The lords have stepped off their pedestals and begun playing basketball with my life.
Unworthy as I may be of such attention, with every shoot and dribble, my world is caught up in a drastic quake of mommas who want their daughters to remember taking their towels to the shower, friends listing out 506 names of must read adult romance books, a hopefully still-existent “distracting” Moto G locked up somewhere, teachers who tell you your completed journal is incomplete after signing it the very same decade, lost summary notes, uncertain paani poori dates, blasted unit tests making the school look like pathetic beggars for attendance, and heck how do I mention the fact that it’s been 4 hours since I last looked into the fridge?
I am happily munching on an Oreo right as I am typing this, but I am not one to forgive circumstances easily and they are significant enough to mention that it’s been 4 hours since I last looked into the fridge before the Oreo.
Take one girl.
Remove the baseless winged eyeliner, red lipstick, studded iphone case, access to Netflix and the Retrica-addict stereotypes. (I just like instagram filters more.)
Give her one biology test on Monday. Give her 3 chemistry assignment sheets to do by Tuesday and Wednesday because she obviously forgot to do the one given the week before and the week before that. Wednesday looks like a lucky day. Let’s set the school weekly test for Wednesday too. Thursday Friday- class, 6 to 10 pm. Saturday, prepare for Sunday feast. Sunday feast: Give her a weekly schedule of 360 unfilled dots giving 360 options on how to painlessly die in 3 hours. Hey, Wednesday looks so empty. Why not put another biology test after the chemistry class?
Anyway, this is how your output girl looks like:
She is sitting on a very messy bed. An open pile of integration notes lie before her. She is chewing on her pen, her brows knitted together. There are dark circles under her eyes. There is a mountain of books yet to be touched on her bedside table. She looks about 16 years old, her hair tied in a loose unkempt bun, strands morosely flying over her face. She has no time to clip it all up. It’s 12:15 am. She is poring over her laptop and watching Jay Alvarrez ’s YouTube videos on repeat.
Because that’s what happens sometimes. Life tries to completely screw you up. It’s like one of those high school bullies who know they cannot be touched; casually whacking the back of your head, hard, as they walk past you without a second glance. And you, the awkward lanky unknown teenager, continues whatever he/she was doing, with a “Hmm, whatever, I am fine,” to the audience that didn’t even ask, because hitting the bully back would probably require an emergency helpline called in advance. That’s how you hide from life when you are too tired. You pretend its whack on the back of your head was nothing more than a mosquito bite even if it feels like a potential haemorrhage. That’s how you stay away from trouble. You pretend like it isn’t even there.
And of course, Jay Alvarrez helps. Any 22 year old surfer boy with a penchant for filming himself diving off helicopters and seaside cliffs would help you complete integration.
Look, I know this is crazy.
But this is the era of crazy.
If you want to game on, game it right, lords. Shoot me through the hoop once. I swear, if you guys keep dribbling me, I will stop eating Oreos. I guess.