THE IMPERFECT DAY
(2025 version)
(Dedicated
to the Wolf Gang — for making every imperfect day unforgettable)
THE MORNING
“The
damn alarm... Who put it on?” I screamed.
My
mom shouted back from the kitchen, “The LPG cylinder is empty! You have to go
to the distributor’s office and register for a new one as early as possible, or
else you’ll be stuck in a long queue. And anyway, it’s already 7 a.m. — you
shouldn’t be sleeping after that in summer!”
After
breakfast, while I was getting ready, I asked my mom for ₹20.
She looked suspicious. “Why?”
I said, “If I meet with an accident on the way while registering, I’ll need it
to repair my cycle and buy a few band-aids.”
After that completely logical reply, she somehow gave me the money.
I
set out for my first destination of the day — the LPG distributor’s office.
From
there, I went to the Kalitala Boys Club, where I knew I’d find at least two or
three of my college friends. And I wasn’t disappointed. I saw Santanu and
Sugato deeply engrossed in a carrom match — a real nail-biter. Everyone in the
club was watching their game... except one person.
That
was Arnab — playing carrom with himself!
I
asked one of the guys, “Why is he playing alone?”
He said, “Arnab lost the last five matches to Sugato, so he’s trying to improve
his form.”
I
understood his trauma and didn’t disturb him. Arnab is a good poet — or at
least, he claims to be. He writes contemporary poems and has a degree in
Bengali literature. After graduation, he tried for SSC (School Service
Commission) but failed. Personally, I think the examiner who checked his answer
sheet just couldn’t understand his ‘talent’ (much like the rest of us — we
never understood his poetry either).
Once
in college, he recited one of his poems. I still remember a few words —
something like “pakhi ure jay... gacher pata jhore jay...” (the bird flies
away... the leaves fall...). Unfortunately, not a single listener could figure
out what he meant. Anyway, now he’s trying to improve his carrom skills
instead.
Finally,
the game between Sugato and Santanu ended — Sugato won.
I told them, “Let’s go to our old thek. Sayak and Saswata are waiting for us
there.”
Though
they both seemed keen for another game, I managed to drag them along.
Sugato said he wouldn’t join us because he had to visit his uncle in the
afternoon. Apparently, his uncle knew someone in a company who could arrange a
job for ₹5,000–6,000 a month.
I
smiled silently. I’d heard that same story from several cousins ever since I
graduated with History honours — none of whom have yet succeeded in convincing
me.
I
wished Sugato the best of luck and left the club with Santanu.
Now,
this guy Santanu — he’s brilliant. He graduated with first class in Geography
and is doing his master’s now. I’m sure he’ll get through SSC next year.
We
reached our thek half an hour earlier than usual, but Sayak and Saswata were
already there.
As
soon as Sayak saw me, he yelled, “It’s your turn today!”
“I
know! I’ll give the money, but someone else has to buy the cigarettes. My dad’s
standing right in front of the shop.”
Eventually,
Saswata went. He was the only one among us who actually had a job after
graduation — though he resigned after a month. Why? Because, as he said, he
wanted to “study more.” He’s now doing his M.Sc. in Physics.
The
time we spend at our thek is the best part of our daily lives. It’s where we
forget all our tensions — about jobs, futures, responsibilities — everything.
As
usual, we began by mocking the so-called “Employment News” — the newspaper
every unemployed guy reads religiously — and soon, our topic shifted.
“Do
you know,” I said, “I saw Rituparna — the most beautiful girl from our college
— talking to Santosh!”
That
was it. Our discussion turned instantly to Rituparna.
After
a while, we paid our regular “visit” to the share market (with empty pockets,
of course), under the expert guidance of Saswata.
About
an hour later, we saw Tanay and his friend Tarapada rushing toward us. Tanay
teaches at a primary school, and Tarapada is an actor — he appears in Bengali
TV serials. They’re the only members of our group (which we named Wolf — don’t
ask why; we just liked it) who actually earn money.
Tarapada,
the richest among us, even has a mobile phone. He always carries it in his hand
like a trophy.
