How to study for a master's degree

I've not touched this post too much. It's mostly as I wrote it back then. It may have been written a little after the birthday I mentioned; it made me laugh. Beautifully exhibits my unchanged level of patience since I was born, well, at seven months.

My first white hair

The University of Mumbai hates my guts. I’m almost certain that some hideous goblin goes out of his way to schedule exams around my birthday. I’ve so far donated at least three birthdays to the cause of academics. Speaking of hitting the books (pun may be intended), I remember things much better when I know I am allowed to forget them. The minute my brain is made aware that it must remember what I’m reading, it refuses to comply.

So, coming straight to the point, the last two hurdles before the finish line to my master’s degree were scheduled a day before and the day after my 23^rd birthday
(See? Told you!). 

I sulked, whined and threw multiple tantrums, at work and at home, to gather as much sympathy as I could. After everyone had patted me on the back, fed me my favorite food, and continued watching the TV like nothing had happened (read: my mother), I decided to seriously get on Google and check my subjects out.

I spent two whole weeks (unpaid leave, no less) slaving over the works of TS Eliot, William Blake/Wordsworth/Yeats and what have you, trapped inside my little room.

I trust that you, as a well-educated and refined reader, are familiar with the fact that: No exam preparation is complete without struggling with the concentration level of a sandwich. And I was in no mood to challenge any well-established fact. 

I revived my Twitter account, dusted my book closet, and even developed a keen interest toward my hair.

The last exercise made me a little sad. It wasn’t bouncy anymore. Was I loosing hair? I was sure there used to be more of it. Was that a split end? Wait-a-minute. Is that a…white…HAIR!?

When I first saw this shiny strand dancing in the light, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I twirled a bunch of hair around my finger, and looked closely. There it was, my first-ever, full-length, whitish-grey hair.

I was fascinated by how well it had blended in with the rest of my mane. I sat in my chair for a while, thinking about the hair. I thought of the various coming-of-age poems I was reading. I could almost feel that moment guiding me toward the threshold I'd have to cross from being young, wild, and free to getting smart, erudite, and mature...

Well, almost. This reverie may have lasted at least half a minute before I wrapped my finger around the strand and yanked it out – follicle and all. I examined it a little more, poked it around and tested its elasticity, à la Sunsilk’s ad.

I jumped off my chair and purposefully marched out of the room. Strand clutched tightly in hand, I went straight to the kitchen and chucked it into the bin.

I'd deal with all the thinking later, it was positively time to get some grub.