40

I rock. From 6:30 AM on the 27^th of October to 10:30 PM on the 28^th of October, I did not sleep. This didn’t even include a 15-minute nap or a ‘siesta’ or what some call a few minutes of ‘power sleep’. Hah! It was the longest day of my life. From reaching the pinnacle of tension, to having the highest amount of adrenalin flowing through my veins, to dislocating fingers, to “DIFF”-ing, not only was my day friggin’ long, it was as eventfully dramatic. I most probably failed in my physics exam, dislocated my pinki, barfed on the school doc, and missed the entire inter-house cricket season. Shit, that ain’t any good. Damn. I suck.

Having never touched my physics book, on the eve of my second term physics examination, I am somewhat confident that I would be able to study enough to get the passing marks. But as I tread along, slowly, on the path to physical enlightenment, my fuel tank hits empty. Enter Red Bull. Time to revert to a previously non-existent plan B. My aim: to survive the night and reach as close as I can to the sweet grapes of physical thoroughness. Also, even if the plan fails, I would at least be able to gloat about the great over night survival. 24 hours of nocturn-ity complete.

The morning dawns, faster than it should have. My studies progress, slower than they should have. I finish half the portion, and my time is up. Red Bull seemed to be quite a saviour. It is definitely inspiring for it has printed on it: “Only drink in times of great stress. It will help provide extra energy and enhance your performance”. Inspiring indeed.

I finally reach school, buoyed up with drug-like energy, thanks to the ‘wings’ that I have received. Assembly ends on a sour note – the swimming team are told that they will not take part in their Inter School Meet due to a lack of practice, and my unfortunate self is a part of this team. However, it turns out to be just a threat, but anyway I don’t go for the meet, because my eventually, my pinki betrays me.

Anyway, my physics exam begins, and the more I read the question paper, the more I forget. In the compulsory section, I half-confidently attempt only 5 questions of the 20. Not bad, huh? Section A of Part II, are worse, I attempt 2 subparts of 2 big questions instead of attempting the entire questions. Section B and Section C are not as bad, but aren’t that pretty either. Anyway, all is not lost, I might just scrape through.

The exam ends, and I am glad that I don’t have to come home and study, instead I have swimming practice. Practice is good, except for the fact that I learn that my kicks are very poor compared to everyone else’s. I don’t have any strength in my legs. Now this definitely hurts the pride and ego of an individual who is considered to be a good sportsman. You start questioning God and the human body. How can you run decently fast, kick a football decently hard, but not be able to kick the water hard enough in swimming? I am confused, but it is explained to me that for different activities, a million different muscles are developed, and those swimming-kicking muscles of mine were very weak. Right.

Practice done, time for our Inter-House cricket match. (Please note: Right now, I haven’t devoured any sort of food. All that has sustained me is my second Red Bull. It has been 30 hours since I have slept.) The cricket match starts, and after just 3 balls, my inter house cricket career ends. Junaid plays a cut shot, and I try and dive for the ball. The ball reaches the boundary, buy my tiny left pinki (i.e. my left tiny finger) gets stuck into the ground. My body, however, continues under the physical force of momentum, and that dislocates my dear pinki, and it almost lies hanging at an angle of about 75 degrees. Not pretty. I relocate it back to it’s place with a “thuk” and then run to the doctor. My body then takes its turn to betray me. It decides to take advantage/revenge on the pain it’s feeling, by sweeping me with nausea and dizziness. I then vomit, and try to control vehemently, but I cannot prevent myself from spewing a bit onto the unfortunate doctor. But the puking helps. I regain self control and apologize profusely to the doctor. The Principal, the Headmaster, the Senior Supervisor, the Admin Officers, the English teacher, the Cricket teachers, the Afternoon-Activities coordinator, and the remaining world suddenly come bursting onto the scene. Lying in bed, due to the nausea, I am told unanimously by all: you will be okay!

I am then ‘rushed’ to hospital, and I go quite reluctantly, only after having a verbal war with the nurse – “I want to watch the cricket match.” But that isn’t good enough. Then I am very thankful to Ali, Tejas and Romit who succeed in entertaining my ass off. They want to come to the hospital, but are blown away by the furious nurse, who had earlier given me glucose, that actually tasted really good. I am fine, no real pain, only a slight niggling pain when I move my little left pinki.

The journey to the hospital is boring. Dad’s a doctor, and he works at Welcare, so obviously I exploit the situation. Even then it takes me an hour before I get to see the doc. Meanwhile I am observing a Filipino wife in her black ‘Burkha’ with a broken leg ordering her Arab husband around. That’s weird indeed, but common in this part of the world. The x-ray shows nothing, but the doc assumes ligament damage. And then finally I reach home without any big plaster to show off, but only this small piece of scrap bandage. Boring patch of the post I know – but still. 😛

Well any reasonable human being would have then gone to sleep, especially when there was puking, breaking fingers, etc involved in the previous 6 hours. But I don’t follow normality. It has now been 36 hours without sleep. Mum tells me to sleep. I ignore. I have the DIFF, i.e. Dubai International Film Festival Volunteer Recruitment Session, to attend. The Red Bull energy is still pumping, I make my way there, despite my sister’s warning of a ‘sudden collapse’. Don’t worry nothing of that sort happens, at least then.

Finally we, as in Romit and I, reach the Knowledge Village Auditorium, which I am pretty impressed with. We see a bunch of Modern High girls there. Obviously. What follows is a long lecture and a lot of, “Eh, she’s hot man” and “No, not my type Anish” (note: I am not referring to any Modern High girls there, so please prevent pervasion of rumours). I meet an Al-Mu’atmaar ex-mate Alex, who is btw, a girl, and who is also half-Irish, half-Punjabi. Yeah, don’t ask. She doesn’t remember my name, but at least she remembers me, so kudos to her on that. The evening, otherwise isn’t that exciting. We register for three 6-hour shifts as ticket-checkers or line-keepers or seat-showers – yeah not too exciting either, but it’s an experience in its own way.

Romit and I then eat some heavy KFC and then make tired conversation on our journey home. I arrive to greet my sister, and an official collapse hits me. My sister, the darling she is, irons my school clothes for me, as I treat my semi-broken pinki with ice. I then look at my watch. 10:30 PM – 40 hours. Wow. One hell of a rollercoaster, and one hell of a ‘long’ day.

P.S. Song to listen to: Matchbox 20 – Long Day.
And today, this one person that I care about, and who apparently cares/cared about me, asks me to give up on he
r. I cry and then laugh at ‘God’, and then at world.