Mixed Bag

Unholi
They pounded on the door once. They pounded again. But I did not lift my head off the borrowed newspaper I was reading on my bed. They passed to the next door. I remained uncoloured.
It was my original design to lock myself up in my chamber till matters outside returned to normal, but my cousin cellphoned me to say that he was in the campus, and we decided to meet at the gigamess. I had to but venture out.
And what a sight it was! The quadrangle was thick with extra-terrestrials, three-fourths naked, raising a huge hue and cry, dancing to the loudspeaker, spraying coloured powder and howling on voicetops. Here was irrefutable evidence to the Second Law of Thermodynamics. The general air of the place beat that of a bunch of chimpanzees released after a month-long sentence in unlit cages. {Afterwards in the evening as one surveyed the tract one couldn't help feeling that King Ashoka would have easily mistaken the quadrangle for a battlefield of bloodshed and take to Buddhism then and there.} I timed my walk through the dividing path cunningly and came out of the hostel unscathed. The return to my room, though, was not as successful. At the reception zone milled out a syndicate of shirtless gentlemen covered in colour from heel to hair. Not a square inch of their skins was spared. I noticed that one of the shapes was moving myward. With some careful observation I divined, through the powder mask, that it was Shakila (or Pradeep, as his kin might prefer to call him).
I put up the hand.
'You are not gonna do--'
'Just one, just one...'
And he rubbed a maroon thumb up my forehead. My Holi was complete.
The platoon marched on to paint the town red.
Later in the morning I posted my father an sms: 'Parents of IIT-ians send their children to this institute in the hope that they come out with flying colours. Today their sons and daughters lived upto their expectations.' He texted back: 'I holi agree with you my son!'
As is my wont on days of thrill and adrenaline, I visited the restroom in the middle of the day. Done with the routine, I came to the handwash and unscrewed the tap. It was dry as a bell, emitting a reluctant sound like the groan of a teenaged lad in bed when woken up on a Sunday morning. The inmates of the zoo, for zoo was what the hostel was transformed to that beastly day, had sucked out the finalmost droplet from the water tank via a hose for revelry services.
It was then that I contrived to make history. Bag fastened to back, towel folded and pressed against bosom (beneath tee shirt), a cake of Johnson's Baby Soap in one trouser pocket, favourite underwear in another, I set out to become the first person to take bath in the Central Library. But my lofty aspirations ran aground as quickly as they were conceived. Even as I was injecting the key into the slot of the lock with the precision of a trained marksman and turning it tight, I fancied I heard a familiar hiss from the direction of the bathroom, not unlike the streaming of water out of a faucet. My former room partner was in my midst.
'Have they let in water again?', I inquired, not knowing whether I should feel glad or sad if he answered in the positive.
'Yes.'
Mission aborted.

Srinand's answer to my question 'Why do they celebrate Holi? What is the funda behind it? Holi ke peeche kya hai?': 'Every year to celebrate their low IQ, North Indians get together, have baangh, booze and act as if they have no IQ. That day is called Holi.'
My entries in his sms slam bookName: Ostrich Egg.
DoB: Yet to hatch.
Luv doing what: Cutting nails, swallowing lightbulbs, collecting pencil shavings, drinking mercury, etc.
Can't liv without: Magaa, this is an indecent question.
I am to u: Friend, philosopher and bride. I mean, friend, philosopher and best man at your wedding.
Best frn(s): Of course you. Er, have 100 bucks?
Latest crush: Stepped on a blood-gorged leech in the morning.
Words 4 me: Go boil your head and burn your pants.

Myself, in spite of knowing that the jest would be lost on my father, when Srinand and I entered my house: 'Hi. I'm back with a Bang.'