Don't you hate it when you fall sick? Don't you absolutely detest it when you wake up in the morning feeling like a thousand spiders are crawling up your throat and you couldn't swallow even if it would prevent the entire Universe from being blown into smithereens? Don't you loathe yourself when you can't just put one leg in front of the other to make it to the bathroom which is just two feet away? Don't you feel like killing yourself when you can't just hold the damn toothbrush and go swishy-swish for even a billion dollars?
All right, you all know the list goes on.
Anyway the important thing is yesterday was one of those depressing days when mucus fills your respiratory tracts and you can't swallow your own spit and you feel that you're enclosed in one of them bio-lab centrifugal machines running at 50,000 rpm and you're hacking away with coughs intense enough to expect some guts spilling out anytime soon and you're freezing away when the sun is at it's tropical best and each breath of yours is enough to save the day's gas bill if you would just blow on the saucepan please.
And the worst thing was, I couldn't even sit at home and curl myself into a self-loathing ball, curl up under your favourite blanket and hug my sans-eyes, sans-nose, sans-right leg, sans-left arm, threadbare teddy bear, (who deserves a Nobel Peace Prize for having put up with me for the past fifteen years) and shed pitiful tears into it.
(Yeah, don't come near me when I'm sick... I'm very prone to tears...
Eg. Mom: You've got a fly on your nose, dear
Yours truly down with fever: I'VE GOT A FLY ON MY NOOOOOOSSSEEE.... BOOOOO HOOOO!..)
It all goes back to the day I came back home and told my dad that I wanted to "fruitfully" (yup... I said that. No need to scream. I beat you to it) "use" (yup... I said that too... Nope, I'm still Haritha. Not kidnapped and replaced by a cruel alien waiting to take over the world) my holidays (Please don't die of shock. Not another one on my conscience. I know this is blasphemy) and thus I "ought to" learn something "useful" (Thinking this sounds worse and worse as you read? Wait till you read what comes next...) like, say... Java. (It sounds awfully quiet up here... you ain't dead are you?)
And not only was this horror contemplated, it was actually put forward into motion. My dad and I walked into a popular computer-training centre and I got myself enrolled into the classes.
And then of course, I bid adieu to 8000 (no honey, two heart attacks a day ain't good for you) INR and walked out of the building with dreams of me making awesome programs and dazzling the world with my awesome logic. Not to worry, I've long since woken up and faced the reality.
So as I slumped on my couch watching the clock tick away, images of those 8000 bucks kept circling round and round my head like those stars around cartoon characters after getting hit on with a ton of iron or after jumping of a cliff. (Wouldn’t it be swell if that actually happened in real-life without any caved-in skulls and amnesia and whatnot?) I am soon to go on a trip and I really couldn’t afford to miss any more classes if I wanted to complete the course before I whisked off to War. (That's my college. Duh, I'm no soldier! )
So I drag myself up and crawl to the bus stop and reach the class as a pile of bones what with all the rattling on the back seat of the bus, which I’m sure hasn't touched the most modest of shock absorbers with even a ten foot long barge pole.
As I swam through the indistinguishable codes I had the audacity to ask the sir a doubt. Apparently the program wasn't giving a tab space where it was supposed to be given. The sir with the determination of a male rhino lusting after a momma rhino in heat took it upon himself to find out the cause.
So imagine my surprise when he types something random and meaningless in the code to see if it gets displayed, only for me to realize, it wasn't after all, so... random and meaningless.
He had typed in "shag".
I mean there is a limit how much control I had, right? Not only was the damn word in my code, it kept displaying in loops as the program was run.
Shag
Shag
Shag
Shag
The comp merrily displayed.
The sir looked as grave as Ptolemy pondering the question of life.
I couldn't help it. A snicker escaped me. I mean I have an excuse, ok... This was pretty funny under even normal circumstances and right when my control is spider-silk thin, can you expect me not to laugh?
I know it's a coincidence and all. I mean there's absolutely no way he could've known what it stood for... but that didn't matter a rat's tail! I quickly turned my giggle into a cough. At that instant Ashish, my partner for the classes (partner in crime?) quirked one of his eyebrows and the last of my control fled.
I went red, gasped and fainted and almost died with all the effort it took to convert all that laughter into a coughing fit. Tears started streaming down my eyes... I breathed in noisy gasps of air and I didn't thought I'd die if I tried any more control.
"Water!” I managed to croak and ran for my dear life. Once we were out of earshot, Ashish and I doubled over in fits of laughter, contemplating why sir chose that particular word to type in... (And no points for your guessing what we were thinking).
