The last laugh..

On January 10 ,as I entered the college campus ,the eerie silence echoed .I entered the class room which was soo- side .the door opened to emptiness  and vacant seats .it was not reminder that its holiday but a voice came “Niharika don’t look like moron ,the last semester has arrived.

Fewer students and short college hours are reminder that everyone here is trying to wage the war against the last semester.

Those who never turned up, I wonder were they always busy with their internships or so called eternal relationships.

Since semester one blame game over the Jugadu College, boring teaching ways and much ado about our loved lab, that now I think has been removed from brochure as well.

In me last semester has instilled fear, happiness and confusion, oh my lord all these things doing curd of my brain.

The last semester for me is like that empty, dusty road in the woods from where destination is not visible because of the foggy weather. So anyone who would come down to me sarcastically saying “Niharika it’s your last semester and your plans are not clear as yet”?

To the I would euphemistically reply “don’t you see this January has been too foggy to see around, you can’t see a vehicle on the road because of the mist and fog, vehicle which is a material noun thing, and you expect me to see my plans clearly-plans which is such an abstract noun thing.”

For me last semester is not the situation where I feel like hugging everybody around and crying out loud and pretend I can’t imagine my life without you all .this place is my next home, oh I leant so much from here and blah blah.

Instead it’s a merry scene in the brain where I am jumping high, laughing and smiling like a frustrated prisoner in the jail, who after three years of torture is ready to move on and waiting to utter “finally it’s done”.

Only positive I could see is to have a few teachers who never boasted their knowledge, their achievements and gave huge lectures. Instead eagerly listened to their ever –enthusiastic students. They were not strict women in their menopausal period who never understood adrenaline rush of young ovulating girls .in fact our teachers were younger than some of the girls in the class who took their lives and girlhood too seriously and gave up.

For someone like me who has always been too critical of education system, teachers and their orthodox pedagogy ways .i have since childhood grew up by befooling teachers around me .but I must confess I lost to Sunaina Mam .I always believed I could befool anyone around me easily through my gestures, body language and expressions, and would not allow anyone to peep in my brain and heart.

Last August I don’t know how she read turmoil I was going through, she asked me I was losing my confidence and it’s high time I should set my priorities .that day I grew up as person .

Seriously

 An artist is best understood by an artist.

An artist is best encouraged by an artist.

An artist is best healed by an artist.

Oh my lord ‘I’ got serious...Lol so serious things apart, back to laughter, poor jokes and sarcasm I would like to conclude (because I am very lazy)

Come you semester six, you are done half:

I am that bloody who always has the last laugh.