[56520] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
FHA Insured Reverse Mortgage Programs - UPDATED for 2015
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (ReverseMortgage)
Mon Oct 12 12:59:43 2015
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 2015 12:59:42 -0400
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: ReverseMortgage <reversemortgage@golfswn.win>
Reply-to: ReverseMortgage <reversemortgage@golfswn.win>
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ou said “deti hai to de, varna kat le”. Does that sound like being
close?’
‘It’s my useless friends, they provoked me. They said, sleep with
her or else she’ll never be yours.’
‘You discussed this with your friends first?’
‘Not everything but...'
‘But stuff like “let me go fuck her today”.’
Before I could respond she raised a hand to silence me.‘I’m going
to say something now. Listen carefully. Okay?’ she said, her voice
shaky as she tried to maintain her composure.
‘Sure.’
‘One, don’t ever try to talk to me. Two, we are not friends
anymore. I have promised my triends and myself I will choose my
friends carefully. Three, stop hounding me, it’s disturbing. I don’t
want to tell my parents or the college authorities.’
‘Riya...’
'Please go now,' she said and folded her hands, as if pleading with
me.
I took one last look at her-her beautiful but angry and sad face, the
long hair I had stroked, the lips I had kissed once - and turned around.
I heard the sound of her footsteps get fainter as she walked away.
12
Six months later
After my break-up, or half-break-up, with Riya, my personality
changed. People in college started to call me SSS, or the Silent Saint of
Stephen’s. I attended every class and sat in the front row. I took notes
like a court stenographer. I never asked the professor any questions. I
would sit with my friends in the residences but not contribute to the
conversation. Initially, they tried to cheer me up. They gave me copies
of Playboy and arranged booze parties to help me get over Riya.
However, just like their earlier advice, their break-up cures were
useless too. The only thing that helped somewhat was basketball.
Every time I thought of her, I hit the court. Three hours of dribbling
and shooting temporarily cured my heartache, if only because it left me
physically exhausted. Frankly, I went to the courts in the hope she
would come to practice. She never did. Perhaps her father had built
her a court in the backyard of 100, Aurangzeb Road.
Sometimes I lurked in the college corridors, waiting for her class t
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