As
soon as he reached us, he started shouting, “Friends, we have to do something
about it! We can’t tolerate this anymore!”
We
all screamed together, “What the hell happened?”
Tanay
explained, “Guys, you know Diptanshu, right?”
We groaned, “Yes… that idiot!”
Tanay
continued, “That guy proposed to Ananya. And when she refused, he threatened
her!”
Ananya
Banerjee — the girlfriend of our close friend Sabyasachi — was the last person
that psycho should’ve messed with.
Saby
was in the hospital, recovering from a broken leg, and Diptanshu clearly
thought it was a golden opportunity.
I
said, “We have to teach him a lesson again — like last time.”
Sayak
yelled, “Come on, guys, let’s go kick his ass!”
Without
hesitation, we unlocked our cycles and rode straight to Diptanshu’s house.
When
we reached, his brother was standing at the door.
“Call your brother,” Tanay said.
“He’s
studying,” the brother replied.
Saswata
snapped, “If he doesn’t come out, we’re going in.”
Then
suddenly, Diptanshu appeared and shouted, “What the hell is this?”
No
one was in the mood to answer politely. Tanay said calmly, “Come outside. We
just want a few words.”
He
said, “Say it here.”
Sayak
replied, “We can, but I don’t think your parents would enjoy listening.”
Without
another word, Diptanshu stepped outside and walked with us to the roadside.
Five
minutes later, our “talk” was over — and we started punching and kicking him.
He
was stronger than any one of us individually, but united, we turned him into
pulp.
We
kept hitting until we were out of breath.
Just
then, a bike screeched to a stop.
It
was Anindya — the most irritating guy we knew. He shouted, “You idiots! Don’t
you have anything better to do than fight on the road? Try to do something good
in life!”
We
were still pumped with adrenaline, and Saswata handled it this time. He stepped
forward and punched Anindya straight in the face.
Totally
unprepared, Anindya fell — along with his bike. For a moment, there was total
silence. Then he started crying.
That
threw us off completely.
We
forgot all about Diptanshu and rushed to help him up. While we were busy with
Anindya, Diptanshu ran back home — not that we cared anymore.
Anindya
was hurt but not seriously. Santanu said, “We should take him to the hospital.
If we leave him here, it’ll be bad for him — and worse for us if he reports it
later.”
So,
reluctantly, we agreed.
We
carried him — Saswata had him seated on the front bar of his cycle — and headed
toward the hospital where Sabyasachi was admitted.
Tarapada
locked his own cycle and rode Anindya’s bike instead.
The
whole way, Anindya kept sobbing until Saswata threatened, “Stop crying, or I’ll
hit you again.”
That
worked.
At
the hospital, we handed him over to the doctors. Tarapada slipped the bike keys
into his pocket and said, “Don’t lecture people while riding a bike — it can be
hazardous to your health.”
The
doctor checked him and said no bones were broken — just minor bruises. They’d
release him in the evening.
We
were honestly disappointed — we thought the bike had at least broken three or
four bones!
Santanu
said, “Let’s go see Sabyasachi.”
Everyone
agreed.
We
went to the second floor, only to find his bed empty.
A
nurse said, “That guy with the broken ankle? He was discharged this morning.
He’s fine now.”
That
news made our day.
While
returning, we couldn’t stop laughing about how we’d “successfully” beaten up
Diptanshu.
Then
I checked my watch — “Oh no, it’s 1 p.m.! I have to get home before Dad
reaches!”
Sayak
said, “Let’s have a smoke first.”
I
refused. I knew if I got home after Dad, he’d interrogate me for hours — where
I was, what I was doing, why I exist, etc.
So I
said a quick goodbye and pedalled home at full speed.
THE AFTERNOON
“Thank
God,” I sighed when I saw that my dad wasn’t home.
But
before I could relax, Mom started yelling.
“Where have you been since morning, after finishing your work?”
“I
went to the hospital to see my friend,” I said.
She
shot back, “You mean to say you spent four hours in the hospital? Don’t lie to
me! Let your father come — I’m going to tell him everything.”
