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The Story of My Experiments with Handwriting

Many of the skills which come naturally to me today are the result of my father’s well meaning tyranny during my formative years. He was obsessed with handwriting, and harangued us with this story of Mahatma Gandhi every weekend:

Gandhiji’s only regret was that he did not have good handwriting. Handwriting gets set in concrete in childhood, and cannot be changed when you become an adult. Which is why Gandhiji, who won freedom for us, could not free himself from this disability. (Yes, he called it a disability)

After this story, he dictated and we wrote; then he got a ruler to measure the relative sizes of letters, and usually awarded us poor marks with his illegible initials, which, he remarked, were illegible because if they weren’t, imposters would steal all the money from his bank. 

So we grew up with a mission. On our shelves, the stack of cursive writing books grew like Shanghai Tower while champaks and comics remained modest igloos. Writing best wishes on presents and cards were our exams, and if we passed, we’d be rewarded with another cursive writing book. Naturally, I grew up with decent handwriting, and my greatest achievement so far has been penning down letters of love to my friends’ girlfriends, which required the crafts of both Spencer and Shakespeare. I did it for free, even though, in hindsight, I regret not making money out of it. I could have paid for the UPSC test series with that money. 

Writing love letters for your friends’ girlfriends is a complex task. You have to lie a lot. And lie with an imagination. You have to constantly reinvent accolades because the girls usually shared their letters, and got jealous of an adjective there and a phrase there, while all boys could invoke was blue eyes hypnotize teri kardi ai menu…. So one had to ask for more personal information to manufacture for them a customized product, and I came to know so much about everybody that I had to take care not to mix things up. I vividly remember once praising a girl for her ringlets in a verse when she hadn’t any. Fortunately, both the boyfriend and the girlfriend didn’t know what it meant, so I was saved.

For research, I relied heavily on Nicholas Sparks and cousins, only to later develop a severe allergy to love stories. 

But let’s get back to UPSC. Recently, I have been inspired by the handwriting of UPSC toppers, and have been trying to emulate the same.

Also, about the Gandhiji’s story- it’s total codswallop. If you have a solid foundation, you can change handwriting like clothes. Here are the examples:

Cute worm

Gothic window

So, basically, there are two broad categories of good cursive handwriting. You either stretch vertically, or you keep the words rounded. The former is speedier because your strokes are parallel to the stretch whereas the latter is more beautiful because the letters are full and clear. 

I began with everybody’s favorite, the tomato shaped font, and my friends buried me in garlands of praise, their best compliments being, 

“Oh my God you write like a girl!” and “I wish I could cut off your fingers with the kitchen knife. “

That girls have beautiful handwriting is true to some extent. One of my old friends who took pride in having a scientific outlook about things tried to explain this in the following way:

Girls design Rangolis, while men design rockets. 

With a handwriting that he possessed, you could bet that the rocket he’d design won’t land too far. 

Anyways, I joined a mains test series, and by the time I finished my first test, it was 4 hours 12 minutes and my fingers weighed two tons. I had to text Apricity with the other set of fingers for a few days.

I was also shocked to discover that losing the fingers didn’t fetch you disability points in the mains, which in my opinion is a cruel omission.

Anyways, when they returned the evaluated copy, I kept looking for the extra marks for good handwriting on the margins, but got nothing. I saw one comment, which took me three attempts to read. It said, 

“Try to finish on time! “

That’s when it dawned on me- nobody except my father and Gandhiji ever gave two cents about handwriting. Which is why the chemistry teacher once awarded me a zero for writing with studded and embroidered fonts an equation that was wrong. She even drew bubbles around the zero. 

I had this batchmate during graduation who used to write with rollerballs and always asked for three extra sheets. Her handwriting was modest but she wrote like she had a cyborg limb. She always wrote the assignment half an hour before the deadline, the same time it took me to design the vines and flowers on the front page. 

