Every year the elections pushed the campus into chaos, the normal hustle and bustle suddenly bloated out of proportion - a fat noisy monster stomping around and the students cheering along with him. I never involved myself in the election drama that unfolded, suffering from this very mistaken notion of such silliness being beneath me. (I remind myself of an Opal Mehta who never got a life). However, being a student with voting rights I was dragged into the commotion, albeit the fringes of it, I was courted (as was several others) by aspiring Arts Club Secretaries and Vice Chairmen. By the Final year I grew quite adept in handling this shallow courting ritual, but the very first year I landed in college I was quite taken in by the charms of this pretty student council member boy and how.
His name was Rohit A. Good looking bloke. I won’t go into a graphic description of his various body parts, suffice to say that he was eye candy. Strangely, I was never attracted to him in spite of him being such a hunk, the all too essential spark was missing. All that changed on that fateful day. Sigh. Such a fool as I, never lived or ever will.
I don’t remember what post he was aiming for, but I remember that he lost. My interest level in such things would shame the backside of an ant. I did not bother with such, like I said, silliness. So, there I was, studious nerd, sitting inside the classroom during the lunch break, reading some unimportant book. And our hero saunters in. Project Campaigning. Principal aim – canvassing votes. But of course. He registered in the periphery of my vision, I had a vague idea of what he was up to and I immersed myself deeper into the book.
And after a while, I had this very strange sensation near my knees. I look at my them and I see another pair so close to mine that I could feel the heat of another human body without actually touching it. I look up at the soulful brown (or green) eyes of Rohit A. Ahhhh. His eyes had this watery feel, I would say moist and liquid and inviting if I lapse into a romantic mood. But inviting it was. And seductive.
And umm.. strange. Why are these eyes trying to seduce me? Poor ol me reading a book in the corner?
Then he calls me by my name. It never sounded sweeter. My eyes widen. Did they become moist and liquid and inviting in turn? Sweet Lord Jesus, I hope they didn’t do any such nonsense. He leant closer and inwards, closing in to me, I felt the distance between us shrinking, I felt every aching millimetre of it on my skin. He stopped, his face a few inches away from mine, and eyes still doing the moist-liquid routine. And he just looks at me, smiling, lips trembling. Then, I mistook it for an expression of pleasure that he was in my company, now, I know that he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Well, I can’t blame him, it was seduction in an instant and was written all over my face.
I ask him, “How do you know my name?” (of all things)
He says, “I know a lot of things about you”
I did not question him further, I felt quite weak. He must have counted on that too.
Then he tells me about this election that is coming up and how his friends suggested that he stand for it, I say something about how popular he is so he’d win easily and he shrugs it off modestly. Then he tells me that it would mean a great deal to him if I voted him. I listen intently. His eyes are still moist and liquid. I fight this really strong urge to touch his eye and break that watery droplet that he has trapped inside it. Then he bids me adieu. His dazzling smile and perfect white teeth follow me to my hostel and haunt my dreams for the rest of the night.
And on the day of election, I voted for Asif. Why? Because I’d promised him that I’d vote for him. And he got to me first.
His name was Rohit A. Good looking bloke. I won’t go into a graphic description of his various body parts, suffice to say that he was eye candy. Strangely, I was never attracted to him in spite of him being such a hunk, the all too essential spark was missing. All that changed on that fateful day. Sigh. Such a fool as I, never lived or ever will.
I don’t remember what post he was aiming for, but I remember that he lost. My interest level in such things would shame the backside of an ant. I did not bother with such, like I said, silliness. So, there I was, studious nerd, sitting inside the classroom during the lunch break, reading some unimportant book. And our hero saunters in. Project Campaigning. Principal aim – canvassing votes. But of course. He registered in the periphery of my vision, I had a vague idea of what he was up to and I immersed myself deeper into the book.
And after a while, I had this very strange sensation near my knees. I look at my them and I see another pair so close to mine that I could feel the heat of another human body without actually touching it. I look up at the soulful brown (or green) eyes of Rohit A. Ahhhh. His eyes had this watery feel, I would say moist and liquid and inviting if I lapse into a romantic mood. But inviting it was. And seductive.
And umm.. strange. Why are these eyes trying to seduce me? Poor ol me reading a book in the corner?
Then he calls me by my name. It never sounded sweeter. My eyes widen. Did they become moist and liquid and inviting in turn? Sweet Lord Jesus, I hope they didn’t do any such nonsense. He leant closer and inwards, closing in to me, I felt the distance between us shrinking, I felt every aching millimetre of it on my skin. He stopped, his face a few inches away from mine, and eyes still doing the moist-liquid routine. And he just looks at me, smiling, lips trembling. Then, I mistook it for an expression of pleasure that he was in my company, now, I know that he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Well, I can’t blame him, it was seduction in an instant and was written all over my face.
I ask him, “How do you know my name?” (of all things)
He says, “I know a lot of things about you”
I did not question him further, I felt quite weak. He must have counted on that too.
Then he tells me about this election that is coming up and how his friends suggested that he stand for it, I say something about how popular he is so he’d win easily and he shrugs it off modestly. Then he tells me that it would mean a great deal to him if I voted him. I listen intently. His eyes are still moist and liquid. I fight this really strong urge to touch his eye and break that watery droplet that he has trapped inside it. Then he bids me adieu. His dazzling smile and perfect white teeth follow me to my hostel and haunt my dreams for the rest of the night.
And on the day of election, I voted for Asif. Why? Because I’d promised him that I’d vote for him. And he got to me first.
