Last 2 years at school

But though Dickens did not show this in Great Expectations, human emotions cannot last very long and back to the same school in standard 11, I happily settled down with my friends again. Fancy boarding school or not, I had college to look forward to. We spent class hours passing notes, worried over the future prospects after every dismal test result, talked over the phone for hours, dated somebody for a while, broke all rules, and rebelled against the system- u know; normal teenage stuff. Final year at school started soon and passed even sooner. Delhi University was where I was going and St. Stephens College was where I would study English to become a journalist. It was all decided and the world conspiring together couldn't change it. My friends were obviously coming with me, and Soni, Aaku, Syapa Singh and I had everything chalked out. The type of flat we would rent, who would cook on which days, how we would divide the other chores- it was all planned and decided.
Board exams came. My invigilator, a dear old paranoid piece of hanging skin put his frail arm up to block the entrance of the examination hall as I walked in. He pointed at the white powder in a plastic box and the strange instrument I was carrying with me and gestured for me to leave it outside. I tried explaining to him the life-saving status that the glucose and glucometer held in my world and when he wasn’t convinced, I asked him to write and sign a letter stating that he would take full responsibility if I were to drop into a coma during the middle of the exam due to low blood sugar and that he would finish my exam and ensure I get a 90 per cent plus. The old skin was not amused and after making me stand on one side while he consulted our school teacher, he finally let me take the exam.
The give-in-writing technique really works. I have used it for carrying sasta alcohol inside a disc and for carrying aloo paranthas inside a PVR in Delhi. With pickle.
Back to school, the exams flew by without any serious diabetes incident. Before I could say “school is almost over”, school was over. We cried and got sentimental at everything. We filled in slam books and signed each other’s t-shirts. Results were declared and I was sure I would get through Stephens. It was all going by the plan. I was 18, about to begin college, looking forward to being on my own with close friends and away from home and parents to grow out of the protective shell and learn who I really was.

Who was I kidding?