Them Dads

Been a month. Aiyyo.

Another semester. Another fun-filled semester of failed expectations. The writer cannot exactly recall much about the sem which just passed by, slowly and surely as the winter which tiptoes in through the backdoor, owing to his poor memory. (I still don't exactly know where we went for the DoPy trip, somewhere near Musssorie, or was it some Gunj?) Two of his wingies were slightly unnerved when they woke up in the morning to a knock on their doors and their fathers behind them. Don't exactly blame them, but who pays a surprise visit to their son's college early morning without the bleakest of excuses to show for it? It's not like the college is set in a sprawling metropolis for them to take a small 220 km detour anyway. ("Hey, son! Just checking out that new Adidas showroom for sweaters, so I thought I would drop by, you know. How you doing? What's that smell?"). If you're wondering, Pilani does have an Adidas with sab bilkul orijhanal peeces . Seems legit.

   That was not the point, anyway. So the dads minded their own business and we were all cool about it. So what if one of them could not sleep (owing to the nerve-wracking, gut-wrenching, blood-curdling screams of Yours truly) and told us off when we were 'celebrating' my birthday? So what if we had to slightly lower our music volumes and tone down our language and change the way we knock on doors and keep the corridor lights on during the night and speak in hushed tones around them and... stuff? We were pretty cool about it. Then it broke.

I woke up one bright morning, swung open my door and what I saw blinded me. 

The clothesline. It was, like, full, yo.

His dad had washed my wingie's clothes. All of them.

I took a peak at my mess of a room of a laundry basket. Clothes here, there, every-bloody-where. Here I was, undergoing continuous, back-to-back, crucifying laundry crises, biding my time, pushing off the day I would finally sit down in the cold, cold winter and do mine in the cold, cold water, and his dad pops up and  showers him with fresh-out-of-the-basket undies. Pardon my language. I'm raging because my dad just got me guitar when he paid me a (announced) visit.

Lucky Sethi.