The guilty and the innocent ??

Time of Day: 9 am.

A faint figure walks down the road as soon as the city wakes from its dreamy nights. She walks down slowly but with a steady pace at the side of road where she walks daily. She clips her hands in her ragged pink sweater, staring down at the ground as she makes her way.

     Dhanno is 12. Every day I see her walking down from the slums at the end of the street to Jhawar Aunty’s home. It’s her daily routine and it has become like a habit to watch her come down to my neighbour’s home every morning at 9 and watch her leave at every 9 at night. Initially hired as an aid to take care of Pallavi Bhabhi’s daughter, Aarya, she has now become more like a house servant in their house managing most of their daily routines. All day long while the mother spends her time, chatting on phone and doing everything that goes behind the walls of their house, this girl hops around the parking area and in front of their house carrying the child in her tiny arms. Lately out of curiosity I asked Mom if ever this girl has time for school or any kind of self education. The reply from Mom was an obvious one but still it strike me with an abrupt and excruciating impulse. I was all aware what fate had decided for this girl and there is no way in practicality this child would be escaping the bitter reality of her life, I still felt the weight of that despair ridden utterance hanging over my chest. Something was burning it felt. Something that wasn’t right. I was aware of the evident reply I would receive from Mom to my query but I wasn’t just able to digest the fact and I was thinking it would have been much better if she would have simply lied to me about this little girl. Maybe that would have made her life a little better, a little less miserable, a little more to survival. That was exactly I was expecting. To mask the truth with an ingenuous lie so to make it appear more pleasant and appealing .But I knew this wasn’t how the world functions. The pain and suffering are as much the part of this world as good and happiness. I was too contended with my life till now, there wasn’t anything grand about that day but it just hit like a random thrust stimulating me into a deep gorge of mindlessness and empty dispositions and I found myself drowning into a callous pool of abuses, hurling insults and calling names. Because such was the gravity of that one sight that I couldn’t restrict myself from throwing all that to those people who put this little girl into this wretched situation. It was like something was compelling me to knock on the door in front of my house and beat the pulp out of those bastards who never cared. And even if my abuses were personal to me and confined to the walls of my room and more than that to the walls of my heart, I felt a disgust and repulsion for this family living in front of my own. But realising the verity of the prospect I had observed I knew I couldn’t do anything or little about it. I doubted my own actions. And now I hate myself for realising it. There’s a clear distinction between what you perceive and what you observe. I had learned it.

Time of day: 10.30am.

Somewhere between the slab counter and the shutters of canteen, the life of Rohit and his younger brother gyrates. Every day during lunch time when he arrives at the table to clean it, I try to look into his eyes and wonder if he ever thinks of becoming an engineer or a manager like those he was catering to. But he looks too contended with his way and running as an errand boy around the college. He hops down the corridors, humming a tune which sounds to me something from his native land and doing chores for the faculties and administrative folks. He always carry a smiling face, cracking some jokes to anyone who calls him and there isn’t even a slightest of regret or discontent in his eyes about his life and so does no one cares. But is it really the way it looks? Or is it this guy makes it appears? How can this fellow remain so cheerful even in such an environment and maintain a positive outlook about everything else that is occurring around him? Or is it just that he had learned too well to mask his repentance and short-comings and things destiny had thrown towards him?  Too much confusion building in my brain, there is a train of thought running at expeditious rates that I couldn’t keep up with it and so the apparent questions pops up again in my brain. I ask Vaibhav to call Rohit and ask him about his relation to Mahendra Bhaiya, the canteen owner. He seems to be taken aback by this unexpected query and recognises him with hesitation as his Uncle. Vaibhav and I can sense something fishy in the manner he tried to fool us, there was not even a trivial doubt about it but admitting this to be something personal and none of our own damned concern we decides to skip any further enquiry. I wanted to ask this guy if he has any time for school but then the flashbacks of my 2^nd year in college flows in front of my subconscious eyes when Vaibhav and I asked about the another guy who used to work earlier. And so I satisfied myself with the ignorant thought that what difference fate would have made and added any further distinctions to the lives of Rohit and his brother. All I could do is observe this child everyday trying to make some sense of his life by cleaning the leftovers from the aluminium tables and bringing tea to people. Another moment of disgust for realising it and so I decide to put down the empty cup of tea I was holding for last half an hour and proceed towards my class.

