Sorry to disappoint you, but the title has nothing to do with what I am going to write. It has nothing to do with Twee either. It was just to get your attention. Like one of those stupid commercials, where the start has nothing to do with what's being advertised. What the hell does suicide have to with a glue? Fevicol, dude!
So much for a start. I am thinking of what to write now. Shameful, eh! With my very first blog being critically acclaimed (Arundhati Roy too got the Booker in her first shot, dont forget!) and with a full two weeks to let it sink it, I should have had something to say. Hey, even the experts on the panel were of international repute. One from South California- newly migrated, earlier from Lokhandwala. But it still counts as US, ok! The other from Goregaon (who says its 5 minutes from Lokhandwala, though nobody really believes that!). Then one Romeo from Mulund. And one mermaid from the Moon too. That pretty much covers up the entire world, and beyond right?!
I try scratching my head. And other parts too. No inspiration forthcoming. I shift weight uncomfortably. Oh God! My ass hurts still. Found a topic at last. Why my ass hurts. Hope you get bored before you reach the end. And then I wont have to update blogs.
Lets flashback to 18 days from now. 31st August. Does that date mean anything to you? It better should. For if it doesnt, you dont mean anything to me either. What a load of crap! Potentially useful if I get myself a girlfriend. I was born 22 years ago on this day.
To be precise, it was midnight and just after - of the 31st. A regular hostel at a regular institute. Which means noone sleeps and lets sleep before 2. At midnight, the night's still young. Music blaring. A well-directed expletive at a frequency of every 45 seconds. First yearites trying to sleep, in vain. Second yearites watching movies. Third yearites cogging lab reports. Fourth yearites, having done it all, wondering whats left to do yet. Pretty much regular stuff.
At midnight, I am sent for. The location is the landing in between two wings. Enough space for 15 people. 30 if crammed. I count some 25 right away. They all have come solely for two purposes - to kick some serious ass, and then to eat cake. The stage is set. Eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. One pair however, is slightly nervous. Eager hands lift me up. I am suspended, by my hands and legs. I close my eyes.
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SNIP! SNIP! SNIP! CENSORED! (Its India remember?)
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An hour later, I realize a lot of things: My ears have chocolate cake inside, my butt doesnt feel anything and my birthday has begun. With a bang, that too. I am soaking wet and cant even walk. My voice has gone hoarse. My canteen account has gone for a toss (a sudden 500 buck deduction in 20 mins flat). I also realize that sleeping on your tummy is damn difficult. Any effort to sleep any other way is met with a sharp pain somewhere in between my legs and my chest. An unceremonious start to a ceremonious occasion.
Next day is worse. Public scrutiny at close quarters. 'How's that ass, baby?' Everyone knew how it was. Enough is enough I decide. Time to go home. I pack my bag. And head for my bike. Only to realize that riding a bike with a sore ass was far tougher than riding anyone else. I still manage to sit in the weirdest possible way. And on my way. Out of the main gate. At the Juhu signal, this chick-in-a-rick looks curiously at what exactly I was upto. And sniggers. Whatta bitch! I try not to pay attention.
Once I reach home, things get boring (except for the dinner, which is at a seafood place). Not really fit to warrant mention in my elitist blog. I am gifted a wallet - my dahlin sis cant bear to see the state of my current one. Its fashionable to say that the phone never stopped ringing, but to be honest, it did, intermittently. Maybe I dont have enough friends. But my ass has a different story to tell. Its still hurting a wee-wee bit.
