Eat, Write & Sleep

What do you do after you submit your paper??

Think no?

Fistbumps, high-fives, ice-creams, group merriment, beamy eyes, balloons, pamper food…? yes. no, but more.

The semester-long episode of TP and endless saga over how wretched the topic was gets over as you sign on that dotted lines that politely wrings out from you the Holy Confession- that you have indeed legally picked stuffs from the mentioned sources. ‘Alright, I did!’. Your sipicjumbo.com_P1000571gnature vouches that for you. You take a deep breath, and watch colours fly across the rooms. You have never felt this free before! Even guiltily for a day, because exam comes knocking any minute now.


You walk down the passage, your tired arms hung around the shoulder of your friend, chuckling, and giggling over the hard-harder-hardest times you have with your TP. You retrospect about the nights you have spent wrestling with your computer, how you have marred the entire document with editing and re-editing that was impeding your train of thoughts and what probably had blocked the sole track leading to your argument. You borrowed eight books from the library that you remember to return immediately, got some five essays printed out, and have let twenty more rest on your desktop. You have never bunked the classes this decisively to study for this paper, because you know that you’ll sleep the rest of the day at home, because you’d think life is trouble-packed. You re-modify your clock now, since the TP season is over. The noon probably ends with a pamper lunch and mouthful of laughter with friends. And the day ends approximately at 6 evening, because you’re as dead as a laughing zombie and want to hit the bed ASAP.

ASAP appears a greyish chimera in your dreams. That’s probably the Bard in his new attire with a new MS held in his hand. You see your exam schedule for the first time, on your own risk. Your best friend doesn’t forget to send it on your phone.

You uwillingly step out, because the new day calls you to work on what you love. ❤

Exam v.2.2: Masque of Shakespeare in Exam


Miranda watches Hamlet’s ship sail by

Like the thousand words that I have written and never cared about throughout the twenty years of my life, the words I have smeared all over the sheets in last three hours are just a gimmick to prove my insanity. I have again succeeded in dissociating myself from the  second episode of the semester-end exam, series 2, the moment I stepped out of the hall.

T’was Shakespeare. And thee knoweth nothing about him unless thee run thy soul upon the sour lines of his tragedies.  Comedies too.

Jokes apart, I call them sour because they are far away from sugary sweet, candy crusted romance and maple syrup verse, and still show you what the entire school of literary criticism attempt to prove-  everything lies in the man’s belief and outlook. They leave a mild aftertaste of cinnamon in the mouth as you read past the lines, appearing as something you will crave for, more and evermore. From Hamlet’s quintessential question of striking the dagger, his self awareness of his degree of sanity, to the state of euphoria that lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Tempest offer; from the despondency of Othello, to the heart aches in As You Like It- this man makes it all, takes it all. I know where to source quotations from, to put up in my room! What else does one need?

They show you the light to burn the bridges of the past to the forge new and rise like phoenix. Phoenix: Because after each reading, emerges a different or totally new perspective, generation of a new interpretation. Now that’s how the size of  Shakespearean scholarship grows to become the most gigantic and diverse pool of ideas.

But…there comes the twist! The agenda of exam left me with no other option but to write same old typecasted answers. The scope of exploration stops the moment you limit the period, compartmentalise the focus- resulting in  materialisation of the texts.  The excitement that having of a handful of intangible, meaningful scholarships and arguments in mind gave, was probably not enough for the ambivalence that the question paper had to offer.

Now that I am in the metro, sitting with my earphones plugged in, I feel sorry for myself for not having justified to, say Hamlet, the critics, my own hypotheses and my very dear little soul who went through sleepless nights and lazy afternoons only to get as much as possible from books and online journals. By now, my script has been already stacked and packed  together with around 400 more cumbersome papers like mine, and is waiting to be parcelled to a mysterious underground den where all answer sheets are checked and evaluated. That’s another mysterious thing that I’ll save for some other day.                      Just that, it’s Gone. Pshh.

A Bruce Springsteen song plays languidly in the background as my brain contemplates the blunders of the answer script.

Ghost of Hamlet shall save me. As well. :/


If only Hamlet could try Springsteen, on the second thought.. 😉