Some people absolutely thrive under pressure. They love it. The rush, the adrenaline, the possibility of getting cornered in a dark alley with your back against the wall. That sort of stuff charges them up to perform better and better. Its how they, so to say, roll.
We are a different people though. Me and Team India. We don't do high pressure times very well. Put us in a terrible spot and ask of us feats of great daring, might and courage and all those things, and we start fantasizing about lunch. Not exactly the force you want to send in to rescue prisoners from guarded hilltops or save children from burning fires. Its not enthusiasm we lack, a burning building with children trapped inside being just as much excitement for me as the next fellow. We just dont look forward to turning in our own terrific acts of valour and displays of awesomeness in the middle of all the mess. As was elaborated conveniently by Sachin, choosing to get out just a few minutes before lunch time, because the Aussies were making faces at him. The greater the pressure, the tenser the situation, the larger the weight entrusted upon our shoulders, the greater is the urge to distract ourselves and let it all go. Not that we're incapable or anything. Or lacking in talent. Rest assured that I'm a perfectly super-awesome guy who regularly sweeps lines and lines of people off their respective feets. Such is my charisma and natural charm that...hmm...I'll skip it for now. Later, later.
My point is. You're putting me under a lot of pressure. Yes, you. With all your excited jumping around over the end of another year. With all this talk of parties and clubs and dances and new shoes. With the incessant questions about where I'm planning to go, burning midnight oil and living it up and letting my hair down and dancing in the sides and what not. With the pained expression of "But whats wrong?!?" when I say I haven't got a plan chalked out yet. With yor unnecessary and unwanted recommendations of all the hip and happening and check-out-you-must parties around town. I know you mean well. Most of you. But I don't enjoy the focus over my schedule of inactivity. And I don't do well under your pressure.
So here I am, still going online 25 times a day, in constant search of a kindred soul who suffers similarly every time a damn year ends, or its time for fat men to throw around gifts into outstretched greedy arms, or whatever else we are able to find and exploit as a reason to party hard. And I do not enjoy myself one bit. And I do not appreciate all the hooplah. Especially when you start telling me how I'm growing old surely, and should you fetch me my walking stick and that brown old-generation chowkidar style monkey-cap.
I party when I want to. More often that most of you do, living in metros and all. *fierce :P* I just don't see a reason pushing me to celebrate in your way the end of a year. It was a beautiful time, and I enjoyed myself most thoroughly this year. The last few moments I have with it are not going to be drowned in dancing in ridiculously crowded discs, with ridiculously dressed people, listening to ridiculously loud music. You. Are. Ridiculous. Go home now. Don't cry. I'm harsh sometimes, I know.