The louder you scream, the greater is your truth.

So there is, in class, this group called the RSG which, in my humble opinion, should expand as Really Stupid Group; comprising of certain enterprising gentlemen (and a single woman, as she proudly claims) who, on account of the extreme levels of joblessness that they revel in, resort to the most ridiculous forms of amusement. Some of these include originating and spreading the most improbable rumours, awarding ugly blackened 5 rupee coins and inducting unlikely members into their inner circle (for reasons like wearing polka dotted underwear or some such) and of course, their most popular stunt yet - bringing the class together at the barbed wire on the pretext of the Manly Malalyalee’s birthday. (unfailingly, too, some people always turn up for this midnight spectacle to partake of the cake – most times, I have serious doubts regarding whether they even know who’s birthday it is)

That’s another concept I’ve not gotten the hang of, yet. The Birthday at the Barbed Wire concept. I seem to recollect how sometime in the first trimester someone had come up with the blindingly bright idea about how we must tackle the issue of barbed wire birthdays in a fairly organized manner, and how it is the exclusive responsibility of the concerned roomies of the birthday boy or girl to arrange for the cake and other ancilliaries. (yes, I think, my classmates’ bright ideas will never cease to amaze me) If I remember right, even a list was passed around to that effect with names and birthdays or something equally stupid. I can’t stop laughing. I mean, can you even imagine antickpix getting a birthday cake for his roomies?

Along similar lines, I never got the hang of birthday bumps in the form that they exist here in Law School. As I see it, I ought to be happy on my birthday; and with that kind of mistreatment meted out to my back – trust me , I will not be happy. And, where did that silly song called May George Jain kiss you originate from, anyway? And, are we going to sing it, like, forever? Think about it. Four years from now, when we’ll be fifth years (well, hopefully) we’ll be standing at the barbed wire straining our chords about George Jain kissing somebody. Really?

That reminds me. Them. The new first years. Our juniors-to-be. Did you see them? I did. And, man! What a truly unruly lot. There was one lady walking around with a black poodle with a red ribbon. So, what was that? The poodles her lucky charm or something? I heard The Snake came out of the exam hall 20 minutes before its conclusion, and was- amidst great clamour and cheer- interviewed by the mediafolks. And, this other kid got absolutely freaked on hearing talk about not completing the essay after they were out giving the exam-of-their-life. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is – we must be hard up for some fun and frolic of our own(yes yes, him, indeed) in our lives; if we have to go down to scaring little twits come down to write the exam that they SO should not have written.

Meanwhile, my roomies have had precious little to talk about since The Great (Almost) Abduction. All are on the alert, and DisCo (I still haven’t made peace with them being called that) has put up notices in all the hostels asking us to move to NagARBHAVI (yes, that’s for you, kid) in groups and preferably, not after dusk. Things have gotten so bad that the last I heard all girls were being escorted by strong guys in and out of the area; and Sumo Wrestler was rendering her protection services to He Who Needs A Hair Cut. As far as I can see, it’ll be the abductors who’ll need protection from her. Jokes apart, all women kindly read this.

Life in this place is bad as it is, without having to have such things happen to us.

Take care, and be safe.