Another Day, Another Prey… on my Way

Oh worry not. The title is there because of the rhyme. I have still not downed anybody on the road, unfortunately.

Anyways, my to-do list for today:

  1. Write a German paragraph.
  2. Set up my computer with a graphics library that supports per-pixel output.
  3. Complete my ToC (theory of computation) assignment.

When it should read:

  1. Let my attendance in classes rise from current near-zero percentage to anywhere in double digits.
  2. Fill up application forms to colleges for MCA.
  3. Buy a new pair of jeans (I am down to a critical count of one for the last one week now).

You will only get to know the success rate tomorrow or some day after that, but one thing is for sure, the day today was a win for sure. I attended my German class, attended my driving classes and, well, it is just enough for me. I managed to scribble a rough draft of a paragraph on the bus to boast about in the class and got enlightened by my German teacher about the true history of India. I must have told you that she is the granddaughter of the great Vir Savarkar, haven’t I? He actually has a long Wikipedia article on him (here) and is a fascinating read if you know what you are reading. That is not to say that she makes frequent mentions of him in our classes; she once told about it tangentially to us when she was talking about Andaman and Nicobar, and ever since, any nostalgic trip by her seems to me of national importance. And she is a very upstanding woman herself; she is 67 years old yet seems to younger than all of us. She has encouraged me to change my newspaper subscription from the ‘Times of India’ to ‘The Hindu’, forced me to get over my inertia of reading books, instilled a sense of wonder of Germany in general and made me take charge of my own life. I have actually decided to stay in Delhi if I get a chance so that I can continue my course further.

But there is more to my life than studies, no? I hardly study at all, after all. I have this girl in my life who used to be at school with me. We used to be the best of friends once, then we fell apart and then have had a sort of amiable contact ever since. But she presses me always to text more, talk more, meet more. I don’t consider a friend at all, because the reason we fell apart at all was that she thought that my being gay was… immoral is a strong word but how long can one tolerate long speeches that I am not sure about myself (!) and I should snap out of it. However much she might have changed today, I just got over her friendship and have never missed her. A mutual friend told me that she has been making a collage for my birthday and I am shocked out of my mind because I am 100% sure I am not going to invite her to my home. Not at any cost; let her hang my collage in her home or burn it in her electric chimney. I don’t care.

And besides this sticky eczema doll, I have another friend of mine whom we’ll say Shobha from now on. And Shobha is a boy; whatever the sound-pattern of the word suggests to you (fun fact: it is really a girl’s name here in India, albeit an old-fashioned one). So, I called him one night and bored him to tears. If he has one distinctive quality, it is that he is frank to the point of being rude. He once told me that he considered me one of his closest friends. I am not habitual to such emotional proclamations and I made a joke out of it. I felt that he felt bad about it but it can’t be undoed now. And the day I was boring him (to tears, mind it) and not giving him chance to talk, he abruptly cut me off because he had to sleep. Oh. I am more accustomed to people who talk indirectly. That is why I still can’t ignore Aanchal (the protagonist of my previous paragraph) and that is why Shobha seems rude to me. I am used to suppose hidden meanings behind people’s words; direct conversations are a little out of my league. I skirt them, laugh politely and steer the topic away to weather of the day.

It is 19:43 here and I still have 3 items on my checklist. Good bye for now. J

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