My Life: Ten Marks' Tests/Quests And Something Else


An eight pointer in English can inflate one's ego pretty well. Reciprocating that, a deflating pinch delivered by History leaves one feeling like a collapsed balloon. Take it from one who knows. I started things off well with the curvy lady- Number Eight. She is a great seductress, funny- the frequency with which I am using this word lately (courtesy the pairing up of seduction and Mark Antony by a certain someone which kept me rolling all over the floor, laughing, till I was called on the carpet by my mother), and kept me happy for quite a while. But as they always do, she too grew old, a bit too quick for me, and left me bereaving after her. Replaced by others, of which none could keep me happy for long, she, at the same time, stood irreplaceable. I am, at the moment, gearing up for the coming Tuesday for I know she is there, concealed within the fingers of four professors, all of them showing their penny-pinching parsimony, reluctant to give away marks quite contrary to the way they throw out castigations. And then there is the harridan. The mystery behind her viciousness is a big enigma for me. Maybe she holds a grudge over me killing her old tom-cat which, for the benefit of the reader, is quite specious. Ergo, her marks-killing attitude is pretty much uncalled for and her talents would be better utilized in an advertisement for No Marks (marks se no marks ab sach mein possible). Well, enough delineation done about her and the others and the one large calculus problem (never let it be said that they are easily solvable, lest you be deceived) that they have made my life. In line, as the next raree-show, are two of my calf-loves- My tabla and the usual, a girl.
It was a mean solar day, twenty four hours back, that brought me to my senses. Enjoying the zephyr, I was listening to a song track and suddenly a line pops up- laila hai girgit ke jaisi, table (pronounced as 'T' followed by 'ab' as in abhor and 'le' as in lethargic) pe tirkit ke jaisi. And that is all it takes for me to take to my heart the fact that there are two things I would miss the most when I take leave from the current brainery I attend- my tabla and  a girl who has grown on me off late. Waking up everyone at home and at the homes of those whose homes surround ours with one beat or another of my tabla has become my cacoethes lately. On more number of occasions that I can count, or know counting up to, I have thought about making it my profession- playing tabla, not waking people up from their blissful afternoon naps. But that is all there is to it. I love it but not to the extent of jeopardizing my calling over it. The locus of the other infatuation of mine- the girl I talk about- is hanging like the sword of Damocles without me even thinking about it. I rue the fact that I have never been able to take my guts by the noose and pop the question before her hence ending up like the actor, male if you will, in a supporting role who cannot give words to his feelings and ends up reproaching himself while he has his dinner attending the marriage of the girl, the groom not him. That, I assure you dear readers, is not going to happen. 
It may not have yet started, but the story is not over yet. Time is the crux of this misadventure. And there is time still. Time to do the needful, time to not end up regretting doing it, and time, more importantly, to build up a backbone for it. That day too will dawn and when it does, I would be more than happy to push the weight off my shoulders and welcome the elation that follows if all goes as per the plan; the plan which may as well boomerang on me. But as the saying goes, 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained.' I idolize Jordan and follow him in the words- I can accept failure, everyone fails at something. But I cannot accept not trying.

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