Slight Disappointments

Today was the perfect example of a lazy day, a guilt-free lazy day. I did not get anything done today, I had nothing to get done and it felt great to not have any expectations resting on my shoulders. I mean, I do have quite a few expectations for myself but I shall get to them soon, just not today. There was dinner, a movie, a teeny tiny bit of shopping, I shall shop more tomorrow hopefully. I have plans to buy some new clothes because I feel my wardrobe needs a little something new in it. But knowing me, and my general miserliness, I will probably buy very little and call it a successful trip. Or better yet, buy nothing at all and come back.

I came back from a movie only half an hour back and I am completely exhausted from the day. I slept a lot even during the day, but a whole lot of good that did me because I am still sleepy now. The movie was slightly disappointing, I was expecting more, I guess, but it wasn’t bad. I am generally quite shit at reviewing movies, and to add to my already mediocre capabilities, I am also extremely sleepy and tired. So it probably is not a good time to type out my opinions on the movie, because my vocabulary seems quite limited to good/bad/nice. But it was a movie people had told me was wonderful and so I dragged my father along. He didn’t like the movie at all, though, while I don’t hold such an extreme view (in retrospect, I don’t hold extreme views in almost everything)

I also bought myself a mehendi cone, I love mehendi and I used to love putting it for other people and for myself. I was not great at it, but I still enjoyed it because I found the exercise very comforting a lot of the time. It made me happy and seeing the colour always made my day. I loved seeing the mehendi turn darker after the first day, I loved the smell of it that would linger for at least a day after I put it. If it was marudhaani, the smell would last for a few days, even with the perfume from soaps. But mehendi cones don’t do that, but that is not a failing, to be honest, because mehendi cones allow me an insane level of creative freedom that marudhaani can only dream of. I am most definitely doing my sleep blabber right now, so I am going to call it a night and get to sleep. Tomorrow shall be more productive, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Dusters and Significance

That is my whiteboard eraser. It is in a terrible state because I used it mercilessly last semester. This semester, I have not used my board as much but it still carries the marks of the previous semester. When I got it, it had been plain white but now it has become black. I fear I don’t know how long it will last. I do not want to spend money and buy a new one.

The eraser (or duster as we called it in school) is a super important part of my school life. We had blackboards in our school, teachers used chalk and used these dusters to rub the board. When the duster got too dusty, we would go and dust (the dust game is strong here, evidently) it to the side or outside the classroom. Sometimes, some teachers would be lazy to erase the board themselves and hence would call someone (most likely from the first bench) to go and erase the board (or rub the board, as we called it) for them so that they can continue.

We had this position of board leader in my school. The job of the board leader was to rub the board before every class and keep it ready, make sure that the timetable, date, day, and roll call was always written in neat handwriting on the board. For me, the position held its charm because it meant that I would have in my possession, at all times, the duster and a bunch of chalk.

For a bunch of bored teens with nothing else to do, stuck in a room with plenty of surfaces around them, there is nothing more delightful than a piece of chalk and a convenient way to rub off the chalk marks. For us, we used to scribble on our desks with chalks for all our games. And when we had to rub it off, we used towels, kerchiefs and even our hands. But being the board leader meant that I had the authority to use the duster to rub the desk on which I had ‘done the deed’. I could freely use the duster to rub my desk because I was the board leader.

Funny, how people in power always pull the right strings and end up getting away with shit others can’t. I got away with it just because I was the board leader. I loved chalk despite my dust allergy. My dust allergy made it difficult for me to dust the duster and handle normal chalk (not the dust-free kind). But I didn’t mind, in fact I reveled in it. I loved the feeling of writing on the blackboard, as the chalk would run over it and make those marks. I loved coloured chalks too because they always gave a nice, bright colour.

I was involved in a lot of design in school, I used to be part of teams that decorated the blackboards for various events. Also, when every year ended, we would all get together as a class to write/ draw and beautify our class’s blackboard. Almost like we were honouring the thing for its immense contribution to our education. We used to wet the colour chalks and draw with them. This was because when it dried, the colour it left was much brighter.

The erasing the board was an obsessive pastime for me. I hated how some teachers had very dusty dusters. When they erased the board, there would be these white streaks on the board. It made the board look very ugly. At the end of the class, I would take the duster, dust it thoroughly (completely disregarding my health concerns) and spend my time slowly rubbing the board properly to get rid of the white streaks. It was, in some ways, my coping mechanism because it made me feel like I was doing something of substance. Despite being the board leader, I always felt that my job was insignificant compared to others. It is funny, because I have always felt that way about everything I have done. And I believe I took up various habits to make myself not feel that way. Whether they worked or not, I cannot comment on for sure. But sometimes, I feel like I am that duster, definitely a worthy tool but not using it properly creates a disaster, a mess. And I guess, sometimes, I have to dust myself up and continue on so that I can be something of significance, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.