   The ill-effects of the child labour is clearly visible in the society and there isn’t denying a fact at no matter how much the jurisdiction and government tries to put any obstruction to such malicious practises they would still be evident unless someone, somehow comes with any viable and practical approach to put an end to it. The federal laws and regulations constantly proves to be futile and just a bunch of idiotic guidelines never making any real sense out of themselves. Now I don’t know how to tackle this sickening issue that continues to infect our culture and our daily lives but it would be a genuine blessing if there could be any valid, legitimate and sincere advancement against child labour.

And so this thought fades gradually as I exit the door of the canteen and walk away.

Post Break-up syndrome and advantages of being single

I was quietly relaxing that morning, the coffee on my table, watching children play on street, laid back in my chair and listening to Norah Jones , appreciating the beauty of nature and I said to myself warmly, “what a beautiful evening. Life is simply wonderful” . I was at mental peace with myself disconnected from the outside world when all of a sudden a perturbing ringtone on my phone gave a loud buzz and all my fantasy came down crashing right into the coffee on my table. It was Huned calling. AGAIN. “Bhencho, you must give me a valid reason to disturb me this hour of day”, I said to myself.

I picked up the phone. It had been a 5 minutes talk. I finished my coffee, changed into my shorts and rushed towards his home. And as soon as I reached, it was just his neck and my sweaty hands on it.

It would be like 5^th time since I reconnected with him after high school he went into a neuro -attack since his break-up with Munira that would be sending him into rotten- brain-haemorrhage for any day of the month. Usually Saturday’s and Sundays.  I was, literally tired of all the bullshit he kept on repeating about her as I was listening to all that for the last 3 months. Only this time, I couldn’t keep my nerves controlled from hitting him hard and only then I’d say he somewhat regained his senses.

Back to reality. Huned wasn’t the only suffering from bitchy ex-screws-you-over syndrome. I could prepare a syllabus out of all the people I knew who were actually suffering and diagnosed from this hazardous disease. So much for just one person. Why the hell on this damn earth did you ass-clowns get into a relationship, first-hand when you were aware of all this will take place.

 That night, back at home, I spent the night preparing a list of all moral as well as monetary and mental benefits ,an individual enjoy being single.

Advantages of being single:

1.You can eat whatever you want. Wherever you want. Whatever way you want to. There isn’t always someone on your ass, adjusting and planning your diet plans. Anyone judging  your eating habits. Or questioning why do you eat your pasta while lying naked on your couch or why did you take the pizza box on the toilet seat.

The perks, well, you can now eat the entire packet of chips by yourself. There isn’t any morbid thought surrounding you to share it every time you are with your “Honey-pie”  canoodling with him/her as the vicious eyes of all the uncles and aunties in the community garden is set on you.

Blessing for Indori folks and Delhites, I’d say.

2. You can wear anything you want and wherever you want. Unless you are of the likes of “The one who should not be named Poop-star” or next Lady Gaga or if you like dressing up like the midget-whore of Jersey Shore. You can wear your superhero t-shirt to the party, roam around city in your Sponge-bob underpants or go even naked, driving if you want, no one would be there to judge you.

P.S. The naked driving thought is imaginary and mentioned just to add some extra Masala. In no way, the writer suggests you to attempt the above-mentioned stunts. Beware of Fashion-police though. 

 Even there is common misconception among the ladies who expects their men to dress up like Ryan Goslings or David Beckham or even Christian Bale in a Bat-suit(well that went too far).

