Litmus test.

Mishti is walking in the regal corridors of the XXX University College of Engineering. She is weeping like a baby. Luckily, there wasn’t anybody around. She sits in a secluded place. She could listen to the thunderous applause coming from the resplendently decorated HUGE assembly hall. She hides her face in her hands and sobs; and sobs loudly. She knows nobody can hear her. The events that had happened in the last fortnight flicker in her mind.

The sleepless nights she spent writing articles, editing [read re-writing] articles, thinking of new ideas for the newsletter, ‘Litmus’, her brainchild. She stifled yawns, rubbed her eyes, washed her face with cold water to stay awake. There were times when she felt like she’d faint with the next click of the clock, there were times when she felt a void in her mind; she STILL worked, worked for her brainchild. She was obsessed with the fortnightly newsletter. She reveled in the making of ‘Litmus’. People sent her, their articles. They were bogus. ‘She’ rewrote them all and still put ‘their’ names, all she thought was: the first issue is about ‘setting standards’ and ‘publicity’. She bunked classes, she read widely, she missed her music practice; she missed a day’s ET read, all for the sake of ‘Litmus’. People called her for articles, ideas, and everything; every minute. They asked her for correction in sentences, fonts for headings, what article goes on what page, the size of the articles, the format of the articles, colour of the newsletter, headings and subheadings, pictures for articles. She did it all. She did it happily. Because the fool loved her brainchild. She wrote the introduction, droodles, account of the celebrity interview, a column on Stocks and Economics, a poem, myriad articles, the editorial, book review, picture puzzles and all that bull. She ran from department to department, Internet lab to Principal’s office, forwarding articles, taking interviews, public opinions, permissions… She must’ve opened MS word a million times this fortnight.

The day before its release, she is walking home from the college, a group of people taking care of the printing, call and ask her to come up with an article, to fit in a column’s space. She runs home, switches her computer on, writes some bumper stickers that come to her mind, and mails them…..

The day of release: She is all excited; hoyden. The copies of 'Litmus' arrive. She asks a final year guy, she wants to see it. He tells her it’s a surprise. She gets to see it only after the Principal unveils the first copy. She waits…waits with anticipated confidence. Another final year guy makes a speech telling students about the making of 'Litmus'. There is not a whisper of her name. She’s shell shocked. The principal opens the first copy. She is not called on stage. She is appalled. She quivers. She makes for the antechamber. Those guys are barking something between themselves. She asks them a copy. They say she will get one when everybody else does. Derision! The guys go on to the stage when the editorial team is called, leaving her struck dumb. There is a copy of 'Litmus' on the table. She picks it up…She sees… ‘7’of her articles do not have her name. The editorial does not have her name. Offstage, onstage or in the paper, there aint a sputter of her name. She shudders. She cannot hold the copy; she leaves the assembly hall in dejection...

She blogs in melancholy...