Bright, bright, bright; Sunshiny day

Friday, March 30, 2012

There are things that I'd like to begin with, corrective measure. One of them includes barring the entry of parents or kins on this page. I seriously can't disclose snippets of my life if they keep reading this. Can't reveal that how smoking on the way back from college after a long wasted day and bad rehearsal is nearly orgasmic and as good as post coital smoke rings with a book. Okay, maybe the idea of noob lighting a cigarette in a moving auto isn't as romantic as reading to each other in bed but the point is that constitutes as one of the highlights of the day.

Which also brings to the point, the conclusive bit of college. End of school was marked by a 're-union' or do I say, 'We wanted conti and got a reunion instead'. I have, in past, written leaps and bound about people from school and college and they both portray two different worlds, much like Justin Beiber and John Coltrane (respectively).

So while I love to croon 'Baby/baby/baby oh!', I also like my Naima in place. As excited I was, few months ago when I first got the invite, now I am almost cringing at the thought of going back to the place where I despised going each day for some 14 years. How did  I ever get back to feeling is, is possibly a good question to pose.

I know it's exactly going to go in this fashion. I'm going to begin by cribbing about college here and then complain about the fact that it's getting over and I'm confused in life. Then I might add about my rejected scholarship application and tits-bits (mosquito bite boobs and plateaus) about the single's honeymoon most girls from my college will embark upon on their daddy's money to various exotic countries. Basically, a lot of rant about the opposite side no matter on which side I stand.

Currently, I stand no where. Hence this piece.

I saw a comment thread on facebook. One that could not be overlooked. Rather several, most of them saying the same, 'Come for reunion guyz' and 'Hindi class kitni tuff thi yaarrr'. Fuckers. Get over school. Get over the fact that you were supreme slut there. Surprisingly, reading that one threat pissed me as much as it would've back in school, if the teacher asked me to sit with one of them. Suddenly, this whole idea of why do I need to acknowledge these assholes again? I am not going to bump into an ex crush or something at school and neither am I particularly looking forward to meeting friends. Those, who I like, I make an effort to see them once every three months or so and once whom I dislike, well, they're blocked on facebook. Nothing subtle.

I also know, after this re-union, I'm going to be in love with college and everyone at college only till next day, when at 8:5o I'll be marked absent for entering 5 minutes late and I'll possibly be the only one bearing the grunt of a test. As melodramatic as I may make it sound, school was painful and college is pissing me off. With the kind exception of the Award for Academic Consistency and regularity in work they're going to bestow upon me on College day, when I'm playing at R.K. Dalmia auditorium for the very last time. Jailhouse rock has been a fun track to play. Infact, entire medley is popish-very audience friendly selection of songs compilation. The only hitch is, I'll possibly have to run from Sari to whatever the uniform would be in no time cause the award winners usually wear Indian, traditional and WMS doesn't. Argh.

Sari also reminds of me farewell and that I'm possible the only soul in Delhi University who has no idea as to what I'm suppose to wear for farewell and that I'm suppose to be following a diet to manage to get into one of those tiny bikini blouse for farewell. Too bad, my boob size won't allow me to look anything Frieda Pinto. Only Pamela Anderson. In Sari. Can you fucking imagine? Maybe you can, stop.

If that social obligation isn't all, every motherfucker studying in college has been loosing a lot of weight. My own classmate has lost 1o kgs and was appalled when I told he about my carelessness about my farewell Sari. I mean, here am I, looking to play Jailhouse Rock and wondering how to fix an essay on Wittgenstein's religious belief and my classmates are busy putting 8 hour smudge proof lipstick and farewell shopping. Well, good for them. Really.

This different perspective comes from talking to people. I'm grateful to the universe for conspiring me to meet some of the most loony characters. I met some at this Sindhara Party (remember, Marwari friend? Third time lucky for good food and company). It's always great to meet people and know where the world is leading. So, I may be living wondering where to invest my first salary/income but there are people who know French chiffon from silk and the cost of Pakistani suit being upward of 10k (which is 1/8 of what I got paid). So, while I ponder if I should invest in a 'bulb' tattooed on my wrist, my classmates are busy worrying about the rotis being grilled in college hostel. At this occasion, my mother would reach out for the silenced by us and say, "learn to respect their choice". Who am I to criticise the choice behind Pakistani Suit.

As far as the reunion is concerned, you'll hear about it soon. And the Award function. Also, possibly some story of the gig which paid me. And how badly I fucked it. No one's running away.



Can't stop listening to this for some odd reason. Maybe, I'll pick this up sometime. 

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