MUSINGS

MUSINGS

We are young

Every self-respecting young couple in love is expected to argue about flimsy details like who rocks between Family Guy and American Dad, who is funnier between the penguins and King Julien from penguins of Madagascar. They are expected to watch Tujuane together, make faces, snigger, judge and hate while inwardly cringing as their faults, pretense and shortcomings and are laid bare on TV. Consolation, other people’s lives!

Strut Strut

Paint a picture, strut, strut, towards class. The multitude that stands outside the building clustered in small groups chattering away at the days musings as they wile away time. The unforgiving tropical sun bearing down with a vengeance! Colors, see how colorfully dressed they are? Books tucked into bags, pockets and some carried by hand they stroll away. Trousers sagged to God knows where the lads bounce along behind the ladies. A kaleidoscope of beauty and colorful garments! It is campus after all.

Grown on Liquor

By the fence they cling stubbornly holding on to dear life! Nourished at night by countless bottles of beer poured on them when the revelers have had too much to drink.  With a binge comes consequences, incidentally, an empty stomach is no friend of liquor! Everyone knows it and goes ahead to ignore it anyway! At that ungodly hour of three in the morning, holding on to the rails that act as a fence and puking their guts out, the revelers water the flowers. Before long someone assumes the shrubs  for a urinal and lets go! With daylight, the plants might perhaps get a respite, but alas! The African sun rises mean and fierce! The flowers by Vodka Martini thrive on…

Stealth

Never let them see it coming. Always look for the opportune moment when your machismo might be the only distinguishing feat that will make your bearer of the rose. Say by outshining your friends in a physical game, displaying your prowess in a debate ,heck! Even by winning beer pong! In that moment when they are still a little dumbstruck from your display, march over… Hey pretty lady?

Technicolor

Where there is smoke there is fire, stay your thoughts though and still your tongue. Burn them all you say in a dreamy haze shrouded in a cloud of smoke. There is not enough Rizla to roll up all this stuff! The philosophers jaunt in Technicolor worlds, between massive inhalations as the snapping of fingers signify passage of the joint from one person to the other!