I
replied, “Do whatever you want, just don’t bother me.”
Once,
I’d read a quote in a book — ‘The child shows the man as morning shows the
day.’
But clearly, whoever wrote that hadn’t seen a day like mine. He must’ve meant
his morning, not everyone else’s.
So I
started preparing myself mentally for the upcoming Kurukshetra.
Dad
returned home after fifteen minutes.
During lunch, Mom began her report: “Your jobless son left home before 9 a.m.
and came back after 1 p.m.”
I
immediately protested, “It was 9:15 when I left — not before 9! Please get your
figures right before complaining.”
Dad
glared at me and said, “I don’t care when you go out or come back. The only
figure that matters is your 59% in History Honours — and since then, you’ve
been sitting idle, doing nothing! Look at your friends — Avijeet, Niladri —
they’re all earning now. And you? You waste time fooling around with those
useless boys. When you’re hungry, will they feed you?”
He
went on — the same blah blah blah — part of his daily (or weekly) routine
sermon.
After
lunch, I quietly went to bed.
Sometimes,
I do think Dad is right. I should do something.
Once
in a while, I even feel inspired to start preparing for PSC or other government
exams — but a few days later, the motivation vanishes like smoke.
Still,
this time I told myself, “No excuses. From tomorrow, I’ll seriously start
preparing for government services.”
Whether
I actually would or not — well, that was a mystery for the next morning to
solve.
THE EVENING
I
woke up at 4:30 p.m.
The
first thing Mom said was, “I gave you twenty rupees in the morning. What did
you do with it?”
Without
missing a beat, I replied, “I bought a 500 ml bottle of Thums Up and drank it.”
After
that, no further questions were asked.
I
saw Dad getting ready to leave for his dispensary, and once he left, I started
preparing for my evening thek.
“Come
back early!” Mom said as I stepped out.
“I will,” I promised — though we both knew that was a lie.
When
I reached the thek, I saw only Arnab there.
“Hey,”
he called out, “I heard you guys beat up Diptanshu today? Tell me everything!”
Honestly,
I was more interested in hearing his story — the one about how he lost five
consecutive carrom matches to Sugato — but I knew better than to say that. If I
did, he might treat me the same way we treated Diptanshu! So, I told him the
whole story briefly.
Soon,
everyone else arrived — including Sabyasachi and Sugato.
I
noticed Tarapada carrying a side bag.
“Why the bag?” I asked.
“It’s empty,” he replied. “It belongs to my friend Dipayan. I borrowed it last
week and have to return it tonight. He’s got an interview tomorrow.”
Then
the conversation turned back to the day’s adventures.
Sayak exploded, “That idiot Anindya ruined half our fun today.”
Sabyasachi,
still limping a bit from his accident, shouted, “If that Diptanshu proposes to
Ananya again, I’ll kill him!”
Santanu
said calmly, “Cool down, yaar. You don’t need to do anything alone — we’re
always with you.”
Saby
nodded. “I know that, but how could he dare? He knows everything about me and
Ananya!”
“That’s
why we call him psycho,” I said.
Then,
turning to Sugato, I asked, “So, did you get the job?”
He
snapped, “Do I look like someone who just got a job?”
I
replied, “I don’t know, maybe.”
He
sighed, “That damn guy told my uncle that if I pay him fifty thousand rupees,
only then he’ll get me the job!”
Arnab
chuckled, “Wake up from your dreams, man — this is real life.”
“I know,” grumbled Sugato.
Just
then, I shouted, “Look!” and pointed towards the road.
“I think that’s Santosh and Rituparna!”
Everyone
turned. Sure enough — it was them.
Tanay
said, eyes wide, “Guys, I can’t believe my eyes. Rituparna… with Santosh
Bhakat??”
We
all stared. The two were walking side by side, talking and laughing. Santosh,
the most serious and quiet guy we knew — and he had managed to take Rituparna
out! Unbelievable.
Sayak
grinned. “See, guys? The universe just gave us a new chance for fun!”
