Cribbing is my business...and the business is good

Sunday, October 14, 2012

This page has been blank for a while- about the same time when I realised Mass Communication isn't for me and I, not for Mass Communication. In the last fortnight, I've fought deadlines, people amongst other irrational ideas in my head that compelled me to give up college, completely. It was a lot like waking up each day and saying to myself, "Go back to sleep, there's nothing for you." If you have parents like mine, chances are, you won't be allowed to make decisions for yourself (forget the age factor). The subtle art of making one admit to doing something, that essentially is what the parentals want from you, is my mother's forte. From an array of explanations thrown in, a lot of them seemed quite logical about how I must continue here, get the degree and consequently, get the fuck out of here.

Question is, why am I desperate to get the fuck out of here?

Usually, under any circumstance, it is extremely hard to please me. "Pleasing" here constitutes of enjoying an experience, atleast in the concurrent view of this post. Tracing back the blog and pretty much my virtual history, I've cribbed about school, whined about college and despised work. Anything and everything, one may even say cribbing is my life blood etc. I admit wholeheartedly, it isn't easy to satisfy me and match up to the standards I create in my head. Heck, even I can't match upto those standards. I digress but this is where the institution comes in, where I am pursuing Masters.

I attended a relatively unknown, convent school which had twisted rules to begin with. Till today, I haven't been able to conclude whether my classmates were more twisted or the administration but in a nutshell, that place was the end of me. In the last two years, I counted down days- till today, I've never claimed to "miss" what I left behind. Good riddance, that's how I describe my school life (or the lack of it). College, on the other hand, was completely opposite. I met some brilliant people and in short, we all helped each other to carve into the persons we all are today. The little capsules of my three years at college are spread along this blog, which some of you may or may not have read. Either way, you get the drift about teething troubles- that was it. My college was anal about certain things and those things bugged me a lot. At some point, due to emotional content of my heart, I may even agree to the idea that those things were necessary but that's another post altogether.

Coming to the Masters and the institution. It's almost as if, I've come back to my convent school to re-live the bad memories of Extremely horrid times. Letch professors, rude administrative staff shouldn't exactly be a cause of worry, as this is a learning experience, says my mother. I don't know whether to take that with a pinch of lemon and salt or how but essentially, I'm a wreck at college. My classmates, almost all of them, are empty in the head. The conversations that one hears makes me want to smoke myself to death. The least I expected from the batch was to be smart. Smartness in an individual here, is defined by their ability to answer in class- which by the standard of the rest, is the shite (pardon me, for I cannot use this at college- due to the inability of the peers to understand). Agreed, it's not going to be the same as my undergraduate institute and perhaps speaking from their point of view, I'm as strange as strange can get. Probably, blonde too. I mess up stuff when I go to the dark room to develop pictures, day dream during sound and sleep like a log during radio besides bunking Theatre.

Bunking. I've succumbed to it.

I bunked three days straight- at a hotel room in Jaipur, shuffling between that and what was Jaipur's first rock festival. That is another story, worth writing in detail about. Men dancing to Beatles and Hendrix covers and women with babies enjoying every minute at the venue which was selling Chhole Bhature. I didn't expect much and I'm glad. Hung around with a drummer friend for a bit, who was kind enough to get me an entry and backstage access. Also, bumped into Motherjane and her bassboyfriend, to turn my sad unwinding trip to a cheerful reverie at the most inane location of all times.

When I didn't bunk college sipping beer and blowdrying my hair, I was besides mum- who was extremely unwell and saw the face of hospital. One of those experiences that leaves you with profound thought of how sacred the life is and how things can quickly change from normal to fucked- in crude terms.

My attendance should be a serious cause of worry right now. According to sinner, I must really get a scholarship for I won't be allowed to sit for exams with such low attendance (bunked three weekends, straight, probably bunking the whole of next week and doing nothing).

I'm living my non-complaining week so this post needs to end, with the hope that in a few hours from now I shall live to see Dave Mustaine's face, provided the man picks me up for the gig (he's only six hours late) and a few more hours from now, I shall live to write my first exam- that I will graciously fail for the lack of any common sense that can get me past the passing mark line. More on this page, soon. 

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