I experimented and researched a lot. What I have figured out is there are two kinds of people

• People for whom pen does not matter
• People for whom it matters

The first category is free of this dilemma- you can give them a twig and a topaz slab and they will engrave all GSI answers in 2 hours 45 minutes. 

For people belonging to the second category, pen is as critical as wands to wizards. The right wand must choose you, or the magic would fail you soon. So I began collecting pens and trying them out. I went through a range- from liquoflo to Vision elite, and assessed the pens on numerous parameters such as weight, flow, friction, girth, etc. 

Some of the popular pens in the market

What I have realised so far is:

• Ball pens are useless. Throw them away. 
• Gel pens feel like rubbing a sandpaper on a baby’s butt. Too much friction. Trimax is the only exception. 
• Rollerball pens are better as they give you a calligrapher’s touch; but you would need regular World Bank aids to afford rollerballs. 

So the jugaad comes to an aspirant’s rescue. There are two popular jugaads:

• You throw away the trimax pen, buy the ₹25 Trimax refill and write with it, thus making it nearly weightless. For grip, you can add foam grips. 
• The other option is to refill the non-refillable pilot V5 using hi-techpoint ink. The ink costs ₹15 and can almost fill two V5 pens. But V5 is not waterproof and that’s the only flaw. 

I am going with the second option for now. It is working fine. Now the next task is to learn to draw boxes and straight lines without a ruler. 

Tough challenge. 

To be or not to be. Or to be a city in love.#इश्क में शहर होना by Ravish Kumar

An intimate, iridescent and poetic portrayal of a city in love and the love in city. Personified, the towns, the metros, the flyovers, the parks come alive to convey the lovers’ distress, dilemmas and distances. The city itself becomes a seeing, feeling, loving organism, the echo of the lovers’ lament, a metaphor for their partings and reunions, hopes and despair, dreams and fears. 

The stories reflect the pain of transition, of migration, of isolation. There are stories trapped within the walls, stories floating beneath the street lamps, waiting in the ruins, in the autos, in the gardens, in the nooks and crannies. The city is pulsating with millions of love stories. 

But love is no cupcake in this city. Securing a safe sanctuary is an unceasing struggle. The veils and the pardahs are reinvented as the carpets to liberty. The sombre seats in the cinema hall become the lighthouses to the boat of passion. The places of prayers; the places of protests- everywhere, lovers craving for a corner for themselves, lovers carving out the cosmos for themselves.

The author has ingeniously used the contrast between spaces to touch upon the differences of culture and class. The fear of khaap turns lovers into revolutionaries, the need for privacy turns them into bourgeoisie. The journey from buses to gardens to Ramleela maidan to malls has been sketched well. 

Illustrations by Vikram Nayak are surreal, and complement the stories like their souls. The minimalistic touch enriches the beauty of these simple stories. 

As happens in every collection, some stories are great, while some are okay. It’s not for everybody. If you know the narrative style of the author, have spent half a decade wandering through the lanes of Delhi, been in the everyday struggle of love against a city of voyeurs and prudes, you will relate.

The Golden House by Salman Rushdie

“So you are responsible for your son’s death as well as his mother’s. “

“What I did, I did to save their lives. “

Salman Rushdie’s The Golden House is a monumental kaleidoscope that begins with the anxiety about death and ends with the triumph of life. However, throughout the story, death stalks all, lurking in the shadows cast by the past, preparing to engulf the sinners and the innocent, the perpetrators and the consequences, its manifestations abrupt, agonising, tragic, tyrannous, and eventually, cataclysmal.

Nero Golden, the patriarch of a broken home, erases his past, takes over a new identity and moves to America to protect the fragments, and thus begins the story of his undoing. Straw by straw, the Golden House is shredded and unmade, till all that remains is a carcass and an inferno waiting to lunge and obliterate everything. Death comes to avenge the deeds of the past, and the mighty Nero, once death himself, is too frail to protect all that is treasure to him.