Men on the other hand, are no less when it comes to decide what there girl should be wearing while going out. I find it strange and totally idiotic how some of my friends actually behave, complaining about their girlfriend’s dress often. If she wears something more seducing, they find it provocative and revealing. If she turns out wearing a dress, with a veil as a complimentary gift, they find it conservative. Damn, bloody chauvinist. Make up your mind for god sake, dude.

3. Here comes the best part. You are free to listen whatever you feel like doing on your computer. There isn’t anyone to judge your music taste. You can listen to anything you want and at whatever volume you like. Unless you are listening to some lunatic and ass-holic Poop-star and if you know whom I am referring to, where in that case, I would be more than delighted to strangle you to death and shoot you with my Plasma blaster canon and then hanging you over the London bridge to send out a message.

There wouldn’t be anyone monitoring your Facebook accounts, Whatsapp and BBM chats and e-mails unless they are already working for NSA or CIA or PIPA or SOPA or any other ridiculously and hilariously put acronym.

Heck even my mom doesn’t monitors my activities so much as much a GF/BF do.

24 hours of un-interrupted  streaming of porn. Hail, if you have the capacity to withstand it. Hail the Metal-gods. Tune up the amps. Plug-in your guitars. Let there be chaos. \m/

4. You are no longer bound to schedules and timelines. You are the master of your own will and there will be no pesky BF/GF acting as a douche whose daily texts and phone calls every morning and every night is the stark reminder of the bloody alarm clock you broke last summer without a second delay.

I often, feel sorry for those friends of mine who spends their  precious hours of life, which could have been spend sleeping but bidding good-morning and good-night, countless times a minute, each in different languages, then with a different accents and then finally  whip-creamed with some weird alien lingo which is certainly beyond human knowledge. 

Yeah at least, such outlandish behaviour encourages them to learn some foreign language to impress their partner but proves to be totally futile and sense-less when it comes to abusing them while breaking-up. Desi gaali always beloved and effective, Bh******.

5. Ah, gone are the days of Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone, Vin Diesel, Jet Li or Steve Austin. You should have thought about the sacrifices to be made on the Saturday nights before getting yourself into a dreaded relationship. The only entertainment that remains in your life is those asthmatic and anemic vampires and “Beyond Human Perception” love stories.  Ass holes, if you are one of them, you deserve it. Now don’t cry your ass out.

Cheers to those lucky-ones who saved themselves from any such atrocious  wraths. You can watch your favourite superhero movies without a break, shag between American Pie and Van Wilder and are free to roam naked in your house, in case you live alone, of course. Plus, you save yourself the pain and frustration of explaining the genesis and anthology of Tarantino’s or Martin Scorsese's movie to your movie-illiterate partner.

6. Your room can always remain messy. It would never be properly managed and things would always be lying around. That easily helps you to locate the things when you need them in time. Life becomes handy and easy-going when you are single.

7. You never go bankrupt at every weekend. Your pocket is always heavy enough to make you feel next to Bill Gates,  Mukesh Ambani or next Warren Buffet. You can visit your favourite Pub, buy your favourite Video game and save enough to get that sarcastic tattoo you wanted to get inked on your butt. In addition to that think of all that money you will be saving in your 5-6 years of relationship without those Happy Birthdays presents and out of nowhere Valentine’s Day, Teddy Bear Day, Rose Day, first anniversary, first date anniversary, sex anniversary, blowjob anniversary and first fucking –in-the-car anniversary. Enough to buy yourself a new I-phone or save money for an Alienware.

8. You don’t need to take care of basic human hygienic nature. You won’t be giving a fuck about it. You can go without brushing your teeth for a week, wear the same pair of jeans for a month and use the same underwear for 3 days straight. Save yourself the pain of washing and changing it every day. A decent increment in your monthly budget again and a tight blow to those shitty washing powder ads.

9. You can visit your favourite Art gallery, theatre, the concert of your favourite band, the New -year Eve pool party without asking for anyone’s consent. Feel free to visit your favourite Punjabi Dhaba and go merrily singing, dancing, abusing the lorry drivers and pissing in the middle of national highway.

