The Math Pact

The Genius

 The I did not see Sanjana the entire morning. She skipped breakfast and the first two lectures. She appeared in the class halfway through the English lit lecture – I could understand that she had cried again from the dried-up tears on her cheeks. The seat next to me was empty yet she did not sit with me and chose the last bench. English is without any question my least favorite class. Do not get me wrong, it still is my favorite subject – and yes even calling it just a 'Subject' would be disrespectful to me. You can teach a language, but not literature. Literature is infinite, has a million ways and outcomes out of it.

 The glass is not just half full and half empty – it had different shapes, designs, textures, densities, and colors –different impacts – some drink it, some break the glass, some fill the glass, some empty it and some pierce their skin with the glass to leave such scares that stay with them forever. It is said that 99 percent of the time, what we interpret of a poem is quite different from what the poet meant – so how can poems me 'Taught'? They are meant to be understood, felt and yes, in varied ways, not just to be mugged up for grades. 'Wuthering Heights' by Emily Bronte was being discussed in class, pardon me, it was being Taught, not discussed. An extremely negative review was given to us, as the writer was a sadist, who later killed herself shortly after publishing the book – a very gothic book, and an unaccepting love story to the society. I however, do not find it negative – stories are not made up to live up to the practicalities of life, but to escape them and make a world of our own.

 Emily's drastic life and eventual death gave birth to a masterpiece – an English classic. Lost in these thoughts, I heard the bell ring.I decided to head out for a while to clear my head. Skipping away from all my classmates I paced through the main door, crossed the road, and caught a taxi. "Marine Drive?" I asked As taxi drivers usually do, he made a head movement signaling me to get in. The thing about this city is that it makes you feel lonely; mind you, not alone –lonely. There are people everywhere, unfamiliar faces everyday – some happy some sad, people from all over the world, of all age groups, of all genders, castes, races and what not – it makes you realize how small you are, a mere drop in an entire ocean – unnoticeable and tiny.There was this one incident in 12th grade when I realized how broken I have gotten.

 Towards the rightmost corner at Girgoan Chowpatty, there is a small hut, where a lot of children and families live. I used to walk by that road often, but that day I just stopped and stood there watching them – they were together, they were happy, laughing and smiling – I was jealous of them, I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks – I walked away as fast as I could and went straight back to the campus and went to sleep – to avoid the reality and brokenness of life, as we all do. I reached Marine, walked alone to find a perfect empty spot, plugged in my earphones, and tuned along with the wind in my hand and my eyes on the waves.

 I had brought the math assignment with me because I had to give it on Saturday and it was already Thursday evening – just sat there holding the pen in my hand the notebook in my lap and a calculator right beside me. As I was trying to calculate an answer to a question – I heard a noise, it was my calculator! Now down in the stones fallen to the ground – and how? A stupid guy had just kicked it and now had the audacity to sit right next to me! I 

 "Can't you see you idiot!" He had earphones in, and could not hear me. "Oh hello! I am talking to you!" 

"Ah me?" He said, talking off right earphone.

 "Yes you! What the hell! Can't you see and walk? You just broke my calculator!" 

"Oh, where?" He asked with utter naiveness. 

"You just kicked if off!"

 "Oh, okay" 

 "It's not okay!"