15-17th February, 2010

Very few things in life are as exhausting as an end-posting exam in progress. For those who don't know, it is roughly equivalent to:
(1) Standing in line, waiting for your turn in the mess. After standing in the same spot for more than five minutes, you realize this is because the rest of the population is not aware that ladles are equipped to scoop MORE than six drops of curry/two pieces of vegetable at a time.
(2) Trying to impress someone you like. When you have a runny nose. And you've no access to tissue.
(3) The number of hair care products and face creams. I know this is an old one, but this is my space to vent! (Comments asking how many pimples I have on my face right now and if I am bald will not be entertained).
If you thought I was going to mention 'Sachin Tendulkar batting in the 90's' as another example, you've SO come to the wrong place.





More of Random Unbelievable Things(RUTs):
#6: How I'm not mentioning 'My Name Is Khan' in this blog.
#7: How much fun it is to give in to a childish wish.
Dance in an empty corridor, order a cheesy pizza, stick your tongue out at someone, laugh out loud, get drenched on purpose in the rain, play a prank, grab your favourite section of the newspaper as soon as it arrives at your doorstep, wrestle, sing tonelessly in public, have a water fight. Really.
#8: How much of someone's personality can be figured out when they're a part of a team.
#9: How girls expect guys to stand up for them in times of need when they don't stand up for each other first.
Consider this situation: You're sitting in the mess, relaxed, enjoying a heavy breakfast. You're laughing and having a conversation about…umm, nothing at all. Suddenly you feel something brush against the skin over your ankle. It feels soft so you look down, expecting to see the ends of somebody's dupatta. But it's not. (Ofcourse it's not, because I wouldn't have built this all up for something stupid. And because, well, this is life. And life is cruel.)
Instead, you see a cockroach. There is no available description of the said cockroach because you were concentrating on how to get the damn thing off, and not thinking about making your blog more interesting. But the anonymous cockroach is stubborn and it takes you a couple of tries to get rid of it, before it scuttles across the floor in triumph. There are six girls at the table with you. Six. And not from one of them do you get any kind of reaction. (Unless you count one of them saying you looked like you were having an episode of fits.) You had hoped for support after such a traumatic experience.
Support can be of different types:
(1) Physical: To see the cockroach get stomped.
(2) Mental: Some words of wisdom about tragedies in life and how this too shall pass.
(3) Vocal: A high pitched shriek at the sight of the creature so that there's somebody who's more embarrassed than you.
(4) Emotional: A talk about how you were too good for the roach; you didn't need the roach in your life, or any roaches for that matter; the roach will die alone 'cuz it would have been too late by the time this blunder is realized; it was the roach's loss for not cherishing the amazing person that you are; the roach was the biggest jerk on the planet for hurting you like that. Along with half a dozen profanities thrown in for good measure.
But the girls sitting with you are demonstrating a complete lack of concern for you, the victim. And chomping on idli and vada. You've now lost your appetite. Life officially sucks.
#10: How I'll fail in convincing you that RUT#9 was a work of fiction.