Cometh the hour, Cometh the woman.

I am on a writing spree, though only virtually. Exactly '0' is the number of drafts that I have left as "to be published". Besides, I have been thoughtless since I don't know how long...probably it was the days of October in the year of 2010 that my creative juices last flowed. But this is not my problem. What vexes me now is that nobody has been getting an opportunity to say a word of praise  regarding my writing skills. The only testimony that might go against this is the latest Humanities exam that I took and managed to score, I must admit, by God's grace, a 10, even after not answering one of the five questions. I decided to dig deeper because the same teacher had plainly declared that the outcome of that indiscretion would reflect in my grades. The only other persons who scored a ten were the only other persons to have witnessed the striptease. I got my answer.

For those whom I forgot to mention the striptease, here goes the description.

I am a buoyant person, for I have gotten a job with Deloitte as a management consultant. I am a joyous person, for I have gotten another offer from Samsung. I am an ecstatic person, for I have scored more than I could have ever imagined. But I am a little nervous, for I have been allotted the course on literature, and the professor designated to take the same is none other than the one whom I had publicly bashed for the inappropriate course structure and her ineptitude to take the course, previously. The first day passed off without any sparks. The professor did not come to take the class.

Six classes and the similar outcome. But, cometh the hour, cometh the woman. She was there on the seventh day, in a nicely fitting dress.  The class began with an ugly smile, as is her wont. After sometime of fawning at her adopted son, the class was declared open. When I say open, it means she started speaking, and spitting, simultaneously, and so vigorously, that it was difficult for a pacific man like me to understand if her purpose was to spit of to speak.  Anyhow, the session continues and the endless mocking sessions involving the three of us, and that were to continue throughout the semester, commenced. After some moments of reckless  talking, she declared the class closed, citing the lack of attendance. Fine.

What was to ensue predicates the cruelty of the providence. During the course of the lecture, the laces in her pyjamas apparently slithered away form each other, unwinding in the process, and the innocent, hapless nymph that she was, could not notice that ill-construed escapade of those barbarous laces. As she pushed the door, the unintentional force that she had applied, apparently got transferred to her pyjamas and they fell. 

They Fell. Without a thud. She could not notice. She kept on walking. They replaced her socks. She noticed. Her hands felt just like two balloons (that means Comfortably Numb as Pink Floyd would it). She had dropped her belongings, including the pyjamas. We laughed. We made an about-turn. We kept laughing. She was staring, blankly. The other classes ended. A flood of students suddenly appeared. She was drowned in that human sea. Some noticed and kept staring. Other pretended to look away. One man felt morally corrupt. He ran up to her. Gathered her belongings. She felt a shock. Came back to this world. Realized her state. Gathered herself and her pyjamas. Took the possession of her stuff. Walked away. The lace still untied. The pyjama still at the mercy of those whimsical hands that had tied them in the morning, probably, and refused to now.

Here, the episode does not end. In the next class, only I was present, besides some new faces. She came and the first thing she "spat" was that she had a terrible accident the other day. The newer faces were flummoxed. I was caught in a fix. I could not laugh. She was staring at me, while she repeated the accident thing thrice over. I could not decide whether to agree or to disagree. Agreeing would have implied that I knew what had happened and saw her in her state of "bliss", and was so morally corrupt that I laughed and walked away instead of helping her. Disagreeing would have meant that I was denying what I had seen, since I her stare the other day had definitely caught me laughing. I avoided her gaze.

Now, coming back to the writing spree, I answered every question in the aforementioned exam in more than 1500 words, some of them in 2000, and by this virtue missed my last answer. How paradoxical for a man on a writing spree to miss an opportunity of writing! Taking cue from my comrade-in-crime, started the answer and left the first sentence incomplete, ending with three consecutive dots.

I was on a writing spree.