Freeeeeeeeeeeeedom!

If you can't win, change the rules

Ladies and gentlemen, and the little kids in the corner, hold yer breath all of ye, now exhale politely, and don't emoan, for I am a free man. The Boards, they have finished. The shackles of a exiled existence are over, I am like the good Prince Ram returning from 14 weeks of exile in the Dandaka Van that is your home, plagued by Asuras and other beasts, such as Chemistry, Physics, and The weird fluffy things in between.

Actually, I'm not like him at all, but that's another story. In particular, it's called the Ramayana, and there's an exceedingly good new retelling of it, by Ashok Banker, which I would suggest you all go pick up and read. But then, who's to say what you're going to do, eh?

The last, the very last of the horrors was chemistry, and it turned out to be an anticlimax. The paper finished in 2 hours flat, and the better part of the class was counting down the minutes to freedom. Freedom, we had at 1:30 today, and after the briefest paper discussion in the entire world, we all shot off for our various celebratory occurances. What a nice way to describe it, no?

In the course of the day, I successfully pioneered an incredible new art, which I'm sure all Retrosexual males would love to learn of, and if they wish to, there's always shahjikiadvice@gmail.com. I call it The Hawala Lunch Date, and it is a concept simple, yet sublime.
No, I'm not going to tell you what it is on this blog. Go away, shoo!

Oh, yes, this blog. It became Blah! a year ago, on this very day. Since then, I believe it has transformed, I went through the archives in one of my more bored moments, and I've seen it change, to almost what I want it to be. Almost.

Back to the point. Following the Hawala Lunch, I had possibly the most interesting game of scrabble in my entire life. A whole new range of terrible words were coined, some of which unmentionable on this family friendly site. Usually, when you are stuck with four A's, or five E's, there is little one can do. But, there are the completely unexplored realms of common day words such as "Aaaah!", followed by Gaaaah!", and of course, the eternal "scared of mouse" favourite "Eeeeeks". This is what happens when Barista---diversion--- and I make this complaint loud and clear, in the vain hope that people will stand up and take to arms to ensure that such things do not happen again---end of diversion---refuses to stock pencil and paper, for one to keep score.
I would have won too....

Then, after dropping the girlfriend back home, with a clip of the toes and a spring in my step, I head back home. The skies, they were ominious and grey, in the way you simply love them to be when the weather is warm. A few drops of rain had already started, but as I boarded the 621, I had no idea what I was in for.
I really didn't, because a Bus I thought was going to go my way (it SAID so on the side), decided to take a U, and I ended up at Munirka Enclave. At that point, I got my wits about me, got off, and boarded a 615, which I knew would take me home safe and sound. Lightning now punctuated the sky, driving white streaks across a dark grey canvas that had become the sky. Then, apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The STORM BLAST CAME!, and indeed, it was an allmighty storm. After the initial blast of wind and rain, came the HAIL! Let me inform all you readers, that you have not experienced hail, till you have experienced it from inside a rickety DTC bus. The hailstones pound against the metal, a great sound vibrates the entire bus. From windows yet to be closed, hail stones rush in at odd angles, pelting unsuspecting bus goers. Everything except the rain and hail seems to happen in slow motion, the bus slows, people stare transfixed at the raw power around them, and I wonder how I'm going to get from Mohammedpur Bus Stop to Home, a 2 minute walk through a torrential downpour.
Actually, I wonder how much fun it's going to be, and I must say it was. After deboarding the 615, I stood at the bus stop for five to ten minutes, waiting for a shot to cross the road without being squelched by a bus, or a car. When I got my chance, I darted across, with my shirt ineffectively covering my head, protecting more my eyes from the rain, then my non-existent hair. You have to see where you're going, to get yourself home. A minute and a half later, I reach home, soaked to the bone, with the biggest grin on my face. In the short period of eight hours, life has become perfect.
When you see perfection, you should attempt to capture it, in any possible form. I'll be back, on the 21st of March, 2006, to catch a glimpse of perfection in my life, on my Blah! I changed it a year back, but now it stays the same. Some things are right, some things will stay the same.