It was insignificant enough to pay heed to solitary finitude of the place. Barely ten feet by eight.  I could glimpse the Aurora Australis , for our eyes were droopy enough to persist the Heroine codification. Rakesh in his slurry slant, who else but targeted towards Laloo Seth. Rabin generally ignorant. Naresh singing. Me counting the hours. Ad-mixtured spell of cheap Hindi songs broken by my sudden passage argument of Fallish individual ignorant assholery. The place literary was a streak of a passage. Threatening game made us infallible. Psychotic as everyone were, we played with the tune of peto bombs. Moonlit hours passed as ringed boredom. I cherished it.  No ten to five in our life. Methought merged with theyself, in the horrendous sultry ad-hock hooliganship. Lazy enough for the bombardment. Terrorism of dark corner passage way’s finite illegality. Yet the moon showed its infinity, so the sun. Sultry summer rings. Ignorant enough to be not poor, the great Southern underground locality delved deep into us. Bhola bought some points, Rabin had a knife. Me too had a few. Inbetween Pablo and Hochi would ramble about Sex Pistols and Airplane. I adored Zimmerman. Rabin was the hit. Rakesh did the job. I was proud.  The ring would disturb the familial domain. Yet, the time was always in elopement with me. I was always one with the ways of the place. She was disturbing.  I was patterned in my Clemencian self. Nothing mattered much. Who’s who of the family talked about sudden political renderings. I paid heed and forgot in the next moment.  I adored the Silicon Valley desire of the young, which was apparently against the chalice of boredom. Peopled by too many people, my Lilliput self in admiration of Malthusian charge sheet against Marxism. At moments I was a cultural revolutionary, the very next moment I was a follower of stalwart rightwing Minister. This trouble making, the enunciation of brawling boredom stretched towards infinity sustained me. Our family was exasperated. And we got through the University. After that there was no time to stop. Now as I look into that phase, I cherish the memory of a spirited boredom, committed against the boredom of middle-brow. We sustained. 

Jeet Bhattacharya
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