To Serve in Hell

Residing in a hostel has taken a heavy toll on my capability of rabid sarcasm, especially because I am surrounded by gentle people of the genteel class. Having been brought up in a rough and tough environment where every word you uttered was subjected to intense scrutiny as if you were undergoing training for diplomatic service, it is very difficult to suppress the smile that appears on your face as the innocent people around you speak unknowingly of the meanings you glean out of those pearls of 'wisdom'.

So I find myself among little angels and slightly mischievous angels, and I, being a devil's advocate, find that I cannot really relish my company. It is always straight talk, not the intellectual tomfoolery of words I indulge in. A little solace is obtained during one of the History classes but otherwise, life has become a barren land; a picture in black and white in straight lines with no scope for even a shade of grey.

It is not the food that I miss. The milk here conforms to the Agmark and ISI standards, and the diet is balanced, and to my taste. But I feel starved of the sense of comraderie I used to feel at my home, my school and in my college; those endless discussions about topics which verged on absurdity, those statements which were the results of fleeting instances of brilliant insanity - all good old memories which help me survive in this desert of goodness and regularity.

The person who said that it was better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven was clearly exaggerating it. That statement shows lack of experience in succumbing to temptations, especially the intellectual ones. He should have known.