The story, which has been compared to the Great Gatsby, incorporates a rainbow of themes, wisely intertwined into a polychrome mesh, producing a commentary on the emerging American culture. It sweeps into its broad expanse the issues of money laundering, the nexus between business and crime, the problem with gender identity politics, the struggle with autism and so on; voiced through characters burning in the flames of envy, fear, guilt, greed, hurt and desolation.

But Rushdie’s magic is not just in the plot and the themes. The telling of the story has a melodious tune, a lyrical rhythm. Words are knit into spellbinding prose, and flow like an unbroken stream, sometimes ferocious, sometimes euphonious.

What’s difficult though, is what the author demands. Whoever picks a Rushdie should know what he has signed up for, or else, the copious references can be overwhelming. What I did was to not take these too seriously; rather, focus on the story. Of course, I missed the manna dew, but the molasses sufficed this mortal man.

House Hunt #4: Preet Vihar

After the betrayal of Chhattarpur, it was agreed that we’ll save the metro fare and resort to phone calls as the first stage of enquiry. Inspection shall follow only after the brokers swear on their mothers that the area was bachelor-friendly.

The Bear called the biggest broker of Preet Vihar and was charmed by his accent. It was a tailored accent- polished, rehearsed and perfected. To me, it felt like talking to a machine. But the machine satisfied him well, and he wanted to take the reigns of negotiations this time. 

Meanwhile, Jade got a ticket back home because Cyan wanted us to go to our homes and experience the paradise. He had uploaded his thali quite a few times, which is why I had to resort to zomato, just out of jealousy. Home food is the best reason to go to home, but my mother is mostly sick and has gotten herself a cook. So it’s pointless for me to go back home. 

Anyways, it was just me and the Bear, and we met at Preet Vihar in the middle of a torrent, a rare relief from the intense insolation. Fortunately, he had two umbrellas. The one which he offered me was a fancy one, with buttons and all, but he didn’t seem too pleased with that. 

“The best umbrellas come over thousand rupees. I am saving to buy one. “

The other day he was talking about sleepwell mattresses. I couldn’t sleep well for the next two days after he told me they cost thirteen thousand rupees. 

Anyways, we moved along the glistening and serene paths, bright and happy with the lush greens. Preet Vihar was refulgent and romantic. Dripping trees on the sides. Wide, wet, empty roads. Aesthetic pavements, large parks. Glass frames and yellow lighting. It looked posh. It looked peaceful. It looked perfect. 

We found the broker just by the crossroads. His office had a carpet sized doormat. The interior was rich with glow, comfort, aroma and elegance. 

“We talked over the phone. ” The Bear began. 

He was a young man with a great jawline, and if I could get more frank with him, I’d have recommended him an MBA course. He sat straight, with a straight face, as if he meant business. 

He slid a form towards us and asked us to read it carefully. It had a list of conditions, a dozen of them, boldened with formality. Reading those drained us of the joy we had so far accumulated.

• Brokerage = one month rent
• You cannot purchase/extend agreement directly with the owner
• ₹1000 as visiting charges

What’s with brokers and visiting charges!? 

“Brokerage is 50%. Isn’t it the norm? ” The Bear tried. 

He showed us a sheet stuck amid the exotic paintings. It said 

NO NEGOTIATIONS. 

Well, shit. 

“And what’s this visiting charge? What if I don’t like the room? “

“Impossible. ” He said, “And the visiting charge is because my man is going to spend so much fuel carrying you around. “

Noticing the screaming disappointment on our face, he tried to make small talks. 

“You’re UPSC aspirants? ”

We nodded. 

“Where are you guys from? ” He asked. He was a Punjabi- a fair and urban one, without the beard and turban one. 

“Bihar. ” We said. 

“Biharis have this prep thing in their blood or what? ” He tried the cliched joke. The Bear replied, 

“We are resource-compromised. Opportunities are meagre. You people have a business sense from an early age, which we lack. So competition is one way to climb the ladder. “

The same old memorised defence. We are not just resource comprised, we are also a diseased lot, averse to progress. 

