The Delhi Chapter : Page 24

To explain:

Whether it was about baking a cake.

Or writing a board exam.

Helping a friend get by with a problem.

Or just play or sing a song.

Just somehow always had this feverish urge to do a decent job in whatever I did.

The stud in studies bit, was clearly the genes, I must accept.

I had nothing to do with it.

Living with stud parents, and an even smarter brother; tends to happen, I guess.

But the only thing I knew was mine and mine alone, was my pen.

And my mad love for words.

One of my great grand-dads (from my maternal side) was a poet, a few hundred moons back.

My mum had once said to me.

I must've got a grain of that flair from him then.

So.

Good man, that.

I always believed. ]

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Anyhow, I got lost.

So sorry.

Coming back.

I think the nerd bit came back to me when Bodhi said he wanted to 'talk'.

And lectures and speeches and talks and classes, for me have always meant paper and pen.

And well, also sporadic note-taking.

So (assuming that he'd have interesting things to say), I plucked a few hand-made papers out of my file.

And an old jute pencil-bag from back in school.
Which roughly, had all the stationary in the world...