Writer’s discrete concern: Bring Your Own Bottle.

10. In addition to all these think of all the money you will end up saving that would be spend on buying condoms, chocolates, Vaseline…maybe even vegetables, getting top-ups and recharges, getting your girlfriend top-ups and recharges, getting her best friend’s recharge, getting her dog’s recharge, getting her best friend’s dog’s recharge. Now if you are not stupid enough or if you did not get fail in Maths in the elementary school I don’t think I need to tell you to sum up all that extra- curricular expenses and figure it out for you.

Of course, life isn’t grand if some fucked-up-pussy-licking-mongrel and your once-upon-a-time- friend ends up being in a friend-zone or girlfriend-zone. But then, when I think about it you really don’t need such retards in your lives as they would be doing nothing but making their own existence futile and your’ life a living hell with their broken heart and sobby love stories and minute facts of their partner favourite colour, favourite food, favourite bra, favourite boxers, favourite condom and all shitty stuff. 

  I am not against any sort of relationship. Neither I’m a harbinger of any moral policing underground society. But my point is you really don’t need to sacrifice your own freedom and integrity for the sake of person who can’t love you the way you are. Why to end up with someone who despite of his or her own flaws tries to make every morsel of your damn life changing you. Be with someone who enjoys the life. One who doesn’t create heck out of it. 20-25 isn’t an age to end up becoming a total jerk, depriving yourself of every sexual and earthly pleasures. Be single, enjoy your freedom. Chances are you might end up meeting some friends-with-benefits. Who knows? Damn!   

the girl from the bus-stop

Day started with the normal routine. The alarm rang at 5.40 as usual, I got out of bed at 6.05,removed the curtains from the front window. The sun was out today. Birds chirping. Some clouds in the air. I went up to my bathroom, a bit taken aback by last night incident, brushed my teeth, searched for my underwear, went upstairs to fetch my towel, opened the terrace window to let the air in. I took my shower, changed in to college uniform, had my breakfast, removed the phone from charging, tossed my sketchbook in the bag and flinging it went downstairs. Unlocked gates and waited till it was 7.04 and started walking towards my bus-stop.

The day looked ordinary. I was following every task up my routine. There wasn’t anything distinctive about that day. By 7.07 I was there at the bus stop. The staircase of the building where I used to wait for my college bus as usual decorated with dog shit in all glory. I was standing, deprived a place to sit and relax, all grateful to these good ass-holic mongrels whose crap-cakes now stares at me in utter malevolence and tormenting manner like an old man, taunting me of my laziness and denying me a seat next to him in the community garden. So I stood, browsing through my Facebook updates, checking any e-mails, notifications, news feeds, voice mails  Whatsapp messages as per my schedule.

I noticed Nitin, my junior from Computer Science department was late today. He would reach the stop by 7.14 around but I couldn’t see any sign of him by now.

7.15 exact as usual Aakriti showed up. I had somehow decided while on my way today to pass over more of a usual and close lipped smile to her and so I was keeping a keen eyes down the road she walked everyday. I could see her walking towards me from a distance. He looked elegant as usual. Aakriti ,first year Electronic Communication student at an engineering college(P.S. college name omitted due to various concerns). Hails from a small town of Ratlam. Convent educated most probably. And all this information, willingly and gleefully  passed over to me by Dhairya, my friend from her college who despite having a girlfriend fancied her.

She was a pretty girl. Beautiful enough to catch your thoughts if ever you happened to cross her way. She had a radiant and fair skin just like Aakanksha Ma’am used to have during my first year at college. She wore a neatly done and perfectly combed long pony-tail. Walked gracefully and both the straps of her college bag tightened at similar lengths surprisingly. She used to catch her bus from the opposite side of road where I was standing. And just like everyday as she crossed the road I just couldn’t stop myself from staring in her direction.

She took her place opposite to me on the other side of road. Our eyes met. She smiled. I smiled back. Enough to make my day perfect.