Tanay
frowned. “No, no. Santosh is a serious type. If we tease him, he’ll take it the
wrong way.”
“Then
give me an idea that doesn’t hurt him,” said Sayak. “We can’t just let this
golden opportunity go.”
I
smirked. “I have an idea.”
A
few minutes later, we were following the couple. They didn’t notice us.
Suddenly, we all shouted together —
“Hey Bhoooooookaaaaaa! What the hell are you doing?”
The
way they jumped — priceless. Their speed doubled instantly.
We
burst out laughing.
Back
at the thek, we were still laughing about their reaction.
“I
still can’t believe how he managed to take her out,” said Saswata.
“None of us can,” added Sabyasachi.
We
then drifted into our usual movie and gossip session until I said, “Guys, I
have a plan for tonight.”
Sayak
perked up. “Tell us.”
“What about a movie at Tarapada’s place?” I suggested.
“Which
one?” asked Arnab.
“Any one. We’ll check Samar’s CD parlour,” I replied.
Saswata
said, “Can’t join tonight, need to head home early.”
Sayak added, “I’m not in a movie mood either. Let’s do something else.”
“Okay
then,” I said, “I’ve got another plan.”
Sabyasachi
asked, “Now what?”
“I
think we’re missing something in life,” I said.
Arnab smirked, “A job?”
“No!”
I replied. “I mean, yes, but not that. I’m talking about true love!”
“Are
you out of your mind?” said Saswata.
“I’m
serious. After seeing Santosh and Rituparna today, I’m sure we all need a girl
in our lives,” I insisted.
“Why?”
asked Sayak. “We’re doing fine as we are.”
“Because,”
I said, “we’re all frustrated — some of us jobless, some tired of exams. But
don’t you think we need someone who’ll be there through thick and thin — who’ll
console us in pain, be happy in our joy, and stand by us always? That’s true
love.”
Sugato
nodded. “Agreed. We need girlfriends.”
Sayak
laughed. “So what’s the plan? Where do we find this ‘true love’?”
“Simple,”
I said. “The girls’ hostel of our ex-college.”
Everyone
burst out laughing — but within five minutes, they were all in.
We
went straight to Samar’s CD parlour first. His brother was sitting at the
counter.
“Where’s
Samar?” asked Sayak.
“He
and Rajdeep-da went upstairs ten minutes ago,” came the reply.
We
immediately understood what that meant. Upstairs was a small storeroom — their
favourite secret spot for drinking and smoking up.
We
climbed the stairs and knocked on the closed door. Rajdeep opened it, eyes
half-glazed but cheerful. “Hey guys! What’s up? Come in!”
Two
empty whisky bottles were already on the table.
I
explained our new “operation girlfriend” idea.
Rajdeep
burst out laughing. “Good idea, but I can’t call Aditi now. I’m drunk — she’ll
kill me if she realises.”
Then
Samar added, “Hang on, yaar. Let’s have some rum first, then we’ll think about
it.”
None
of us really wanted to drink, but when those two insisted, we caved.
I
worried that Mom would smell the alcohol when I returned, so I made a mental
note to buy a few Centre Fresh later.
Soon,
the glasses were filled. Everyone took 3–4 pegs. Samar always kept a good stock
— he was our unofficial alcohol supplier since college.
We
started reminiscing about our college days — truly the golden time of our
lives. Each of us had our own version of “fun” back then.
By
the time the bottles were empty and we’d rolled some grass, we were, let’s say,
well motivated.
Then
Saswata suddenly declared, “Now let’s go to the girls’ hostel!”
Sugato
asked, “Rajdeep, Samar — are you guys coming?”
Rajdeep
groaned, “I can’t even stand properly.”
Saswata,
slurring slightly, said, “We don’t need to stand properly, we’ll go by cycle!”
Rajdeep
laughed, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Samar
stood up. “Okay, I’ll come. Let Rajdeep stay. He looks like a potato right now
anyway.”
We
all agreed. Samar was famous for holding his liquor like a champ. Even after
six pegs, he behaved like a saint — that’s why in college we called him “The
Alcohol Tank.”
