Penny Lane

“On the corner is a banker with a motorcar,
The little children laugh at him behind his back.
And the banker never wears a mac
In the pouring rain, very strange.

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes…”

Winamp blares Penny Lane through my earphones. My eyes closed, I sit at my computer, going down memory lane. Ten years, no fifteen. Yeah, fifteen years ago today, my brothers and I sat in the car while the familiar sound of the Beatles kept us company. We were nowhere near Penny Lane, but at a marble processing factory just outside Islamabad. Dad had left us in the car while he had gone to their office to find out when they were going to ship the marble for our kitchen counters. Those were the days.

Sitting in front of the computer, procrastinating. I have an essay due tomorrow. I’m not even half way done and don’t want to finish either. Reminiscing what was and what now is. It’s funny how you visualize things to be, but they turn out something entirely different. I’m twenty six years old now. I have not much to show for it, except for some computer skills with which I can conjure up some party tricks. How awesome is that. Very eh?

Welcome to the new beginning; welcome to my flog.