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.

These past two months have been different, I feel like I have been living in a completely different plane, the nitties- gritties of College has either become more tolerable or I have become completely immune to the monotony, the labs have become passe’, say analog lab and the second year kids will pee in their pants , in third year you don’t even flinch, the entire circuit which you rigged up painstakingly, muttering ‘BB roy of great Britain had a very good wife’ under your breath, has been condensed to an ‘ IC’ and voila , everything is much simpler. I have been ranting about this only to draw a parallel between my analog lab and how in the same way , everything I cribbed, cried, got depressed about doesn’t affect me anymore. Yesterday was a holiday, an extended weekend in the parlance of why-11pm-deadline people, I on the other hand spent the whole day lazing around, reading , dissecting the paper, watching private practice, washing my bags , helped amma arrange the dolls , spent an hour at the tailors’ taking lessons on aunty behavior. Now such a mundane day would have troubled me in the past, I would have hated the feeling of wasting time, for not pursuing stuff I like doing, basically finding more reasons to hate myself. I’m not troubled anymore by things I lack (not in the worldly sense). There is a faint sense of hope somewhere, that things will pan out, I’m scared that someone might call it overconfidence, and I will switch to the denial- anger mode. I should not be posting this, no no no.