So,
with Samar as our new recruit, we set off for the girls’ hostel — seven idiots
on cycles, wobbling slightly but full of confidence.
My
head was spinning a bit, but I kept pedalling. On the way, Saswata said, “We’ll
need a new plan now that Rajdeep isn’t with us. We can’t call Aditi.”
Sayak
said, “We’ll plan once we reach there.”
Suddenly
— crash!
Arnab
and Santanu had collided and were sprawled in the middle of the road.
Santanu
yelled, “Arnab, you shouldn’t drink if you can’t control yourself!”
Arnab shouted back, “I am in control! Maybe you’re blind!”
Sayak
sighed, “Alright drama queens, enough. Let’s move.”
We
got back on our cycles and pedalled on.
When
we finally reached the hostel, we noticed several couples sitting in the nearby
boxing ring — the unofficial lovers’ spot of the campus.
“I’ve
never seen anyone box there,” I muttered. “Only love matches.”
“Okay,
now what?” asked Saswata.
I
said, “We’ll call Aditi and tell her we’re Rajdeep’s friends. Then we’ll ask
her to bring out a few of her friends for us.”
Tanay
stared at me. “Are you mad? She doesn’t even know us! Why would she help random
guys like us? What will we tell her — that we came searching for love?”
“Fair
point,” I admitted.
Thankfully,
Samar jumped in. “No worries, friends. I know someone here — Moumita, a junior
student. She’ll help us.”
He
walked up to the hostel gate and told the guard, “Please call Moumita.”
Within
minutes, a girl came out. Samar introduced us and explained our noble mission.
Moumita
laughed uncontrollably for two full minutes.
When
she finally stopped, I asked, “Why are you laughing?”
“Nothing,”
she said. “So what exactly do you want me to do? Call a few girls so you can
propose to them?”
Her
tone irritated me, but I stayed polite.
Sayak
replied, “Yes, that’s exactly what we want.”
“Do
you even know any of them?” she asked.
Sayak
said, “No.”
“Then
what are you planning to say when they come out?” she smirked.
I
was getting irritated, so I replied dramatically, “Do you believe in love at
first sight? I fell in love with you the moment I saw you walking towards us.
Please accept me as your boyfriend and be my emotional support in this cruel
world.”
Her
expression was priceless — part confusion, part disbelief.
“Okay,”
she said finally, “I’ll try to call some girls for you.”
She
mumbled something else too, but by then I was too dizzy to hear.
“Are
you really going to say that to a girl?” asked Saswata.
“Of course not,” I replied. “That was just practice dialogue.”
We
waited. Ten minutes passed. No one came.
“Let’s
sit in the boxing ring,” suggested Tanay. “At least there’s shade.”
We
sat near a couple who promptly sniffed the air, realised we were drunk, and
immediately relocated to the other side. We didn’t care.
Another
ten minutes went by. Finally, Moumita returned — alone.
“I
tried, but no one wants to come,” she said.
Sayak
protested, “Why not? We’re good guys, not roadside Romeos!”
Right
on cue, Santanu, who had downed six pegs, slurred loudly, “Yesss… we’re gooood
boys!”
Arnab
followed, “We neeeever touched any girrrl in our liiife!”
They
were officially out of control.
Moumita
probably caught the smell of whisky and realised the truth. “Okay, my job here
is done. I have a test tomorrow.” And before we could say anything, she
disappeared inside.
“Well,”
said Saswata, “so much for your ‘foolproof’ plan.”
“Hey,
whisky wasn’t part of my plan,” I said defensively.
“Now
what?” asked Sayak. “Back to the thek?”
“No,
wait,” said Sugato. “I have a new plan.”
Arnab
groaned, “No more plans, please. I’m going home.”
I
laughed, “Home? What are you going to tell your mom — ‘Mummyyyy open the
doorrrr, I’m baaackk’? You’re in no condition to go home!”
Arnab
stayed quiet.
“Anyway,”
said Sugato, “listen. We’ve already waited half an hour — let’s stay another
thirty minutes. We’ll sit here and whenever we see any girls coming in or going
out, we’ll talk to them.”
