More stuff from here and there...

Me, juvenile?

Power and Society and the severe cold, together, killed me. Nearly.

I never thought the exam would never end.

The first part of the exam (local government) was a disaster! I can't remember what I wrote. It's not that a bother a lot about it, but I get nightmares about being the only one in class to flunk the paper.

The second part (national and international politics) was rather promising. The only concern is I managed to rub some snot from my nose on the answer paper. Even that's giving me sleepless nights.

That's besides the point. After the exam, my friend Vaishali and I thought why not get a drink each, lie on the grass and do nothing. We headed for Tesco, which is a beer lovers' haven. We didn't find anything to our liking.

We walked towards Sainsbury's. We picked up something to drink and munch on.

The drama started at the billing counter.

Lady at the till (picking up the booze): Is this for you?

Me: But of course it's for me.

Lady at the till: Do you have an identity proof?

Me (flashing my student card): Here you go.

Lady at the till: No this won't do.

Me: This is my university student card. I have my photograph on it.

Lady at the till: What I meant is I need an age proof.

Me: Ok, I have my National Union Journalists' card.

Lady at the till: Can I have a look?

Me: Oh, sure.

Lady at the till (raising a brow): This doesn't prove you are over 21.

Me: But I am...

Lady at the till: But you have nothing to prove that.

Me: Alright. I'm 26 years, 4 months, 11 days and 16 hours at this point...

Lady at the till (picking up the bottle): I need a proof before I bill this for you. I have to be sure - you have to be over 21.

Vaishali steps in at this point...

Vaishali: Ok, hang on... here's my provisional licence.

Lady at the till: That's fine but I still can't bill this for you.

Vaishali: But this proves I am over 21.

Lady at the till: I still can't coz your friend doesn't have an age proof... I know she'll be drinking with you.

I was speechless - irritated and surprisingly, philosophical. Thought of the first line of The Alchemist. The universe was conspiring against me...

After a holiday...

Rains are romantic.

Everything looks green and fresh, the earth smells wow, the water droplets sound musical - all that's fine. But romantic? Naah!

But something happened the other day - the day when Britain flooded.

I was hurrying home from Sheffield train station. My soaking wet rainproof coat added to my weight along with my obscenely loaded backpack. I was half-blind with my water dripping down my face.

All I saw was a cyclist zooming in...

The next thing I remember is we were holding hands.

"You alright?" I managed.

"Are you fine?" he did as well.

"Yeah," I lied. My nose was throbbing.

"I'm fine too."

I don't know if he lied too, as we let go off each other.


Suddenly haseen...

I try to be as inconspicuous in this city as possible - no rave parties, no clanish friends and no unwanted men.

So, when my friend and I visited Primark the other day, an Asian looking staff member kept following us as though trying to place where he could possibly have seen us.

We knew we'd have company soon.

As I held an earring close to my ear, I heard someone say...

"Namaskar. Aap raaste pe ho."

I turned, and it was him. Grinning at me.

I moved aside.

After a while, he croaked again.

"Namaskar. Aap Bharat se ho?"

"Haan ji."

"Bharat mein kahaan se ho?"

"Bombay."

"Oh, Mumbai. Accha. Lekin main Mumbai se nahin hoon."

"Toh aap kahaan se ho?"

"Aap Calcutta jaante ho?... Main wahaan se bhi nahin hoon... Aap Lucknow jaante ho?... Main wahaan se bhi nahin hoon... Aap Rajasthan jaante ho?... Main wahaan se bhi nahin hoon..."

"Really?" I gave my sarcastic best look.

"Aap Lahore jaante ho?... Main wahaan se bhi nahin hoon... Aap Karachi jaante ho?... Main wahaan se bhi nahin hoon... Aap Kashmir jaante ho? Main wahaan se hoon." He sensed my annoyance.

"Aap Sheffield Uni mein padhte ho, ya Hallam mein?... Waise aap Hallam Uni mein nahin ho sakte. Maine aapko wahaan kabhi nahin dekha."

"That doesn't mean I don't study there." I was losing patience.

"No chance. Main Sheffield ki har haseen ladki ko jaanta hoon. Beautiful Asian girls cannot escape me."

"So it proves two things - I'm not beautiful or I'm very busy."

"Nahin aap log bahut haseen ho."

"Oh really. But we need to go now."

And we walked out of the store.

We go to Primark once in every 15 days, and each time we go there, we see this staff member.

So what made him hound us to irritation that day?

I got my answer as we stepped out of the store.

I was wearing a summery, low-cut, well-fitting, Empire-cut dress that day. I was just as insconspicuous to Sheffield that day, but for a certain Asian man.