Well I suppose all that laughing was cathartic. I felt loads better after that... so insanely... HAPPY... so much, that I skipped all the way back home.
Nothing like some good dose of laughter to beat any illness, doncha think?
All right, you all know the list goes on.
Anyway the important thing is yesterday was one of those depressing days when mucus fills your respiratory tracts and you can't swallow your own spit and you feel that you're enclosed in one of them bio-lab centrifugal machines running at 50,000 rpm and you're hacking away with coughs intense enough to expect some guts spilling out anytime soon and you're freezing away when the sun is at it's tropical best and each breath of yours is enough to save the day's gas bill if you would just blow on the saucepan please.
And the worst thing was, I couldn't even sit at home and curl myself into a self-loathing ball, curl up under your favourite blanket and hug my sans-eyes, sans-nose, sans-right leg, sans-left arm, threadbare teddy bear, (who deserves a Nobel Peace Prize for having put up with me for the past fifteen years) and shed pitiful tears into it.
(Yeah, don't come near me when I'm sick... I'm very prone to tears...
Eg. Mom: You've got a fly on your nose, dear
Yours truly down with fever: I'VE GOT A FLY ON MY NOOOOOOSSSEEE.... BOOOOO HOOOO!..)
It all goes back to the day I came back home and told my dad that I wanted to "fruitfully" (yup... I said that. No need to scream. I beat you to it) "use" (yup... I said that too... Nope, I'm still Haritha. Not kidnapped and replaced by a cruel alien waiting to take over the world) my holidays (Please don't die of shock. Not another one on my conscience. I know this is blasphemy) and thus I "ought to" learn something "useful" (Thinking this sounds worse and worse as you read? Wait till you read what comes next...) like, say... Java. (It sounds awfully quiet up here... you ain't dead are you?)
And not only was this horror contemplated, it was actually put forward into motion. My dad and I walked into a popular computer-training centre and I got myself enrolled into the classes.
And then of course, I bid adieu to 8000 (no honey, two heart attacks a day ain't good for you) INR and walked out of the building with dreams of me making awesome programs and dazzling the world with my awesome logic. Not to worry, I've long since woken up and faced the reality.
So as I slumped on my couch watching the clock tick away, images of those 8000 bucks kept circling round and round my head like those stars around cartoon characters after getting hit on with a ton of iron or after jumping of a cliff. (Wouldn’t it be swell if that actually happened in real-life without any caved-in skulls and amnesia and whatnot?) I am soon to go on a trip and I really couldn’t afford to miss any more classes if I wanted to complete the course before I whisked off to War. (That's my college. Duh, I'm no soldier! )
So I drag myself up and crawl to the bus stop and reach the class as a pile of bones what with all the rattling on the back seat of the bus, which I’m sure hasn't touched the most modest of shock absorbers with even a ten foot long barge pole.
As I swam through the indistinguishable codes I had the audacity to ask the sir a doubt. Apparently the program wasn't giving a tab space where it was supposed to be given. The sir with the determination of a male rhino lusting after a momma rhino in heat took it upon himself to find out the cause.
So imagine my surprise when he types something random and meaningless in the code to see if it gets displayed, only for me to realize, it wasn't after all, so... random and meaningless.
He had typed in "shag".
I mean there is a limit how much control I had, right? Not only was the damn word in my code, it kept displaying in loops as the program was run.
Shag
Shag
Shag
Shag
The comp merrily displayed.
The sir looked as grave as Ptolemy pondering the question of life.
I couldn't help it. A snicker escaped me. I mean I have an excuse, ok... This was pretty funny under even normal circumstances and right when my control is spider-silk thin, can you expect me not to laugh?
I know it's a coincidence and all. I mean there's absolutely no way he could've known what it stood for... but that didn't matter a rat's tail! I quickly turned my giggle into a cough. At that instant Ashish, my partner for the classes (partner in crime?) quirked one of his eyebrows and the last of my control fled.
I went red, gasped and fainted and almost died with all the effort it took to convert all that laughter into a coughing fit. Tears started streaming down my eyes... I breathed in noisy gasps of air and I didn't thought I'd die if I tried any more control.
"Water!” I managed to croak and ran for my dear life. Once we were out of earshot, Ashish and I doubled over in fits of laughter, contemplating why sir chose that particular word to type in... (And no points for your guessing what we were thinking).
Well I suppose all that laughing was cathartic. I felt loads better after that... so insanely... HAPPY... so much, that I skipped all the way back home.
Nothing like some good dose of laughter to beat any illness, doncha think?
1 comments:
Naaaaice :) lol
i had a nice laugh :)
:D
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