Tuxed Out

If you’d like to know how the night ended, it was with my mother laughing and saying that I “can’t even pull off a skirt right”. (I won’t argue. It’s only my third time wearing one.)

My tux plans went for a toss when, after having gotten my pants ready, mum and I realised that we don’t have the shirt and coat to go above it.
Yep, it took us a week to discover that loophole.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe.

So I ended up trudging along in a skirt. Figures.

Apart from that, it was as every Farewell should be—where you rediscover that you absolutely can’t dance, and that there are only a few varieties in this department: those who are bad at dancing, those who are exceptional at dancing bad, and those who can give you an illusion of a good dance. And you realise no one cares. And you realise why the stationery industry isn’t dead, when ink and thoughts flow freer than non-existent wine—yearbook signing!

Basically, awesome stuff.

(I hear laughter in the background. Is that a high-pitched Chemistry high on helium? Come on, it’s 1:30 AM!)

The Private Musings of an Excited Electron

In a few days, we have an official burden-release. Our school will formally dump us on our butts. (not really…)

We have our farewell, our final send-off, and then we grind our noses for a month and then head off on our own paths. It seems so much like a prism at play here: at school, you are a uniform beam of white light and everyone is the same, travelling down the air path, until you reach the final frontier, the glass barrier (or glass ceiling, if you’d see it that way), and cross over into a different, denser glass medium. There’s confusion, change of direction, slowing down — it’s the transition phase.

Once you reach the other face of the glass prism, you’re crossing again (the Official Dump, by the way), you’re leaving your glass cocoon, school, and stepping out into the faster, rarer air medium of the real world. Better pick up the pace.
White light passed through a prism emerges to split into its spectrum, as we all find our own wavelengths and split up into a diverse, varied, colourful spectrum and go our own separate ways. Where would this experiment be without a screen to capture the spectrum, to write the legacy for every eye to behold?

And that;s where we are right now. Still in the prism, going through our own little transitions, and at the threshold of emergence.
And yes, we are all a little refracted and deviated! (*aherm*, YouTube, *aherm*…)

One thing I’ve noticed though, is that the idea of Farewell, aka Dumping Ceremony (kidding), has somehow become interchangeable with the idea of Prom, which we don’t have.
A substitute, perhaps? It must be the formal dress code. “What are you wearing?” has become a frequently heard question — we’re turning into the Hollywood Press!
Red carpet, here we come!

Of course, if it really was Prom, I’d probably be playing Billy Idol’s Dancing With Myself all night and/or prepare to begin a charity bandage donation the next day for all the feet I’d have stepped on.
And it may sound absurd, but we’re taking a date to Farewell. Farewell! Of course, only from the leaving batch, but still, pop culture has gotten to us!
(The last farewell I remember, we’d all huddled around a hole in the terrace and channelized our ‘negative spiritual energies’ down it, and then had our teachers pray for our Board exams. You could tell from the look on their faces that the prayer was for real!
Imagine doing that with a date. And in a formal dress. Phew!)

But heck, life doesn’t need justification, and we played along. If we don’t have Prom, we’ll make it happen, I suppose!
Just for fun, I’d asked a really good friend of mine, and she said yes!
This was a few months ago, though, and I figured she’d forgotten… we all have electrons swimming in our brains these days, and I cannot explain why I overuse the word electron.

Today, after—guess what?—a physics paper, I happened to run into her and we sat down awhile and talked. Most of the school had probably emptied out; mum says I stay on till way too late, but in my defence, I won’t ever hang around a school again after a few months.
But thank goodness for the quiet moment, sometimes I cannot hear myself speak.

We began talking about Farewell-Prom, and how people were obsessing over what to wear (everything from a sari to boxers, most people had talked to me about it before). We began taking about people taking dates to farewell, no, not the edible kind.
Amidst all the hype, she asked me if I was going. I replied, probably. She told me I could hang out with her.
I remembered then that I’d asked her out. (We’re all tube lights with electrons flowing through..) She said, “Ah, yeah! Well, I’d have asked you if you hadn’t, anyway.”

That’s it. That just about made my day. Rainbows be damned, bring on the Prom. Mum’s even probably alright with me wearing a tux, which is a first (big IF I can get my hands on one in two days. I don’t own one.)

…One sec, wasn’t it a Farewell?