Today I had my music vocal exam. In the morning, the most convenient kurta that came out was purple.
As I was leaving the house, the hole in my umbrella seemed to be getting bigger, so my mum brought me another, and it turned out to be... purple! (The previous one was blue).
As I sang, my eyes absent-mindedly trailed along the examiner's sari border at her feet. Red, I realised as the song got over. And omg! Purple sari!
The exam got over before I knew it. I came out of the room thinking, it was a shade better than last year. That shade must have been black, I joked to myself, referring to my salwar. Unlike last year, when my entire attire was a mix and match combo of purple kurta and salwar, the last exam, in which I'd blanked out on the songs and hence repeated this year.
There shouldn't be an exam for music, I pondered as I fried purple-pink onions back home. Just you and your teacher, then you and your audience, then you and your teacher again. Of course I knew the merits of the exam. For the moment I wanted to believe in a life without exams, and I'm still stiflling an urge to go holidaying in the Caribbean, since a holiday even inside my country isn't possible right now due to too many reasons to quote here.
As I walked to my music teacher's house, there was a kid on a cycle, her father behind her (couldn't believe they were out on this exercise in the blinding sun). She had on an orange shirt, and mismatching purple pants! With white polka dots of course...
I was rummaging through my wardrobe in the evening. Dinner invitation. Thankfully, I'd already worn the last two purple tops yesterday. Knowing me and my habit of wearing 5% of my wardrobe 95% of the time, I'd have ended my day with purple, and I'd have started imagining that my tomato juice screwdriver was a purple whirlpool at that moment when I got sick of it...
As I was leaving the house, the hole in my umbrella seemed to be getting bigger, so my mum brought me another, and it turned out to be... purple! (The previous one was blue).
As I sang, my eyes absent-mindedly trailed along the examiner's sari border at her feet. Red, I realised as the song got over. And omg! Purple sari!
The exam got over before I knew it. I came out of the room thinking, it was a shade better than last year. That shade must have been black, I joked to myself, referring to my salwar. Unlike last year, when my entire attire was a mix and match combo of purple kurta and salwar, the last exam, in which I'd blanked out on the songs and hence repeated this year.
There shouldn't be an exam for music, I pondered as I fried purple-pink onions back home. Just you and your teacher, then you and your audience, then you and your teacher again. Of course I knew the merits of the exam. For the moment I wanted to believe in a life without exams, and I'm still stiflling an urge to go holidaying in the Caribbean, since a holiday even inside my country isn't possible right now due to too many reasons to quote here.
As I walked to my music teacher's house, there was a kid on a cycle, her father behind her (couldn't believe they were out on this exercise in the blinding sun). She had on an orange shirt, and mismatching purple pants! With white polka dots of course...
I was rummaging through my wardrobe in the evening. Dinner invitation. Thankfully, I'd already worn the last two purple tops yesterday. Knowing me and my habit of wearing 5% of my wardrobe 95% of the time, I'd have ended my day with purple, and I'd have started imagining that my tomato juice screwdriver was a purple whirlpool at that moment when I got sick of it...
