Q. Give a short account (200 words), of the most depressing incident that has ever happened to you. And how that's left you scarred for life.
It was spring! The weather Gods went romantic and the white angel clouds embraced the sun. The Saarang aroma was aphrodisiac enough to let me wander from food-stalls to IC & SR and back. The Airtel girls were showing it off really well. But it was just that they had too many admirers and I was turned-off. Just then, a hand rose amongst the crowd (man)handled by the Informals Coords.
It was a marble-hand raised gracefully at an angle most suited to attract attention. I am still trying to measure it in my dreams but to no avail. As she was called upon the stage, I could clearly see her upper half of the body rising from her low-waist and her right hand making an unsuccessful attempt to veil the exposed (waist) by pulling her tee down . The message was straightforward "I am the girl your mom warned you about". I instantly admired the tee-makers.
The not-so-formal coords asked her to hold the mic without using her hands and share a fantasy with the audience. The crowd was enthralled. I wished her luck. She held it between her neck and left shoulder. "Hi Saara.." and the mic fell. She was disappointed. They asked her to leave. I was shocked.
Either the coords wanted to get her away from there and catch her in private with an evil intention of fondling her in the name of consolation or the cores selecting such coords have become too easy a prey to the pseudy appearances they display, carrying a heavy-looking bag even to the bog. My 798.6th crush was brutally crushed as she walked out of the campus in despair and all I was looking at were the collars of the coords. The very purpose of Saarang, need I mention, was openly refuted and the meanness of some arrogant species, the so called Coords cum Gods kindled a fire of vengeance in me for years to come. Let them know that here I am, applying for the newsletter coordship.