But then as all the goods things come with their own limitations so did she. While browsing through her profile I realised that this girl had a real bad taste in music, average taste in movies and the worse taste in daily-soaps in morally degraded great Indian television industry which was incessantly churning out shows which were equivalent to those torture techniques they use in mental asylums. Sometimes I feel that such television serials should be used a valid standard to compare utter stupidity and the lunacy. I am sure they  would have outdone itself every time if put to test. All these ripples had triggered a Tsunami of thoughts I my brain and I was trying to justify myself on the legitimate grounds that this can’t be real and existing. This moment. The idea of me approaching her, talking to her, asking her out. I knew she wasn't the kind of girl I want to end up with and still all this time I did nothing but build a fictional truth around myself about this girl, giving myself false hopes about her likes and dislikes judging merely by her appearance and then finding myself exhausted in frustration and more agony from this damned and morsel reality, no matter how ridiculous it may sound and appear.

And so did began another thought process. There was this particular term I came across while going through my Facebook feeds few days back, that it would have never fit so aptly and precisely at my situation, the one I was experiencing this minute. “Sexual Atheist “. I had to say, all these days I was looking myself more as an middle aged man, exhausted of his hormones, shagging off my youth and flushing down my fantasies and energy from last night porn down the toilet. Someone who now readily believed he isn’t going to get laid anytime sooner.

I was 22 by now and since my break-up from Himisha, 3 years back I never ended in another relationship. I thought I could carry with this life till I get out in the real world, get a real job and some real hot-stuff to hit upon. But the only relationship I ended up with was my laptop, my 6-strings and me. I looked at this threesome as a perfect equation but you can’t just keep fucking your guitar for long. Along this time it gave up one day, as the strings came loose in my hands and a brutally fucked up amplifier port. And now I was thinking for how long my laptop would keep up with this affliction and cruelty I had inflicted over it.

 Living with Preksha came with her own set of distress and aggravation. Kind of which I find painful and annoying to even think about. I was more than just glad when I ended a month long relationship with her.

3 years of pure drought. I said to myself of what the hell I was doing with my life. When the people around me are getting into relationships, some of them even serious and some even considering absurd ideas of getting married I was here, staring at my  laptop’s screen, writing junk, scribbling in my notebook, painting the toilet walls at college with piss, devising new and more evil plots for my pranks, spraying the management’s private transports and eating indiscriminately all the junk from Mc.Donalds  and Subway oblivious of the fact of how much fat I had accumulated on my tummy.

Talking about Aakriti I sometimes felt like sharing about this girl with Nitin. I wouldn’t be letting him know about my feelings about her, but make him into believing that this girl from the other side of the road often checks her out, holding random sweeps from corner of her eyes over him and while hitting this note I’d be pouring my entire knowledge about this damsel to him. I somehow decided to withdraw this idea anyways.

And today again as she walked past me I had decided to put aside my sanity at bay for a moment and talk to her when a voice collided with my ear canal with such generosity and respect but or the first time I felt it interrupting in my personal space. Never before a simple “Good Morning” by Nitin, standing behind me, smiling  had caused such a anguish and disturbance. I turned around, and said to myself, “Nice timing, dude. There goes my another chance.”

    By now I knew this was just a usual thing. Today it was her and then maybe some other day it would be another bus-stop and some one else. Life is strange.

Life At Pauls

Of all what I could remember of Indore, I believe the finest  thing that ever happened to me till now was my school, St.Pauls. and when I say Pauls I am particularly referring to Junior Section adjacent to Sat Prachar Press. There could be nothing better ever came to me other than my life at Pauls. It was an unusual and remarkable yet eccentric moments I had lived at this place. Right from the central dome rain dance to ghost stories of washrooms, from feeding rabbits and ducks in the garden to chasing stray dogs in ground, from revenge driven cricket matches against rival groups  to gracious badminton plays after exams, from achieving top grades in class to obtaining exquisitely drawn “0” in Maths test , there’s a ocean of memories and recollections I could carve out of my heart about the place. What we held in our heart and souls was more than just  respect and compassion but the very law of school to which we all were governed-Brotherhood.

