let me not tell you yet let me tell you this......

Let me not tell you. Let me not tell you about my fever. Let me not tell you about yesterday’s episode. Let me not tell you that I had laid rotten on the hospital bed with the glucose dripping into my veins. Let me not tell you that I had fainted in my class yesterday. Let me not tell you that I had had run through the tunnels of my sub-conscious mind to enter the abode of the unconscious.Let me not tell you that I had heard frantic and desperate voices of my friends and professors crying aloud “dear, can u hear me?” Let me not tell you that I did not know if I had actually heard them or I was dreaming about them. Let me not tell you that when I was being escorted to the hostel room, I had completely slouched on my friend’s body throwing her down along with myself. Let me not tell you, that this fall knocked out my senses completely. Let me not tell you, that when I opened my eyes again, I was on the hospital bed in the casualty room. Let me not tell you that I had sensed the atrocious prick of the needle, which sucked out a little of my blood to check the cell count. Let me not tell you, that I had been put on glucose bottles to regain my drained or rather say vanished energy. Let me not tell you, that I had had suddenly felt the warm love of concern and care from my friends and parents. Let me not tell you, that I felt like a princess who attracted all required attention and care. (I hate to mention “sympathy” for I hate to be pitied and sympathized). Let me not tell you, that this lasted only for a couple of hours. Let me not tell you, that once home, I had warmly accepted the explosion of anger amalgamated with the deepest love from my granny’s usually tight-lipped mouth. (“Shilpa, kitni baar kahan hain ki khana time par khaya karo. Par, meri baat kahan sunnti hain tu? Jab dekho bahar ka khana! Aagar apne aadhe paise pizza aur burger par nahin lagati tu tujhe aaj hospital jaana nahi hota.! Par nahi, tumhe to ghar ki murgi dal barabar lagti hain na. Ab sadd apne bistar pein. Aur ye rothi shakal mat bana. Mujhe tujh par taras nahin, gussa aa raha hain.”) let me not tell you, that she came to my bed last night and lulled me into sleep.Let me not tell you that I am better now and in a good position to type this out. Let me not tell you all this.

But rather, let me tell you this.


Now, let me tell you this completely and fully,
There is this particular guy in my college whom I have always disliked the most. And I strongly felt that he reciprocated the same feeling. His train of thoughts never met my rails. He is known in the class for his well-efficient snapping skills. My friends despise him and yet he easily gets his way through people. (Wonder how? Good at snapping and better at wooing, well that’s something I could never figure out.) Never helps them but manages to get help always. He badly craves for marks and he does all the possible “chamchagiri” to the teachers. Being “chamcha” is fine as long as he polishes himself but then, he’s worst because more than refining his impression, he degrades others.
He never liked my work and I seriously never cared about it. I would have appreciated his open criticism than all the cribbing that he does behind my back. I still remember my last sem. Presentation when I was forced to pair up with him due to bad roll-number numerology that my teacher had coined. All through the making of the presentation, we were pugnacious and finally I let him have his way. It hurt my ego for I had thrashed away my work and had had fuelled his egoistic mind. After that presentation, I swore I would never work with him again. He hardly spoke to me after that, except on occasions when he wanted my help. (This is still stranger, he mocks at my work and comes shamelessly for help.)As for me, I helped him only when my mood dredged towards the virtues of altruism (it was rare though because if I forgive him completely and help selflessly, I would no longer be human but fancy myself being god.)

And yesterday, he came over to the casualty wing along with my classmates and when the nurse ushered my friends out, he somehow managed to peep in. He came towards me, gave a red rose and with all sincerity in his voice and face said, “I love you dearly and want you to get well soon. I know you love me too. I have seen it in your eyes”. (Reminds me of a filmi dialogue) I knew he was serious about it because he does not fall into those funny and flamboyant category of guys who would take the first step of proposing and then wait for the reply and irrespective of the reply being a yes/no would laugh out loud saying, “oh, my god! You believed it. I was just joking.” He waited for my reply but all he received was a mocking glance. It was difficult for me to even provide him that glance. I felt like laughing my heart out. He sounded so filmi, so stupid. I bore a tough visage and I gave him the rose back and said, “u will have to give this rose to someone else. I am not interested.” He began to protest but I was firm on my stand and fortunately, the nurse had come back to drive the pain away.

I seriously do not know if I am being bitchy about this whole incident but I sense a strange pleasure. I fuelled his ego by allowing him to believe he is more professional than I am and he fuelled my ego by accepting that I am more mature than him. Well, atleast that is what I wish to believe.