“That’s
actually a decent plan,” said Sayak.
“But
what about the alcohol smell?” I reminded him.
“We’ll
talk from a safe distance,” said Sugato. “And Santanu, Arnab — you two stay
here. You’re already half dead.”
“Fine,”
said Santanu. “We’ll watch and laugh while you guys flirt.”
“Perfect,”
said Sugato. “If we’re successful, we’ll bring them back here for a group
chat.”
We
waited. Ten minutes later, three girls appeared near the gate.
“Targets
incoming,” I whispered.
“So
who’s going?” asked Saswata.
“It’s
Sugato’s plan — he should go,” I said.
All
heads turned toward him.
“I’ve
never spoken to girls,” he stammered. “I’ll get nervous! Tarapada should go
instead.”
Everyone
agreed instantly.
“Fine,”
said Tarapada, “but I’m not going alone. Subhro, you’re coming.”
“Okay,”
I said.
We
walked toward the girls. “Excuse me,” I said politely, “do you mind if we take
a few minutes of your time?”
They
looked startled — two random guys in front of the hostel at 8 p.m. wasn’t
exactly normal.
“Can
you spare five minutes?” asked Tarapada.
One
of the girls — the pretty one — looked at my friend’s side bag suspiciously.
Another said, “What are you selling?”
“What?!
We’re not salesmen!” I said, half laughing, half offended.
“Yes,
yes,” said the beautiful one with a teasing smile, “every salesman says that
first!”
She
laughed — and honestly, she looked like an angel when she did.
But
now I was annoyed — all thanks to Tarapada’s stupid bag, which made us look
like door-to-door salesmen.
“Listen,”
I said, “we’re not selling anything. We just want to be friends.”
“We
don’t know you,” she said. “We don’t make friends with strangers.”
“Every
friend was a stranger once,” I countered smartly.
Another
girl snapped, “Don’t you understand? We’re not interested!”
“What’s
the harm in friendship?” insisted Tarapada.
“How
many times must we tell you — we don’t befriend drunken roadside Romeos!” she
shouted.
Uh
oh. They’d smelled it.
“None
of us is a roadside Romeo!” I protested. “What do you think of yourselves—”
Before
I could finish, Sayak (the master of bad timing) appeared and shouted, “Who the
hell are you, you bloody—!”
And
that was it.
The
girls screamed, “Guards! Guards!”
Two
hostel guards started running toward us.
We
didn’t wait. We sprinted — full speed — straight to the boxing ring.
One
look back, and I saw the guards questioning the girls, one of them pointing
right at us.
Our
so-called foolproof plan had officially crashed and burned.
We
ran for our lives — cycles flying, hearts pounding, lungs on fire.
When
we finally stopped at the main road, Santanu gasped, “Never again. Never in my
life am I going near that hostel.”
Arnab
added, “If those guards had caught us, we’d have been on tomorrow’s front page
— ‘Local boys caught misbehaving near hostel!’”
Everyone
burst out laughing again. The tension slowly turned into amusement.
“Okay,
mission failed,” said Sayak, “but at least we tried!”
Saswata
sighed. “Tried? We almost went to jail for this ‘try!’”
Sabyasachi
shook his head. “Forget it, guys. Let’s do something sane — like eat.”
“Perfect
idea,” said Tarapada. “I know a tea stall nearby.”
We
parked our cycles and sat down at a stall beside the main road. The tea tasted
divine after all the madness.
Tanay
said, “This is exactly why we’ll never grow up.”
Arnab
replied, “Why should we? Adults are boring.”
We
laughed, clinked our tea glasses, and ordered another round.
After
finishing, we each went our separate ways. On the way back, I stopped at a
shop, bought three Centre Fresh, and popped all of them at once — just to be
safe.
By
the time I reached home, it was 9:30 p.m. The door was locked from the inside.
I
knocked.
Mom
opened the door, looking furious. “You promised you’d be back early!”
“I
lost track of time,” I said, walking in.