The broker broke the silence that followed the Bear’s GSI answer. 

“We are very professional, sir. But for you, I’ll show you a few flats for free. Here. “He said as he took his phone out. 

The flats looked great, which is why the Bear began contemplating the prospect. But Cyan had declared that library was non-negotiable, so we googled libraries, and to our dismay, nothing came up. 

Shit. 

We asked the broker. He swore there was a library just outside. But he couldn’t accompany us till we clear the air on ₹1000. 

We told him we’ll find that on our own. The Bear didn’t want to let go of the spacious rooms and the large balcony, but I insisted that all stakeholders must be taken care of. 

So we walked under our umbrellas in the search of libraries, and found one two metro stations away, at Laxmi nagar. 

Tired, we bought ourselves some sugarcane juice, and cancelled Preet Vihar. 

House Hunt #3: Chattarpur

Even though Cyan has been homesick since birth, after EPFO, he went completely crazy. He’d watch photos of his house, videos of his sister’s marriage and scream that he missed home. He also screamed at me for not missing home. 

It’s not that I don’t miss home, but it takes 24 hours to reach there, and once I get there, my mother wants all 24 hours of my life as her own. Yeah she loves me and everything, but what she really needs is a grandson. And since she doesn’t have any, she’s got a teddy bear and treats it like a human. Plus, she’s got tons of health issues, which she believes can be treated only with ayurvedic tablets. I am never too happy at my home, because my mother’s worries and fears infect me. 

Anyways, Cyan bought himself a ticket and left the other day. I dragged his mattress to my bed and put it over my mattress. It eased my back pain within two sleep sessions. 

Meanwhile, the Bear insisted that we catch this Chattarpur deal early. He was salivating with excitement when he said, 

“Imagine living in South Delhi! “

He likes posh things. The Night Manager is his favorite web series. 

But he also likes cheap deals because he’s from a family of businessmen. So he has Rajma Chawal for a month, and then he hops to Le Méridien for a day and acts like Harvey Specter. 

But he had his office, so it was Jade and me who had to make the round. He specifically trained Jade in the art of negotiation and asked me to remain shut up while he was talking to brokers. That because I can’t negotiate well, and my face is such that sellers take a sadist pleasure in rejecting my pleas. 

So we began the voyage with the Engineer’s chai at Mukherjee nagar. Passed through a red hot pot and sprinkled with powdered cardamom and nuts, it melted in my mouth like some divine honey. They had removed the coaching hoardings from the buildings after the fire incident, and it felt like Mukherjee Nagar stood disrobed. But the nakedness was not disturbing, it was beautiful. 

As we finished the chai, and as Jade was done giving me great deals on biriyani shops around, we went into mission mode. If you have travelled from GTB Nagar to Chhattarpur, you’d know what I am talking about. As the metro gates opened we shot ourselves to unreserved seats, and vowed to not leave that for ladies, kids or old people. We could compromise in case of a pregnant lady, but nothing before that. 

Delhi Metro is sarkari as well, but unlike MCD parks, it does not feel monotonous. Maybe it’s the warm lighting and the cool ac. 

I played chess while Jade read news on telegram as we inched towards Chattarpur. Once at the destination, we took an e-rickshaw which took us to Tivoli garden. 

“But where is the garden?” I asked as I gave the fare to the driver. There was no garden as far as the eyes could see. He didn’t respond as he had paan masala in his mouth. He just made some gestures and left. 

Chhatarpur didn’t strike me as a welcoming place. There was something about the roads. These were too wide- trucks and buses passed every once in a while and left red dust swirling in the air. Jade called the broker as we waited. He came on a bike and asked us to take seats. I regretted sitting in the middle because Jade is like a polar bear and the broker wouldn’t let him handle the bike. Till we reached the flat, for me it was a struggle for breath. 

All the women in the area knew the broker and he flirted with every one of them. He had this shrewd smile – the broker smile- which made me doubt his creditworthiness. He took us to a large building, where each floor had multiple flats, most of them occupied by families. 

