66

As a child, I used to be constantly  thrown out of the class and into the school yard (under the scorching afternoon sun and in view of all the classrooms, since the yard was at the centre of the school complex), because I talked way too much and all the classmates who’d participate in those neverending conversations would end up doing poorly at the exams, but apparently I would not (which made me evil, of course). All through middle school I spent more time in that paved yard than I ever spent inside classrooms: playing football (with crushed cold-drink bottles) or hanging out with friends from the other sections during tiffin-time; and during class-time, mostly alone or with a couple of co-sufferers from other classes, mostly bored and sunburnt but all aglow with a kind of urchin-ish pride. There were a couple of other crimes (!) but the punishments were nearly always for talking too much, talking to too many people, never running out of topics to turn into chatter. I look back and cannot for my life imagine what great deal I could’ve had to say to people who have become such strangers now. People who leave me at a complete loss for words, unable to even convey oh, so what’s been up.

I’m sure my hairdresser will be the happiest woman on earth the day she can bully me into shaving off all my hair. My hair will never, ever measure up to her standards; she will not for her life stand it growing long and will always give me absolutely miserable haircuts when I don’t even ask for one, even if it means she has to not-charge for it because she’s surreptitiously passing off the disaster as just-a-little-trimming-of-the-split-ends.

There are things to do and things to hope for, but this blog isn’t for those. Thankfully, one imagines. =)

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