“Have
you been drinking?” she asked, sniffing suspiciously.
I
prayed silently. “Of course not!” I said quickly. “Do you really think I’d do
that?”
She
looked unconvinced but didn’t push it. “Go wash up and have dinner.”
I
nodded, relieved.
Dinner
was quiet. Dad hadn’t returned from the dispensary yet, which was a blessing.
After
eating, I went to my room, lay down, and laughed softly to myself.
The
day had started with an LPG cylinder and ended with a police-worthy escape from
a girls’ hostel.
If
that’s not an “imperfect day,” I don’t know what is.
THE NIGHT
“Look
at the time! Where have you been?” Mom shouted the moment I stepped in.
“Don’t tell me again that you went to the hospital to see your friend, like you
said this morning!”
I
didn’t reply. Silence was safer.
When
Dad came home, she wasted no time. “He’s late again,” she complained.
Dad
sighed. “I don’t care. Let him do what he wants. He’ll be the one to suffer in
the future.”
He
said a few more things, but honestly, I wasn’t listening anymore. My head was
heavy — not from the whisky, but from thoughts.
Even
at the dinner table, neither Dad nor I said a word. The only sound was the
clinking of spoons against steel plates.
After
dinner, I didn’t even switch on the TV. I just went to my room, sat on the bed,
and let my thoughts run wild.
Rituparna
had rejected Santosh because he didn’t have a job. For the first time, I
realized how brutal life can be.
Does a job really buy love?
Is it true that the world only respects you when you’re earning?
Maybe
it is.
Tonight,
I saw it clearly — unemployed people like us are unwanted everywhere. In our
homes, in society, even among friends. We don’t have “value” unless we’re
successful — and “success” apparently means a steady salary.
I
had never seen life this way before.
And
those girls at the hostel — they called us “roadside Romeos.” The lesson? If
someone ever calls you that, just start running. Because the next thing they’ll
call is the guard… or the police.
Compared
to Santosh, our situation was even worse. At least he was trying — giving
interviews, facing rejection, still hoping.
We weren’t even trying. Especially me.
Maybe
someday, someone like me will end up taking the same path Santosh did — unless
I finally start doing something. Maybe from tomorrow. Yes… from tomorrow.
I
lay down but couldn’t sleep. Thoughts kept pounding in my head. So, I picked up
my notebook and started writing everything down — the story of how we wasted
this day. I thought it might help me clear my mind.
And
it did, a little. Writing about our imperfections somehow made them feel less
heavy.
But
there was still one thing bothering me — something I couldn’t shake off.
Finally,
I gave up trying to sleep. I grabbed my phone and called Saswata.
It
was 11:15 p.m.
“Hello?”
came his sleepy voice.
“Saswata,
it’s me,” I said. “I’m in big trouble.”
He
yawned. “What happened? You ran away from home?”
“Worse,”
I said. “I think I’ve fallen in love with Anindya’s sister — Susmita.”
There
was a pause. Then Saswata practically screamed, “What?! Nooo… not again!”
I
laughed quietly, staring at the ceiling fan. “I’m serious, yaar. I even have a
plan.”
But
before I could tell him, he cut the call.
I
smiled to myself. Another imperfect ending to an imperfect day.
ABOUT US
All
the characters you’ve just read about were the 2005 alumni of Bengal
Engineering and Science University, Shibpur, Kolkata, and once lived together
on the 2nd Floor, Oval Wing, Wolfenden Hall.
N.B.
All
the female characters are purely fictitious (hey, don’t get upset about this —
let some truths stay hidden 😄).
And
yes, we’re human beings… so even after all this editing, there may still be a
few small errors left. But that’s okay — after all, it’s called “The Imperfect
Day.”
Afterthoughts
Looking back after two decades, The
Imperfect Day feels like a time capsule — a chaotic, funny, and honest
reflection of our youth. It reminds me of simpler days filled with wild plans,
endless adda, and the kind of friendships that made every mistake worth
remembering.
We were imperfect — but perfectly ourselves. And maybe that’s what really
mattered.