“How many of you? “

“Four. ” Said Jade. “Four male bachelors. “

That kind of gave him a jolt. 

“Alright. But you’ll have to pay ₹700 for water. “

“We’ll pay as per the meter. ” Argued Jade. 

“That’s not how it happens around here. ” He returned. 

While they were having this intellectual conversation, I was beginning to develop an aversion to the green coating on the inside, the shade reminding me of Ben 10. It was an overpowering green. 

“Okay, we’ll call you. ” Finished Jade. I knew we were never calling him. 

The next, we went to other brokers, and each of them winced when they heard, “Four male bachelors. “

“Do you party? ” One asked. 

“No.”

“Do you bring women? I need to be sure. “

“What’s the problem? “

“Well, people bring women then murder them then police seals the room. Landlords are not happy. “

Okay, that was a unique problem. It was then it struck me. There had been a case few months ago. 

We talked to some more brokers, and there was always some condition which would put us off. Somebody was charging electricity at ₹8 per unit. Somebody was charging ₹500 as visiting fee, doesn’t matter if you liked the place or not. So overall, Chattarpur had no red carpets for bachelors. And no food shop around. 

We dragged our exhausted bodies to a bakery and purchased what looked like a donut. It wasn’t a donut, they’d simply dropped chocolate syrup over half of the bread that was shaped like a donut. This betrayal pulled the last straw for me. 

We dumped the donut and stormed out of that place. 

House Hunt #2: Gandhi Vihar

If you let The Bear lose, he gets things done. In no time, the group was cram full of links. The only job left was to make a selection out of those. I hated that task because it brought to life the horror of CSAT permutations and combinations questions. Also, since we had not pampered our lazy asses for a while, and had not had a chance to lick the luscious laung lata of Gandhi Vihar again, we decided to spend a day after the dreaded EPFO exam (will discuss that ordeal in another post) at Jade’s house.

Gandhi Vihar is another of those areas where the waste and the best exist together. Occupants open their windows to a panorama of untamed wilderness with malnourished grasses, decaying matter oozing out of plastic bags, and stray animals hunting for food amidst the heap of poison and rot. 

Despite the dreary disposal sites, this place is teeming with UPSC aspirants. The people who live here can proudly narrate to their kids the struggle it took to exist and educate oneself against the cruelty of culture. First, Gandhi Vihar has roads that look like they were conceived to serve as rainwater harvesting pools, while transportation was the secondary purpose. On drier days, these are studded with cattle dung and other forms of litter, as per Jade. The alleys are so narrow that one lazy cow can bring the traffic to a halt, but they do open into wider lanes, and you may clock a few parks here and there. By the look of the landscape, and the monotony they emanate, you can tell they are sarkari parks. All sarkari parks are the xerox copies of each other. Benches, grass, trees, pavements and squirrels- all look the same, and this uniformity, after six years and four pincodes in Delhi, makes me nauseous. 

Then, the buildings are sandwiched tight, as if they share chromosomes. All 1RK flats. The stairs are steep and the landing is often littered. The rooms lack ventilation. If you need air, you must sacrifice privacy, for the door is the only way to let things in. The kitchen is darker and the bathroom is brighter, because the former is in a cave whereas the latter has a window.

Who designs these houses? Who approves them? Who rents them? 

“Well, ” Jade said, sticking his back to the tiny cooler and wiping his neck, “It’s not that bad. There’s peace inside. And there’s a vibrant market outside. And the price is really low. “

He got me at low. 

“How low? ” I enquired, dragging myself under the fan since he had taken over the cooler now. 

“12k for 2RK.” He said. That was quite unbelievable. Our ears got erection. 

“Yeah, and you’ll have dozens of them to make a selection from. “

I hated the word ‘selection’. 

‘Plus, landlords don’t live here. So it’s open to all kinds of debauchery. “He smiled wider than what could be considered normal for a human jaw. 

