“You are shit and you know you are!!!”
Don’t get carried away by the fact that I’m writing good English. I’m not. This writer, what’s his name, Vishnu Vardhan, is translating my thoughts into words. At least I think that’s what he said to me. I felt grateful. People like me don’t get a sympathetic ear. Our woes, our lives never really matter.
I’m just a normal guy. Or maybe, an abnormal guy. The one who doesn’t compete for fame, money, recognition or even girls. I wish that I could. This writer always says that I can if I believe, but he’s a load of shit. He happens to be my friend but that doesn’t mean he can lie to me. I constantly happen to be the butt of jokes but people do feel sad for me too. That is my only achievement till date.
You see, I’m the guy with eight arrears in first year. I’m the guy with a flat nose and oversized ears and an ugly face. I’m the guy without a girlfriend, without a brain and without an authority over life. I’m a guy who people detest to talk to, I’m a guy who strangers shy away from, I’m a guy who gets labeled and taunted.
It’s not that I don’t try. I do. I still do find it tough to cope. I find guys around me finishing their studies by the time I get to mug the first question thoroughly. Sometimes, I wish that I could smash their heads and damage their brains. I feel jealous and angry. But I’m gifted with one of God’s worst creations. An out-of-vogue, expired brain. It’s not the kind that others have been gifted with. This one is a cross between the autistic and the artistic brain. That’s the problem. If it had been the former, I would have been sympathized with and had it been the latter, I would have been… well, anything under the sun. But, with a brain that malfunctions and sometimes doesn’t function at all, I don’t have a chance. Or rather, I don’t have a choice. I’m famous. That’s why loads of guys approach me and ask “Hey dude, how many arrears this term?” or “Hey buddy, haven’t got a girlfriend yet?”… I don’t enjoy the attention. All those lecturers, the kind that bore you by speaking in unknown tongues (this writer assures me that it’s English) show no compassion too. I’m a constant fixture outside the door. My seat is always unoccupied. People call me “the sentry of the class” whatever that means. I’ll do you all a favor by not talking about sports or other “extra-curricular” activities. I’m better of at studies than at cricket or volleyball. I spend most of the games periods by the sidelines watching geniuses at work.
Even I do have a heart that needs love. Love from someone apart from my parents. Wherever I go, I just meet couples, couples and couples. I travel in the bus and there are couples in front of me, around me, and behind me. I feel let down. Even as this girl puts her head on his shoulders and he strokes her hair, my heart misses a beat. I have the sudden urge to reach out and touch her. She looked so divine. It’s in those moments when you feel your heart growing heavy, when you feel something decomposing within. I know I can never have a proper girlfriend like that. The girls never glance at me a second time. The first time is a necessity for assessment. I only get the chance to look at a girl when some of my friends ask me to accompany them while they talk to their girlfriends. Now, don’t misunderstand me. These friends of mine are nervous when they talk and they need someone who can calm them down and if that someone is ugly, then the better it is for them as they can talk without fear of their girls ditching them for the more-handsome-companion. Some girls have actually spoken to me and though it is out of compulsion to convey information about the laboratory we need to go next or something else of that nature, I feel happy just to listen to and look at them. But, mostly and at all crucial moments, I end up getting tongue-tied. I open my mouth to speak, but no words pour out. If only girls could read my thoughts. “That’s so kind of you…” or “Is that so? Oh thank you… Why did you have to take the trouble?” That would have won them over.
I feel sad when I meet my parents. They are poor and live in the village and they have high hopes that I will help them financially and emotionally in their later years. They take loans of one lakh rupees every year just to pay for my studies. But, I know I’ll never be able to repay the money or even repay their faiths. I wish that dad could stop me from going to college and allow me to take up farming but I’m not able to face him. I don’t wish to tell him the truth that his son is a failure. My marks will tell, no doubt. But even that doesn’t put off my father, who will willingly and ever so innocently attribute the cause to the difficulty in settling down in a new environment.
I do pick up fights with my hostel mates sometimes. When their jokes get more sinister than funny, I confront them. But not any more. I remember that day clearly. When my friend ridiculed me in front of his gang of losers, I collared him and pined him to the wall. I asked him, why he did this to me. I will never forget his reply ever. This fellow said “You are shit and you know you are…” I let him go even as his friends laughed in approval. I wanted to run away from that place. Wanted to run away from the college, from the city, from life itself. I wanted to run away from God, who created me this way. I have never been the same since.
They say that one needs to die when one becomes a burden or an embarrassment to others. That means that I need to die young and now. I’ve contemplated suicide many times but I can’t gather enough courage to carry out the act. I have spoken about it to no one else but this writer. He’s my only true friend ever. If not for him, you would have to make do with laughing at a wall-hanger with flowers around it. If not for him, you would not be reading this story. I thank him for that. I must leave now.
Thanking you all for listening to me,