bed, nothing seems to fit. Those raindrops are
falling on my head, they keep falling.

So I just did me some talking to the sun. And I said I didn't like the
way, he got things done... sleeping on the job... those raindrops are
falling on my head, they keep falling.

But there's one thing I know: The blues they send to meet me won't
defeat me. It won't be long till happiness sleps up to greet me.

Raindrops keep falling on my head but that doesn't mean my eyes will
soon be turning red. Crying's not for me cause I'm never gonna stop
the rain by complaining. Because I'm free. Nothing's worrying
me.

And I kept thinking about it. It’s typically me. I usually spend significant part of my day about complaining stuff. I sometimes even complain about all the complaining going on in the world. Looks like all the complaining I do is just a temp phase and it’ll soon be over, or not. It actually sometimes does too. It helps me think clear. Having all the Amir Khan, Quota, Afganistan, American Vs Indian Jury System, work issues and Europian Union (Like the heck I know what it is?) right out of the way, I can concentrate more on my regular complaining stuff and chill out.

I always dream (and assume) myself to be the one who is immune to everything going around. Even if Talibans defeat America and India in world war III, I dream myself chilling out having a beer at some joint. Driving my almost rotten (I don’t know why its rotten, but it is) car, like in one in those Texas Cowboy movies, taking halts on roadside and never care about any second thing except for how much gas is remaining. And a sexy lady by my side. Man, would it be terrible to live like a bum? Do bums get sexy ladies? I don’t know.

I meet tons of people everyday and for most of them I pray “God!, never turn me into one of those”. But deep inside me I know I am. If someday somebody tells me “Your car is wrecked!!”, instead of “Chill out man, don’t worry about it” I would definitely freak out saying “What the fuck? which fucker did it!!?”. It is as inevitable as when your mouth spreads wide open to look up a bird on a tree which just dropped, or while staring at a cleavage. Can’t help it. Doesn’t matter how desperately you try to be someone you are not, you become precisely yourself at the precisely most crucial moment. It’s like a phenomenon. It kills me.

Those who have heard Tom Petty’s song “free fallin’” would know what breaking free means. However enticing the world in lucid dream sounds, what dreads me is what if it turns into something like a teenage daddy, resulting out of some high school mess. Bizarre thoughts like that always tend to stop us doing what we really want. “I want to become a President!!” is a fine dream alright, but I’ve been made to remember “It ain’t gonna happen, looser!!”.

The air is crisp and trees are green. The blowing wind makes my hair feel good. Windows are open and car is driving on 75 miles an hour cruise alright. The car next to mine is overtaking as peacefully as possible. FM 96.7 is playing one of my favorite songs. There’s no one else in the car. And as the alchemist says “Its the possibility of having a dream come true which makes life interesting”, I still believe that “whimsical me” would take me to places I always wanted to be and even though I’m not like it, I can at least keep saying “abbey hatta, Dil pe mat le yaar… ;)”