Sunday, September 24

Living on the Edge

Before misleading you to believe that the phlegm of my life has suddenly metamorphosised into hot molten rock or that I've taken to saving endangered species like me, I must remind you my life was written on a post-it which eventually flew away.
The edge that I talk of is a complex hyperplane, separating the star marked names in the innocent looking attendance or precisely, short-attendance list, from the ones who are fortunate enough to escape the eye of the big Brother. As it happens, sometime amid the intervals when I am semi-awake, one of my very enthusiastic friends told me that my attendance in a much detested subject had reached the borderline - the dreaded fraction of 3 quarters - and to my horror, I'd just missed another class when I heard it.
I must also explain to the gurus of graduation by proxy, that this particularly 'cosmetic' course is presided over by a very queer-old gentleman who chooses to "virtually strip" you in his class, if he finds you to have cleared the by rote. The role-call is particularly rapid, and it'd require Jackie Chan's reflexes to blabber something close to 'yes, sir'. So people used to saying the more civilized version, 'present, sir', miss out even after an excruciating hour of mental torture.
Getting back to the situation, my vital signs had almost reached a fatal state when I chose to go and have a little chat with the big guy. I must admit that I am no good at smooth talk and as a result, ended up being told to not disturb him as he'd never change his attendance come what may.
Well that's pretty much about it - I am very closed to being forced to repeat the course, unless...well, there's no unless - the edge is very close and I know no way to stop.

Friday, September 8

Just Singled

Twisted, boring and immature content follows. Amateur readers may require tranquilizers. Any resemblance to previous works of literature while not intentional is highly unavoidable as the author has been force-fed on a staple diet of
clichéd puns and metaphors. (A try-to-be-funny disclaimer: very clichéd).

Singled out - that's what I
feel so many times in one single day.

When the freak-of-nature rattles your door just when you had finally dozed off after jostling with memories of extreme verbal abuse at the hands of SSB* profs or just when you realize your poor lil cycle is now being dissected and sold somewhere in the alleys of old roorkee; it's this moment when you know you're the one. And of course, all this happens when you've just broken up - you really are singled out.

And then it hits me - in one of those times of JEE crackin' n rosy, romantic chats when you win all the time, you challenge the architect - you're the anomaly who won't accept mediocrity. And just when it's all going nice n easy, he hits back. You ain't the lucky bastard cum smart ass anymore - just about everyone else is.

Life screwed me big time. I guess that's why I'm going nuts (nuts..screws - get it ?). Don't hate me for writing this - I didn't make you read it (sadistic pleasure follows).