well…umm…welcome?

Book-HD-Wallpapers3

It was 3 pm by the time we were done with our day’s affair. We had given our serviceable exposition  to whoever passed by,  regardless of caste, creed or religion, sermonized each other on topics of higher understanding, done our quota of devouring for the day and yes dropped in for a lecture or two amidst all the stints of more significance.

As we passed through our college cafeteria  we saw a few girls having their lunch but unwilling to look away from the notes that they had collected after a long day’s labor. Show offs! I don’t remember the last time I looked into my notes. Or the last time I made notes. Or the last time I was in a place where people make notes. Do i even have any notes? But that’s not the point.You obviously don’t come to  canteen to study your notes, it’s an insult to the food Gods. Yes it is!

I remember the time when I happened to eavesdrop  overhear this conversation between two friends. One of them asking for notes from the other that she had missed, the other girl wouldn’t oblige saying that she had to study it. My my! petty mind and its games. Like study it and go for a research expedition or better still these were her only relief  from the ruthless world outside of college premises and to keep her going.This later became the butt of a joke among us friends.

yes so after we passed the canteen, on our way out of the college, we planned to eat golguppe for he stands just outside the college and the junk-bin that we were we gorged on them almost everyday. We made our exit, ready to make a pig of ourselves, our back towards the college gate facing the road ahead leading to  homes, phone booth, bunks. boy friends, bus stop, photocopy etc.

As I stuffed myself with the first golguppa waiting for my next one, this girl comes and grabs me by my arm almost killing me with a panic attack. Before I could recover from the shock, question her and lecture her on etiquette she started whispering into my ears

“Don’t move! Don’t move.”

I could guess what were to come next. “ Don’t move don’t move,  you have been kidnapped. Don’t dare utter a single word or it won’t take me long to kill you”

I was helpless. Her grip was tightening around my arms. Not to mention I was choking on my golguppa.

But the Weirdo that I am, her next words were nothing like I assumed.

OK so lets rewind a bit. Shall we?

“Don’t move,don’t move. Please help me.You see there, near the college gate, that man? He is my father.”

I turned back.Yes he looked a father from every aspect, middle-aged,face wrinkled from age and sun, worried and anxious.

“You see,” she continued,”He is waiting outside the gate expecting me to come out but i am out already.”

Now this seemed funny until the next unveiling…

“I was out with my boyfriend and he just dropped me. I thought I would have enough time to slip back in but here he is, before me. So please pretend you are my friend and we had gone out to photocopy some important notes for you.”

“Why for me? Why not for you?” I wanted to ask. But there was no time for such trivial questions. We were on a mission.

There was no way she was letting go of my arm.

“Okay” I managed.

“Papa”   her father turned at her call and drove his motorbike  towards us.

When he was around 3 meters away I asked her, “by the way whats your name?” I wanted to prepare myself in case uncle decided to cross check.

So here we were acting as Bff as she elaborated on her kindness of helping us out with her own notes.

As she sat on the motorbike, me and my Friend waved at her avidly knowing that this would be the last and only day of our ephemeral friendship with her.

Advertisements

One thought on “well…umm…welcome?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s