Signs of well-being

Something Jillan Jeh said about chalk marks reminded me of my college days in Bangalore.

I used to regularly bunk classes (or be unceremoniously ejected from them) and started frequenting pool halls. I’d like to think that, along with my mates who introduced it to me I was responsible for starting a pool mania that swept through St Joseph’s College and contributed generously to the local economy.

One sure sign of having been playing pool is the chalk on your bridge (left) hand, and we’d vigourously rub the green stuff in so it’d stay on all day, thereby granting superior staus to us cool cats whenever we met other strays around town beacuse we’d stiffed it to the Establishment (in the form of Rev. Father Clarence D’Souza, (now there’s a name from the past!) a long-suffering gentleman).

We soon got to drinking dark rum neat as well, hoping the smell would carry on our breath in cleverly-staged conversations with peers, elevating us even higher up the hierarchical ladder.

My registration number (I am not a person, I am a Number!!) was 971299, but I was infamous to all lecturers and the anti-hero of many a staff room story as, simply, 99!

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