DU released its fourth cutoff today. Like every cutoff before, this one too carries a FUCK OFF signboard for a 83.8% who belongs to unreserved category, has never played a sport and is not physically disabled. So most probably, I’m dropping this year.
“Dropping this year!!!!!!!!!???????”My mother exclaimed as I told her about my plan. Her face looked like I’d expressed a wish for Sex change.
“What would you do for one whole year? “She asked, stressing every word as if she was talking to a partially deaf nine year old who’s also slightly retarded.
“I’d do something. I’d try for other colleges next year. “I said. And then, we had a conversation she later called debate, even though it was she lecturing me all the time in a monotonous pitch.
If I drop, I’ll do a few things. Practising chess gets the topmost priority, of course. Then, maybe I’ll get a membership of the government library in my hometown. It’s a spooky place, actually, and I’m looking forward to flipping through tattered yellow pages in the dumb, dark and dusty chamber of the infamous city library.
I’d watch movies. It’s been a long time since I watched a movie. I’d watch all the IMBD chart-toppers. And maybe I’d even smuggle some porn DVDs from the electronic shop at Janta Chowk. It’s been a long time since I watched porn on my TV. Watching porn without having to wedge earphones in your ears is a liberating experience, I tell you.
I’d learn to ride scooty, finally. I’m going to be the oldest Indian to do so, for these days, in this country, you learn scooty-riding before you learn Pythagoras theorem.
I’d get a bank account, buy books online till my father gets sick of this and stops reimbursing me.
And maybe I’d get a new haircut.
Well, there’s also a slight possibility that I’ll take admission in some cheap college and drag myself through three tormetous years. I really don’t know about my future. Nor do I want to.
Last night, my kidneys were hurting (or maybe it was just a backache or maybe I thought they were hurting) and I suddenly had a realization about the futility of chasing careers. Life is so unpredictable and unfair. I might get a cancer tomorrow. The worst thing about the twenty first century is your life span has trimmed down. Your heart could betray you anytime, a bomb could blow you up anytime, or you could be shot dead for overtaking a minister’s car, or, well, his lad’s. A terrorist with a gun, a PET scan – the avenues that lead to death have bloomed in number. And so, expectancy is short these days. That’s why I’m not planning big time.
OR MAYBE I’M JUST DEPRESSED!