Given my inexplicable inexperience in this domain, I’m not the correct person to take advice from. But who said this post is to advise something to somebody. Can’t one just write what one feels like writing? So well, the disclaimer says, I shall be in no way whatsoever (trying to sound as formal as I can) be held responsible, for any actions, leading or misleading, to any socially irresponsible conduct. The views expressed are personal, some by mere observation, and some even fictional.
So, Aman (name changed due to obvious reasons) walked into class clutching a clutcher, handling a Gucci handbag. Not that his financial capability to afford one was in doubt, just that he did not appear like the cross dressing kinds, or cross accessorizing, or whatever this attempt of his was aimed at. (He owns an Audi A6 and 5 petrol pumps, oh no wait, I mean his Dad does, he just has the money to splurge.) A handbag in his hands (read: 2.5kg heavy hands) and that too pink. The class gasped in disbelief, and hushed murmurs could be heard. Was he in his senses? Or was he just too stoned to know, what was on his shoulders?
Aman was famous for having taken a few exams inebriated, and passing all of them with flying passing marks. Oh wait, you don’t fly when you just pass. Or wait can you?
Anyway, he entered the class, and sat on the first bench. The class was shocked. Aman Kapoor, the backbencher association leader for the entire first year in college had done the un-doable, broken the Bro Code, which all men, gay or straight or even newly turned, hold onto as dearly as they hold onto a girl who is way beyond their league.
What was going on?
The class had the least interest in Ms. Padmawati Sudeshan and her Advanced Statistical Methods class. As it is, half the class to this day can’t differentiate between her Yumms and M’s and the weird noises in between that she calls lectures, set aside trying to learn what she taught. It was like Pingu from Cartoon Network (including the weird language) was trying to teach Java and C++ coding to Nursery kids, just physically overgrown by a decade.
The class had to know, and it was getting noisier by the moment.
Next, Aman started taking notes, a sin. He could be castrated for that. Even Vasectomized, or
whatever bad that can be done to him.
“What was Aman up to?” his ex-girlfriend of three weeks sitting three rows back thought. “Had the breakup been so harsh on him, that he lost his sensibilities?”
His best friends sitting on the last bench seethed in anger and astonishment over what had happened to him in the two month long Summer Break? “How could he take Notes? I mean “Notes” yaar, Chhiii!!!!”
And then was the moment of truth, when it all became clear. The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle moved effortlessly and fit into place.
In she walked, Aparna, as if modeling for a newly launched brand of Jeanswear (Get the picture?).
Sat next to him and took the bag from his lap, took over the notebook, and relieved him of the struggle.
Love will make you do strange things.
Such is love.