“The chap next door has orgies on weekends. “He said with conviction, as if he would produce evidence if we raised a brow. Well, with regard to orgies, I find it too crowded. 

Anyways, the thought of Gandhi Vihar as a prospect began to get a concrete shape as the discussion progressed. One by one, all our concerns were addressed, and priorities were met. 

” I need an auto at 11, night. “The Bear said. He gets home by seven, but he wanted to have a stake in this decision as well. 

” You’ll get it till 3 am. Then that guy would sleep and other autowallahs would wake up. They will take you to Mars and beyond. “Said Jade. He would make a good broker. 

“Libraries, so that I could make a selection out of ample options. ” demanded Cyan. I was now beginning to develop an allergy to the word selection. It made me red hot. 

“There are more libraries than rooms. And chaishops open till 3 am. Then those guys sleep and other chaiwallahs wake up. “

“And what are your demands? ” They all looked at me. I felt the pressure to come up with a valid demand. Orgy, mobility, and books were already covered. What else would a man need? Food. But I couldn’t say food, because I have been pretending to be on a low carb diet these days. So fitness was the only option left. 

“Yes, we have badminton courts around. They are vacant in the morning. Wake up and conquer. “Jade was now enjoying his broker avatar. He gave us a smug face as if we were too easy. 

” But will the flats be available? “I risked, regretting my decision instantly. 

” There are more flats than people. If you raise a demand, they will build one from the scratch. “

•••

In the evening, we strolled through the market and my views did change significantly. After I broke the diet code. 

First, you get samosa chaat for twenty rupees which is a great deal. Then, for fifty rupees, they give you a plate of momos which has fourteen pieces. Any Delhiite would swear on his mother that even Amazon can’t sell momos this cheap here. Then, the pani puri shop by the child labourers (though they say they are 17+) in front of the police station serves the spiciest pani puris. And the laung lata– the sweet sweet laung lata! The precious, gorgeous, delicious laung lata! The smell of biryani and burger made me weak at the knees, however, my stomach was already a balloon, and Cyan had already cracked four jokes on my diet code, so I didn’t persist. 

On our way back, I spotted a book shop which was running a flash sale of ₹100 per book. Like a kid in the Disneyland, I got myself three. 

As Jade had promised, there were libraries and chai shops and food shops everywhere. There were general stores and xerox shops. It did seem like a complete package. 

You just have to be a little less whiney about the waste. And waste isn’t such a bad thing. Our intestines are literally full of waste, we don’t throw them out. 

At night, after rehearsing the bargaining methods, we walked to the biggest broker in the area and asked for 2 RKs at corners facing greenery. 

“Wide double balconies” Jade added. 

“No Landlord interference. ” Said the Bear. I didn’t know he was for orgies. 

“No 2RK rooms in this area till April 2024. ” The broker said flatly, like a tape recorder, leaving us in disbelief.

We looked at the unending chains of sandwiched flats, hoping to clock an unoccupied property. 

“Nothing? “Jade said, and pointed at a dark second floor flat, ” That one looks vacant. “

“It’s all booked. Coaching centers have opened up. Students are booking even under construction flats. “

“Empty plots? ” I asked. The broker signaled with his eyes at a distance, and as I followed him, I found a dump site, partially enveloped in gloom and partially glowing golden under street lamps. Dogs, and flies. 

Crestfallen, we bought a coke, four plastic glasses and some ice. Jade poured quietly. As we sipped the drink, we strolled lazily on a quieter road that led to a township that was coming up. There was a lone skyscraper in the middle of nowhere. 

“That’s the cheapest luxury accommodation you’d get in Delhi. It’s only a few miles away. ” Jade said. 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Jade. ” We spoke together and sipped the cola to fill our sad hearts.

The stroll.

House Hunt #1 The Beginning

House hunting in Delhi is a quantum task because it’s both easy and exhausting at the same time. If you have a constrained purse but myriad dreams, the effort is going to vaporize your all your blood into disappointment, unless you have good contacts and great fortune. If you have money, the landlords welcome you with the warmth of an orphanage nun. 