      I couldn’t remember any of my friends from other school so firmly gripped to their  roots and to their classmates as much as I was to my fellow mates. That was the power of brotherhood of Pauls. I could still recall each and every teacher that had ever taught me in school from every class. It’s like these faces have been engraved in my mind forever.

    That was the time when, winning a cricket match against rival class brought more joy than acquiring top grades. Time when,  each and every classmate overlooked their differences and stood united for a cause. Time when school appeared more like home. It was an unusual life with unusual people in a more unusual time.

    Being a boy’s school, one cannot accept it to be the  producer of most decent and generous kids. In fact I would call it an insult if ever someone referred to any Paulian as being a “gentlemen” creature. It was the wild wild west of east where every folk was a Sheriff within himself .

    Of all those memories I personally cherish  the most was when there was battle between neighbouring classes. I know it’s cruel, harsh and malicious of me to glorify violence but let me just make an honest confession to it. I admire every time when the whole class would march into the corridors to challenge the other class on petty and cheap issues of chalk-picking, duster-stealing, littering other class with garbage or to just unknown reasons. It was a mother of all UFC and WWE. A great superbowl in which everyone was expected to join to show their allegiance . Kicks landing on people’s asses, broken teeths, a precisely positioned Shoe mark on someone’s face , chalk dust powder in other’s hair , tattered collars and shirt pockets. A spectacular show.  Simply magnificent. Our very own colosseum with it’s nut-cracking and whipped-ass-clown-gladiators.

  One could never expect any more love and care and tenderness from any teacher outside Pauls. It was in fact a blessing to  be awarded with so remarkable and wonderful  teachers ever in my life. I can bet if there ever happened to be a “Moment of Truth” among Paulians many would confess of receiving more from the teachers other their actual parents. Not that their parents despised them but the fact that every Paulian was so famous for their notoriety and unsavoury reputation that the parents would get annoyed half of the time.

And despite all these flaws I still couldn’t stop myself from wondering what made the school so prominent among the city folks, that everyone else wanted  their kid into Pauls. Such was the obsession with Pauls, that had it been for parents they would have enrolled their kids into school as soon as they were delivered out of their mother’s womb. Quite literally. Not that we were gifted and talented in our own way, and I am not exaggerating on that note, that we actually were, there was a side of every Paulian that earned him prestige and dignity in the society. Not just to the kids but their parents as well.

    Class 5^th finished with high percents and it was time to say farewell with heavy hearts and tearful eyes to junior campus and say Hello to the High School. The pentagonal shaped campus appeared huge and stood tall in all it’s glory. Gone was the time of innocence  and playful fights. And the age of Ma******* , Bhen****, Chu****  and all prolific and fertile verbal skills entered . Abuses hurled from every corner of the premises.

“Abe Chu****, kaha pass kar raha hai. Ball ko kick karna nai aata.”

“Oo Bhen****. Aaj toh Maths ka test hai. G**** mar gayi.”

“Abe K****, ek hotdog mere liye bhi le aana. Akele khaya toh teri G*** phaad dunga.”

“Abe kya pakaa raha hai yaar yeh. Kab khatam hoga iska lecture.”

“Aaj toh yeh E-section waalo ki taange tod denge. Bhen**** kabhi fair game nai khelte.

                           Such was the creative brilliance and whiz kids  Paulians were at hurling abuses.

                           Firecrackers and bombs in school washrooms, hanging condoms on boards, wrapping teacher’s vehicle accelerator with condoms, sleeping in infirmary during maths lectures, making obscene sounds while praying for some deceased, giggling during two minutes silence, exchanging answer sheets during exam, watching our first porn on a classmates mobile, putting up a melodramatic show in front of teacher and begging to  assign passing marks, placing dead cockroaches and lizards in someone’s bag, putting glue on  classmates  bench and chalk fights in class. 

