Manipal Musings

“Sounds of laughter everywhere and the dancing-girls swing to and fro
I must declare my heart is there though I’ve been from Maine to Mexico”

The rain had cleared out the grey clouds mucking about ready to pull a prank on someone who forgot their umbrella. The sky was a clear, bright blue. There was nothing right with the world.

My footsteps fast, I was cheerfully getting late. Checking my phone despite the solemn straight nobody’s-texting-you screen, I put it in my pocket and hopped up the steps next to the Geronimo bush. In foresight I saw myself climbing up the final staircase, heavidaydreamingng a sigh and getting into class answering mindless questions like “ you got late? “. A stumble upon a rock brought me back and I crossed the road looking both ways for vehicles that could run me over.

Writing down things in my notebook, I found it hard to lose focus. Focus upon the day in hand, the rest of my life and what I was doing with it. Of course there were repeated intrusions due to the lecture in the background, and every time that I could, I straightened up and tried to lose focus from the thoughts on my mind and write how to mix plasters. I tried to remember all the life-changing things my sister had told me in the course of childhood. And then my train of thought would be sacrificed to social pressures. Unlike the lecture, it is inbuilt training from the time we are exposed to the world at first, that one should be good to people and put them first.

So it was back to the mindless chitter-chatter and uninteresting games on the table for three. Pulling rubber-bands, making up names, gossiping, laughing, grabbing those worried about the universe into the little spectacle, watched amusingly by the other approving classmates. Toddling past life, looking for adorable gazes doesn’t bring back one’s childhood. You know why? ‘cause children don’t even do that.

I smiled. Maybe forced a giggle or two. Told myself I was weird for not behaving like everybody else. I faked my diphydont smile all the way to the lunching mess, finally grunting my mess number at the lunch-lady. I sighed heavily and sat down with food piled up high on my plate, so I could reduce my smiling time. Is that what they call stress-eating? I wondered as I ate.

I tried to abandon other earthlings by cooking up a bunch of excuses. But they can be pretty persistent you know. So I said it straight out. But tact is another thing stuffed into your brain on a baby spoon by the world outside. So I called it “hibernation”. And that was one thing, I said, I would not compromise with because the consequences would be terrible.

About the Author: Prashasti Sharma is a 2nd year student at Manipal University. Confused and wants to remain so, for doubt is the foundation of all things scientific. A tad bit funny. Or maybe not. She blogs at Ratiocinative Chipper.

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