I understand how scissors can beat paper, and I get how rock can beat scissors, but there’s no fucking way paper can beat rock. Is paper supposed to magically wrap around rock and leave it immobile? Why the hell can’t paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors, why can’t paper do this with people? Why aren’t sheets of college ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they take notes in class? I’ll tell you why, because paper can’t beat anybody. When I play rock paper scissors, I always choose rock. Then when somebody claims to have beaten me with their paper I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, oh shit, I’m sorry, I thought paper would protect you, you asshole! - Anonymous.

Monday, November 1, 2010

would I like to start over...?

Monsters exist. They live inside ordinary people. 
And sometimes, they win.

Year 2009

The college year had begun. We took our first steps uneasily, yet the confidence remained. Everyone around me was upset, as school had come to an end. But not me. I love change. If the school life was over I couldn't care less because the excitement of the hyped college life was awaiting.

Just like everyone else we collected our mandatory forms, cards etc, while the seniors eyed us top to bottom. Some passed us smiles, some threw cold looks probably to show they owned the jungle we had just stepped in. That too did not bother anyone. We were already a close-knit group, a huge circle of friends whom nobody dared rag. Yes, we believed (still do) we were (are) too good and strong for any of them.

The only addition in friends was a girl who had shifted to our city due to her parents. Imagine her plight, from a popular film capital metropolitan to the city of pink, royalty, customs... still a little behind the years.

However, we gelled well. Once all of us got talking there were no city barriers left. It was like we knew her since child-hood. Why you may ask? She talked. She talked a LOT! There was never a story that came to an end as she got reminded of other stories and jumped to them.

We had a great time together. The parties, sleepovers, class-bunks, popularity (ah, that's another story). But as far as I know. College did start with a bang. A bang of lots of talking and lots of dancing.

Then came the sad stories from her. About her life, a few incidents in her previous city, a few horrible incidents with her boyfriend, the reasons behind her smoke-addiction. She cried. So did my other friend. I din't. I couldn't. Tears never come to me. I think there is some wiring gone wrong in my body. Yes, that must be it. And emotional closeness is the point where I start drifting away. Another wiring gone wrong.

After that, I'd always know what was happening, from the abusive phone calls of her boyfriend to the lets-get-back-together phone calls of her boyfriend. Well, she was a mess. Fortunately, she had friends here. But on the closeness front just one friend who was my best friend too (hence, I knew all her stories).

The incident: One particular day, after all of us had left, she was hanging out alone with my cousin brother. The next day, one of us got a call from her expressing feelings about my cousin and the fact that they shared a moment. The cousin was already dating one other friend at that time. He was asked about the incident and he confronted that a 'something' did happen but not as she told it.
The blame game. Again she was confronted with this story and her narration changed. So did his later. The strange part; their stories kept changing again and again. In the end we sided with my cousin's story as it sounded more realistic and we knew him since a very long time. It was only natural. And he is a good person.

Now us and her, are just on the glance-talking-basis. We pass each other in corridors mostly ignoring, sometimes passing half-a-smile. The thing is that even today, there is a part of me that cannot be sure about who was right and who was not. No matter how sure I'm about my cousin and how fond of him I am, I cannot manage to know.

Did we do a wrong thing. Impulsive thing. Was the monster playing tricks on her or us.

I would never know.

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