                           One specific incident that happened in 7^th grade still makes me fall down from my chair while recalling. We had to remove our shoes in class itself while going to the computer lab. And so it happened that wicked day as well. But as soon as everyone came back for Sanskrit lecture some heightened monkey bug stung all and everyone started hurling shoes over each other. Shoes flying all over , hitting someone right in the face, into the groin, shoes flying out of class, over the ceiling fans and everyone snatching each other shoes to throw. The whole damn class looked like goons set loose in mental asylum. And  then entered our teacher and from nowhere a shoe came flying in it’s glory and hit her with a “Phataak”. Those with more shoes in their hands, a chill ran down their spine. The others could do nothing but look at the teacher in shock and amusement standing still. This freak show was followed by a tight pampering on everyone’s cheeks as a retribution. I somehow escaped the beating, as many of those teachers considered me a shy and decent kid. I still give a evil smile to my friends when they recount the incidents like this  when they had to face the wrath of teacher while I escaped smoothly with a puppy’s expressions on my face. I can’t even keep a count of times when I did all such monkey business wearing a cloak of decency and innocence.

       Then there were other memories of school picnics, Pokemon cards, discussing Dragonball Z saga, video games , hot-dog at Lalit’s canteen, basketball in rain, football in muddy knee- high water, annual function,  jamming sessions at AV room with dilapidated instruments, the Sahodaya volleyball clusters and many more.

             High School was also a time of much more than just boring lectures, Hot dog at Lalit’s canteen and AV  room jams for me. It was also a time for many budding love stories and double the amount of heartbreaks. It’s a fact that no Paulian ever  was successful in the relationship thing. Atleast I never encountered any one till now. The most usual news updates we received was from Raphael’s, the girl’s school next to ours and our school parent branch. So Raphael’s wall was the place where the Shakespeare and Picasso of our school displayed their artistic flair and never there happened a Paulian who had never been on a recce around Raphael’s just to take a look at their crush, paddling on their cycles and then kissing the front of  some random Autorickshaw on the way like a dead fly on wind-screen after colliding.

My life at high school went smooth till 8^th standard. Due to various issues at home my academics gradually declined and issues which I had   with school management and a teacher. I managed to score decent 75% in my 10^th Boards exams but that wasn’t enough to keep me in the school for next year. Problems developing at  home were taking their toll on my nerves. My studies were  ruined completely, demolished to every inch in 11^th standard. And so to get away my mind from family disputes I began to bunk schools, hang out with wrong people, got into a fatal  relationship with a blonde-head and every thing bad that could ever had happened to me. It’s consequences- I was awarded a sweet supplementary in Maths and Chemistry. The final exam result came as a shocking contrast to me.

Obviously, there were others who had met the same fate as mine but that wasn’t going the end of their lives at Pauls. As for me, my doom was all written. My previous issues with school management plus my result gave an easy excuse to school to throw me out.

        Thrown out of the place, that you considered your second  home. Stuff like this is demoralising,shattering,dishearting and fatal . Infact  I couldn’t do well in the subsequent years as well because of this billion kilowatt jolt that hit me. For next 3 years I couldn’t see any reasonable growth or vital improvement in my academics. I ended up in a dingy Engineering College in Indore itself. But it was only till my 3^rd semester, when the university’ s result were out I spotted some significant growth with my studies. I did quite well as compared to previous two semesters.

But to this stage, it wasn’t all dark for me. Life made several revelations about people around me.Dark truths, lies, betrayals,  ambush and all. School mates, relatives…..friends. I promised to myself  that I won’t be regretting the things that went wrong , either because of me or what  the circumstances flinged to me . At the end , of course, I am grateful to those who stood by me when the things turned against me. And no matter how much I try to pay  I am in debt to them forever.

   All I carry now, are the blissful memories of my time at Pauls. I overcame the shock of being expelled. But never ever forget to be cautious before making my next move. In some way or the other , the school did gave me a lesson even in it’s last instant with me. And I could just never make myself hate it even if somehow I want to.