And this is not going to be a long winded book review.
Um, see I’m your standard college-goer-from-India, so there are no flowery descriptions of how each day is some close shave with death, or some daring escape from the cops, or some drunken sex story. It’s just everyday stuff.
So yesterday, this friendquaintance of mine (who was VERY stoned) admitted he wanted to get in my pants. Now, I sit and wonder if EVERY guy who tries his luck with a girl is trying to get a hole-in-one. Does every “why are you so cute?” and “you’re like a 64-in-one video game cartridge, filled with goodness from top to bottom” (yes, I did get one of those) mean he’s winking and pointing to the sack? Okay, not all guys are like that, but then when you’ve sort of taken a liking to a particular male specie, and then you find out that they’d been gussying up to you only for something so crude and carnal, it’s a real bummer. ALL the time you put in, and ALL the texting curfews (mine’s at 2130 hours) you rebelliously break, for something like this? Eyyy, watta waste.
So what did I tell the guy, you might wonder. That’s not very important, I don’t even remember most of it, I was doing a lot of things at the same time. Basically, I let him know what a jerk he is. But he’s really fun! I liked his (virtual) company enough to be friends with him, But I guess if I continue texting him, he’d think I was okay with whatever he wants, and maybe that he still has a chance or whatever. Eurgh. It’s not that I’m a goody-two-shoes neatly-parted-hair-and-umbrella-in-hand girl, I just don’t think I’m mentally grown up enough to be having casual sex. Third base and stuff’s fine, but sex? Too much.
I had a doubt about what to write in my record, so I called this classmate over, let’s call this classmate ‘Blubber’. Since there’s an entire hacksaw and chisel orchestra going on, it’s not easy to be heard. So I go all “OI BLUBBER!”
Blubber looks at me quizzically and I motion him to come over to my workbench.
He does, I check out his record, thank him and he leaves.
Now you’d probably roll your eyes ‘psht, so anti-climactic’. But does our old Uncle Pecos agree? No, this is the 15th century, who’re you kidding?
When I go to Uncle Pecos for help later, he asks me menacingly “how do you know Blubber?”
I’m like “uh, he’s a classmate sir” (equivalent to saying “oh yes, we do it twice daily)
He’s like “From P.U. or engineering?”
“Engineering, sir” (equivalent to “Yeah, it was lust at first sight”)
And then with a final bristle of his moustache he asks me to leave, which I’m only too happy to.
I spend the remainder of the class seething about the incident and repeating the words “How do you know Blubber?” in as many twisted ways as I can. Later in the canteen, all of my friends are narrating similar stories. And everyone’s coming to the same conclusion—Workshop is one emotionally overwrought place. Please leave your footwear, sanity and all sense of normalcy at the door, thank you very much.
Over and out.
*The Uncle Pecos analogy is not mine, I’m giving all credit to the largest underage friend of mine, because plagiarism sucks and I’m a nice person (and also because he asked for credit).