A new old friend was met yesterday. A venerated person five years my senior whom I met for the first time officially in real life this evening (which is apparently a great achievement, all his regular meetings being virtual). I spammed his inbox and told him I had a penchant for being on time. Why did I do that? Why. Someone 'splain me my need for self-sabotage.
I was to meet him at three-thirty. I left home at three. At three-ten I noticed large ominous clouds hanging precisely over that part of town towards which I was headed. I had, very bravely, left the house on the two-wheeler, in a brand new top (yes, i dressed up for you (ushu) more than i did for the doc :P); sans helmet, raincoat, jacket, umbrella...well, you get the picture. However, as I'd specifically specified that I would be on time, I decided (boy, how often that phrase indicates a new 'venture) to risk the rain. I love how I pay absolutely no attention to the promptings of my sensible self when there is even the hint of good post material. At three points along the way, I almost seriously considered parking my vehicle and catching an autorickshaw, but of course, that was too much trouble. So I ended up getting caught in a right royal downpour remniscent of this, and had to stop barely two hundred metres from the proposed meeting place. Oh the irony! I spent twenty minutes in a little garage full of damp people while the Kinetic languished illegally beneath a tree, and I revelled in my departure from punctuality. When I was finally half an hour late, I decided to brave the downpour and scoot ahead. Which I did. Also found parking just exactly where I wanted it. How lovely.
Intelligent people are such joy. Does anyone know the kind of person I mean? These are the people whom teachers hate to love as kids - the kinds who spend all their time asking questions; the kind that have their heads filled with the most disjointed, disconnected, diverse range of data possible; the kinds that take everything they learn and turn it on its head; the kinds that sit in the first bench and prompt the teacher, or in the last bench and hassle her; the kinds of people who need to try things out for themselves; the kinds for whom learning is an adventure; the kinds who will always be children no matter how old they grow. Oh, let me be honest. I have a thing for smart people. Utter snobbery.
After two hours of talk (not all on my side) I offered the man a ride home, which was the cue for "lull T into a false sense of security and then open the heavens ten minutes from chosen destination." It was a fabulous ride. Absolutely. And then another hour in borrowed clothes and damp undergarments, with a hot cup of coffee and congenial folk. Delicious.
When I got home, I told the girls all about the adventure, and then the three of us dragged out our old school magazines and remembered (ah, glimpses, probably the most poorly made school magazine ever). Well, mom and I did, and my sister moaned that she couldn't. Found him and him and him. Oh lord, utterly delectable. And me. Utterly not. And all the others. What wonderful specimens they all were. The old old students. The seniors. The ones whom we were all held up against. The ones who paved the way; the good old boys and girls. And the juniors; the babies who are now all grown up. And us.
Such terrific bundles of potentiality, all of us.
Last Friday, I went back to school to watch a mathematics fest. I went to watch my sister sing the invocation, and perhaps a few events; and I ended up spending the entire day right in the first row. Truly there is something infinitely adorable about long, gangly, bespectacled boys. I miss people like that. It's only in school that you can drown in all the little things. I'm glad there are still some students who can get their kicks from solving a series or cracking a puzzle.
Alison always orders the same drink after lunch, and Adam killed Vera. (they should have changed those names, though. i would have. sigh...i miss quizzes)
I solved a sum in trigonometry for my sister last night. She'd been struggling with it for half an hour, and then she gave up. And I solved it. What a high.
How easy it is to be happy. Why does no one realize?
Because it's more fun being miserable, is why.
Oh heap big sigh. Full nostalgia is coming.
Thank you all for the memories.
I was to meet him at three-thirty. I left home at three. At three-ten I noticed large ominous clouds hanging precisely over that part of town towards which I was headed. I had, very bravely, left the house on the two-wheeler, in a brand new top (yes, i dressed up for you (ushu) more than i did for the doc :P); sans helmet, raincoat, jacket, umbrella...well, you get the picture. However, as I'd specifically specified that I would be on time, I decided (boy, how often that phrase indicates a new 'venture) to risk the rain. I love how I pay absolutely no attention to the promptings of my sensible self when there is even the hint of good post material. At three points along the way, I almost seriously considered parking my vehicle and catching an autorickshaw, but of course, that was too much trouble. So I ended up getting caught in a right royal downpour remniscent of this, and had to stop barely two hundred metres from the proposed meeting place. Oh the irony! I spent twenty minutes in a little garage full of damp people while the Kinetic languished illegally beneath a tree, and I revelled in my departure from punctuality. When I was finally half an hour late, I decided to brave the downpour and scoot ahead. Which I did. Also found parking just exactly where I wanted it. How lovely.
Intelligent people are such joy. Does anyone know the kind of person I mean? These are the people whom teachers hate to love as kids - the kinds who spend all their time asking questions; the kind that have their heads filled with the most disjointed, disconnected, diverse range of data possible; the kinds that take everything they learn and turn it on its head; the kinds that sit in the first bench and prompt the teacher, or in the last bench and hassle her; the kinds of people who need to try things out for themselves; the kinds for whom learning is an adventure; the kinds who will always be children no matter how old they grow. Oh, let me be honest. I have a thing for smart people. Utter snobbery.
After two hours of talk (not all on my side) I offered the man a ride home, which was the cue for "lull T into a false sense of security and then open the heavens ten minutes from chosen destination." It was a fabulous ride. Absolutely. And then another hour in borrowed clothes and damp undergarments, with a hot cup of coffee and congenial folk. Delicious.
When I got home, I told the girls all about the adventure, and then the three of us dragged out our old school magazines and remembered (ah, glimpses, probably the most poorly made school magazine ever). Well, mom and I did, and my sister moaned that she couldn't. Found him and him and him. Oh lord, utterly delectable. And me. Utterly not. And all the others. What wonderful specimens they all were. The old old students. The seniors. The ones whom we were all held up against. The ones who paved the way; the good old boys and girls. And the juniors; the babies who are now all grown up. And us.
Such terrific bundles of potentiality, all of us.
Last Friday, I went back to school to watch a mathematics fest. I went to watch my sister sing the invocation, and perhaps a few events; and I ended up spending the entire day right in the first row. Truly there is something infinitely adorable about long, gangly, bespectacled boys. I miss people like that. It's only in school that you can drown in all the little things. I'm glad there are still some students who can get their kicks from solving a series or cracking a puzzle.
Alison always orders the same drink after lunch, and Adam killed Vera. (they should have changed those names, though. i would have. sigh...i miss quizzes)
I solved a sum in trigonometry for my sister last night. She'd been struggling with it for half an hour, and then she gave up. And I solved it. What a high.
How easy it is to be happy. Why does no one realize?
Because it's more fun being miserable, is why.
Oh heap big sigh. Full nostalgia is coming.
Thank you all for the memories.
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