At the obvious risk of screwing up Mobile Communication tomorrow, I'm writing this post with an earnest desire to freak out and start studying. So far , it ain't happening. The thought that it's the last exam makes it terribly hard to study, the thought that it's the last ''engineering exam'' makes it look like something may be I won't be able to express. There are days when you want to study, days when you have to study, and then there are days like today, when you just can't. So what do you do in such circumstances: you talk.
It's always a little mysterious to write without a topic in hand. May be that's the way exams are. All one wants to do, is to not think about them, and all one doesn't , is to not forget then entirely. It languishes somewhere in the corner of the neural networks, but it's always there.
If only I knew, that there were so much happening behind a simple phone call, I'd have considered making a phone call, a process equivalent to shaking up a coalition government. But whatever.You-gotta-do-what-you-gotta-do, eh? Still 20 hours to go before this last over in the innings of engineering, and here I am talking about something.
May be I should talk about something I regret having done, so much so, that if there was anything that I'd have wanted to go back in time and do differently, and I mean anything, then that would be it. I do have one such story.
It was a day to go for the first midsem when a random plan to drink with friends sprung up. It wasn't a plan I initiated, but it wasn't one I wasn't enthusiastic about. I sat on the driver seat with music playing at a volume that was audaciously audible. That's what the idea of getting drunk does to you. You begin losing your sanity ,even before you have it. At least I do. If my memory supports me well, it was a narrow lane in the sector-4 market of Dwarka, when I broke all hell loose with the accelerator. I was driving too fast, but I knew I was in control. It was a sudden something that came in front, and screeeech came the brakes ! Stopped just in time. At the outset, yes, it had all the ingredients of a terrible accident. I sat at driver seat, unaffected, rather unperturbed.
It would perhaps have been my apathy that sparked off a man watching it all, standing at the side of the road. I still remember his face. He must be a decade older than my father, tall and carried a french beard. In short, moderately sophisticated. "Is this the way to drive?" , he said with an ignominy in his tone. It was all too justified , both the question and the ignominy. For a minute there, I was taken aback. It wasn't something I was used to. Not in front of friends for sure. That's what ego does to you, it makes you an arrogant fool. In this rush of arrogance I replied : " Yes , it is." I knew he was expecting an apology, and I was too weak to give him one.
He was offended. Had I been him, I'd have been too. I remember having rushed the car, while he kept speaking something, something I don't even want to recall. The only part I do remember though was about what a ruptured upbringing my parents had given me. In one moment, all that my parents had done for me, taught me, was squashed with my false sense of propriety.
For a minute everybody sat in the car in silence, just to get to terms with the fact that somebody amongst them had the guts to misbehave to this extent. I wore my mask of apathy as usual. I was ashamed, and I so bloody knew it. Fuck I was ashamed of myself. I felt like stopping the car and banging my head against the wall. Obviously, to express regret explicitly isn't a trait I share. Perhaps it's too afflicting on the male ego.
I could elaborate more, but I don't have that much time. I have an exam , remember ! Even today when I'm idling ,the horrors of that incident haunt me. As the memory retraces itself to that day, it sends chills down my spine. There is a sullen inclination to whack yourself hard. So hard , that you may finally be able to forgive yourself for it. Perhaps I'm not that strong, neither physically nor morally.
You may not believe me, but I must have thought so many times to go to that very place, find that person, just so that I can fold my hands in shame and apologize. It's just the chances of finding him seem too scarce and the notion too weird.
What use is all the success in the world if one feels ashamed to apologize at one's mistake as and when it happens, and feel ashamed about it his entire life, when the damage seems irreparable. Sometimes, I just can't help being sorry for myself. Sorry uncle. I really am. I hope this blog gets very famous someday, and one of your grand children reads this post and tells you about this guy on the blogosphere who felt terribly regretful to have misbehaved with an elderly man, and some supernatural power forces you to read this article.
What a pleasure it'll be if it happens, the blog getting famous I mean. :P
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