“Yes, beta! You can do whatever you want. No interference! You can call your girlfriends, beta! Please call your girlfriends. “In a singsong voice, while pirouetting with a plate of fruit salad in their hand. 

Ah! The parents we never had! 

But if you are multidimensionally poor- no luck, no network, no newspaper worthy net worth- you are in for a toil. 

The science of hunting a good flat, for a UPSC aspirant is this: you check the rate at three hubs- Karol Bagh, Mukherjee Nagar, Laxmi Nagar- and then you start inching towards the periphery with the hope that you steal a deal before you resign to the cardinal points – Noida, Dwarka, Gurgaon, and Faridabad. 

In the two years of preparation, we have realised that the hubs are beyond our collective reach. If you double my income and halve the rent, I could probably afford a shared tomb sized cabin. So we now look at the margins of the hubs, at places where you find untreated waste disposal sites, because that’s where the metropolis drops its shit, and that’s how we know the rent will be cheap. 

The first step is to look for a telegram group with names like “Flatmates”, “UPSC rooms” etc. So I scrolled through the Patel Nagar group. This is what I found. 

• 1 RK for ₹16k
• Need 1 RK: budget ₹15k
• Body massage offers (exclusive for girls), travel expenses to be reimbursed. 

Dejected, I told Cyan that the time to migrate had come. Another friend, the Bear, had been calling up to say that he was lonely and wanted some company. So we decided to take him in as well. 

“Not another MAN, God! ” heaved Cyan, almost banging his head at the foot of this God he purchased at his last visit to this ancient holy site. Ideally he would want to shift to an oyo room with a rich girl who is the only child of a billionaire businessman. But then, ideally, I would want to be another child of the same businessman. 

With the Bear in, we could relax a bit because in his desperation, he functioned like a multi tab search engine. He created a whatsApp group called “House Hunt” and began dropping magic brick links as if he was getting paid for it. 

To be continued… 

10th July 2023

The notification toggle showed 9:30 am when I opened my eyes this morning. I looked around my room; it was a perfect mess. Stale clothes romanced with the fresh ones on the chair, newspapers lay strewn across the floor like they’d been fighting a tornado, the tea stain on the study table which I was supposed to clean yesterday had now become a dadaist painting. The books were stacked over one another in complete disregard to the principle that the fat and big ones form the base while the small and thin ones form the top. The thought that I could exist like a dipsomaniac without having ever touched a bottle of alcohol filled me with amazement. 

Then I dragged myself to the toilet and dispassionately downloaded a week of content from the Hindu e-paper and added it to the To-Do folder, which by now has so long a list that I lose the will to live by the time I scroll down to the middle. The folder is the place where the present will sit and age till it becomes history. 

Nevertheless, I hope I’d read those some day. The problem with daily newspaper is that on any given day, the important news items are so less that you feel like reading after collecting a good number. The number then becomes so huge that you decide it would be better if you rather watched YouTube summary at 2x and save time. Then you go to YouTube with this noble thought, but you find that some SDM is cheating on her husband, and that it’s the most urgent issue in the middle of international conflict and hunger. Before you realize the stupidity of this, the trailer of Jawan drops, and four seconds later, there are white people reacting to it with so much awe that you find their ignorance cute. 

Anyways, my plan is to buy a classmate 6 subject fancy spiral notebook and collect current affairs. I have figured I work well when I write. 

Today was the last day of my zomato orders because I have run out of money. So I might resort to OMAD. 

Apart from that, Delhi is submerged because of two days of rain. A few people have been electrocuted because live wires dropped in the water they were wading through. So I was white with fear today evening while I waded through knee deep water for 30 meters. Well, I had to buy bread. Shit, why does it sound like 18th century France!?

In this country, human life’s too cheap. If you die, you become a news item at best, but you shall never make it to a To-Do folder unless you’re an Olive Ridley turtle or a Namdapha flying squirrel.