Be sorry, motherfuckers

Thursday, March 15, 2012

March brings out the best in me. I may say so creatively. It brought out a leader in me previous year along with a drunk-bass player and a chronic urticaria patient. I am celebrating urticaria anniversary week. Join in.

My head is currently obsessed with one solitary word, 'Seminar'. For those of you who do not know, it's one (as of now). Posters have gone in to colleges and panel is fixed (again). Budget's been slashed and warnings have been issued to juniors (week's attendance at stake if they miss this, suckers). Drunk conversations have been made and recurring bad dreams in a hyperactive state follows me every night. In the morning, I wake up wobbly, around 4 and then back to the same state of attempting to sleep. I'm no light sleeper yet this is bothering me. Bunking classes- to be precise- bunked a week's worth of it. Feels good. Why won't it. I'm a felix reject now. This essentially means, London is off. No monies, no SOAS. No SOAS, no masters. No masters, no job.

You are reading a soon to be ex-president who'll be jobless in three month's blog.


Well, the letter itself is hillarious. Opening lines could be given to a beggar for his resume. I'm pretty sure, he'll score the title he's aiming for. It came as a shock. In a parallel world, when my movie was being screened and audience was hooting in full flow, I was shell shocked, in the car, on my way back home after getting my old swatch repaired, with a cousin. 'Hope you'll be able to make necessary arrangements for your postgraduate studies'. No fuckers, I won't be able to make any arrangement. It's not development economics that will pay me shitloads and I can repay in 'easy instalments'- the fucking student loan. Now, it's,"Hello Delhi. Hello curfew. Hello under-your-house-i-shall-live-and-be-jobless".

More than a shock, I'm back to being plan-less. Rather, clueless about future. Having no idea is Ok. Strictly based on luck, 'Oh, you'll make it somewhere.'. Where asshole? In your bed?

Chances are, I'll be stuck in Delhi doing Masters in philosophy and failing. Before that chances are I will probably stop going to college completely. There is no fucking charm left. Scholarship is rejected. Indian universities are too hip for me. I gave one solitary entrance (which was possibly the easiest and I didn't even make it to second round) so there you go. This is worse than future after 12 grade, 'cause back then, I was even ready to embrace a place like Amity. This institution has given me immense ego and high and I can't settle of anything lowly in life. As it is, my standards are set way above achievable levels. Now, it's hello delhi and hello parents all over again.

Funnily enough, in last few hours, I've gotten over a dozen people call/text/congratulate me for seminar and other achievements that we've unlocked over the year in the department (too much 9gag). Infact, the ex president herself called (and I see a bit of myself in her, she's been quite a loner and well hated by everyone but I like her precisely for that 'need-no-one-to-tell-me-I'm-sex attitude). She went to Australia on scholarship. Damn, wrong topic. She went on about how brilliant our work's been etc. Thanks. Poster's lovely. Thanks again. I've no future. Lovely, it is now. No future whatsoever. I should become a designer. Making poster for college events. Made around half a dozen for my own department and then two for other department. Next college Cultural Secretary (candidate) has asked me to design one for her campaign. Unlike a lot of assholes who charge for their work (well, I'm an asshole here, who doesn't charge. Come fuck me), I provide my creative inputs for free, for everyone. I love doing this. It doesn't take much time. Why not? Certainly know of someone who'll disagree here but that person disagrees with everything that I say (no, Mum, that's not you).

So yeah, it's funny, how in a way, when the world was praising my work, those motherfuckers rejected my application and in a way told me, 'Sorry bro, no London for you, anytime soon.'

Time to get myself a job at Mcdonalds maybe. Or babysitter. That's my future. More like it.

It's fucking ridiculous and cruel fate of the world that I've been nominated for awards in college. I mean, why me? I've no marks. There are people who mug up and score much more than I ever will and then I don't get through entrances, I am stupid, I even fail internals and I get into a lot of shit. WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU NOMINATE ME FOR NOT ONE NOT TWO BUT THREE WHOLE AWARDS? Do I look the like the all rounder kinds? Spare me, man. I am not the kind who needs these tags to prove myself. Sadly, the world demands but not me. And the worst part is, there is a fuckall written test after nomination that my HOD has sarcastically told me, 'it's my last revenge'. Now, we get the situation. Aha! Bring it one. Failed entrance. Failed scholarship. Failed relationship (with crush). Next in line- failing tomorrow's exam for some coveted mothercunt category that some asshole will receive. Grapes are very sour and I've scurvy. I need the grapes before they pluck them to make wine. Fuckers. They already did. Good things don't always come in tiny packages. They now come in tall. I'm short. Fuck me.

Maybe anthropology is not my future. Next premise is, maybe I don't have a future. You know it'd be great if world get sucks in a big vacuum and it'll be brilliant if we fall into it and never come out. Everyone will know what living my life/future will be like then.

Anyway, sticking seminar poster. Designed by me, ofcourse. Come, if you've nothing better to do. Or if you think I'm important enough. Either ways, I'll love you more, if you do.

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