Sales, Shoes and Sanity

I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. What tunnel, you might ask. Sounds like an NDE, doesn’t it? Never fear, near death experiences have not yet been added to my lot. I’m merely referring to the drawing to an end of another semester.
These days when I tell people that I’m looking forward to the last glorious day of college I always sound slightly apologetic. Everyone seems to think that I should be grieving over the end of my college life and weeping over its lifeless body that I’m a little sorry to disappoint them.
It’s only the fifth semester and there are Three more to go.
And wait, I have to clear fifth semester first, I suppose. But after two years of writing Anna University exams, I’m fairly certain I’ll clear it. It’s all in the wrist work.

I went to the IMS sale today. That stands for the Indian Missionary Society. It’s a staple in the life of most of my relatives so it was basically impossible to walk ten steps without bumping into someone who’s not a part of the vast family tree and even quite a few who aren’t but we know anyway. I haven’t attended the IMS sale for the past couple of years, but nothing’s changed. Lots of homemade stuff to eat, game stalls, lucky dips and stuff no one would buy except during an IMS sale because it’s for a good cause.

I met a few of my friends from school and church which wasn’t too bad. One of them even asked me how I had dragged myself out of bed because I sleep in every Sunday instead of improving my soul at church. I told him the truth. That I was there under the threat of torture by my own flesh and blood. And mercifully, my parents decided to leave after a reasonable amount of time instead of hanging around to chat with the every person related to us by blood and/or marriage.

I should confess here that another main reason people flock to this event (apart from meeting the family tree) is that they sell biriyani.
Again, this is a staple.
Every event worth attending connected to the church always sells biriyani. I suspect there’s some sort of dastardly psychology behind this. Anyway, we left after the ritual buying of biriyani was over and done with. Then I came home and slept like the dead for four hours. It always takes it out of one to go jaunting about and meeting family trees.

I went to Bata with Remy last week, by the way. Why I think this is worth mentioning is that Bata has converses. I even saw this very cute cross between a converse and a ballet flat. I want one. I mean, at this very moment if you gave me a choice between a converse and designer heels, the converse would win hands down. My eldest sister thinks I’m turning into my other sister who used to haunt every shoe shop in Gandhi Street in Vellore during her college days. Well, what does she expect? We share genes.

I almost feel like I should leave a couple of lines now showing the moral of the story.
There is none.
If you feel that there is one hidden in the morass of relatives, complaints and shoes somewhere in here, there you go. That’s most probably it.