the story behind a sari

shopping for saris can make three women so happy, Amma dragged me off to Girija's day before, to buy a sari for the college farewell ( i cannot seem to clearly define my emotions about leaving college, sometimes it is good this way, its over even before you start weeping or crying with joy ).Girija's of course is legendary and my aunt has piles of old green Girija boxes and she has a story for each one of them. Amma is right, saris are boring without their stories. Anyway, what would i tell people if they asked me the story behind this one- that it was an end of an other even semester? it was the last and we had projects to document, write exams,pictures to take, drinks to try, and was wondering how to wear my hair on the day which was supposed to be my last in college, and these were the only good things to sort out. At this point though, I'm at my lowest ebb, with all that unshaken belief i had, of being different, and knowing what i wanted completely gone. Would i tell them that?
I could have made this post humorous in that silly way of mine, i just did not want to.

There was this period late last year when college was all about making up long winded stories about profs , the bureaucracy and certain self important specimens in our class. S and I would always promise each other that we would write all these master pieces down, for the future benefit of mankind. Neither of us actually got down to doing it, believing in its permanence. I would often ask her, and she would laugh off the (then) seemingly impossible idea of us not laughing.
I almost feel the world got envious of these times when we forgot it existed.