I'm afraid I simply must pause to wonder why exactly a contraceptive is named after the devious method employed by the Greeks to gain access to Troy. I honestly doubt anyone mistakes that for a harmless peace offering, or is surprised when amidst the drunken revelry, the "Greek soldiers" come rushing out.
If you ask me, the manufacturers have clearly never had an honest amorous relationship in their lives to feel the need to resort to such devilish trickery and "Lay siege" to Troy.
But returning to SuperComputerMan, who is admittedly a magician when it comes to dealing with any sort of computer related chaos... Is it not possible, that like the darker side of all super heroes, SCM's brave, "cool-geek" facade hides the heart of a voyeur? What if the nights I spend anxiously waiting for my PC to be returned to me are nights that he spends waltzing through the corridors of my virtual memory?
Fuck. He probably knows every single thing about me.
Alright, I'm done being paranoid now.
I've done little in the past month except study obsessively (and still not enough), get maddeningly shpeech shlurringly drunk, stay awake for days then pass out for days and mope about my mother being away. I did get a haircut against my better judgement which I suspect makes me look like Amelia Jane. (I can't believe you don't remember her.)
But no, the haircut doesn't come with the ability to make snakes emerge from people's posteriors.
The first term paper I wrote for class was a miserable failure. Alright so maybe not a complete failure, but it certainly didn't make ASR swoon at my brilliance. This was particularly distressing because:
1. The paper was on Greek Philosophy.
To better explain the import of this; I have often - and not necesarily when inebriated - considered naming my child Socrates, Diotima, Dionysus (alright, that time I was drunk)etc. Reading fragments of Heraclitus and dialogues like the Symposium has the same effect on me as SRK's six pack.
2. The paper was on Love, and how it liberates you from the bonds of ignorance. (Oh sod off with your cynical scoffing.)
3. ASR, aforementioned prof, is the sort of demi - god who listens to Nietzsche when he jogs, speaks five languages, is passionately devoted to fighting for the rights of the underprivileged students of DU, and in short turns all cynical scoffing into eulogy-singing. Even in sky blue trousers and sunshine yellow ties he makes you swoon with every artfully phrased idea (Gk. eidos), witticism and smile.
And so many a day was spent gazing drunkenly into the depths of glasses of alcohol and telling anyone who would listen that the gods of Philosophy had spurned me. Sober moments were spent planning the details of how to buy myself an auto rickshaw and obtain a license (Dude. Fleecing the public is the most lucrative career in Delhi). Somehow these things always happen when ma is away, and living in a theatrically messy house adds to the sense of profound tragedy.
Fortunately for me, and all those that I exhausted with my tale of woe, ASR is not just the ubermensch but also a considerate teacher who believes in giving students a second chance.I got an extra week to tighten my argument and the result was immensely satisfactory, both because it hiked up my marks and prompted him to call my paper "very romantic!".
On that happy note, I leave to have chai with ma.
The song, as songs often do, eerily encapsulates all the inner turmoil.
