Scene: 7 p.m., my room, time for my Physics tuition and my Physics/Chemistry tutor is making notes of Magnetic Effects of Electric Current in my register. A little context here- he makes notes of a particular topic and then explains it to me. He’s also a Reiki healer, an astrologer, a numerologist and a tarot reader. Science+Pseudoscience= What the hell.
My Brain: Why doesn’t he hurry up? It’s been a minute already. I’m bored.
Me: I know. Me too. *Drums fingers on table*
My Brain: You should stop doing that. It’s rude and obnoxious, not to mention monotonous.
Me: Maybe I should drum the Doctor Who theme, then. Much more entertaining.
My Brain: You know what else would be entertaining? Telling him what a load of bullcrap his astrology is.
Me: Because that’s not rude and obnoxious.
My Brain: I have an idea. Let’s tell him we don’t believe in his pseudoscience crap and then whack him upside the head with that helmet of his to avoid the awkwardness.
Me: And then I should draw a pentagram around his unconscious body and deliver him unto Lucifer, no?
My Brain: Aren’t you even a little ashamed of yourself? I can’t believe you watch Supernatural and still don’t know that that’s not how you summon Lucy.
My Brain: There are some candles kept in Grandpa’s drawer. And I bet we could find some spray paint at the local stationery shop. His bike keys are right in front of you, and so his jugular. Just sayin’.
Me (horrified): You are a psychopath.
My Brain: I’m not a psychopath, I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.
Me: I have, and I’m pretty sure that qualifies as psychopathic and not high-functioning sociopathic.
My Brain: Can you not let me have my Sherlock moment in peace?
Me: If you’re Sherlock, then I’m Sachin Tendulkar.
My Brain: Hello, Sachin Tendulkar. Pleased to meet you, sir. Big fan.
Me: You don’t even like cricket.
My Brain: Is that what you’d say if you met Sachin Tendulkar?
Me: As if I’ll ever get to meet Sachin Tendulkar.
My Brain: What part of ‘if’ escapes your understanding?
Me: It might be the ‘i’, but I think it’s probably the ‘f’.
My Brain: I don’t give an f.
Me: Then why did you ask me?
My Brain: To show you that contrary to your belief, I can sass people.
Me: Aww. Look at you, my sweet ol’ Wrinkles, trying to impress me.
My Brain: I wasn’t- *sighs* -forget it. Whatever gives you a good night’s sleep.
Me: Don’t you dare talk about a good night’s sleep. You’re the one that sings ‘Carry on my wayward son’ at one in the morning.
My Brain: It’s a good song.
Me: Not 50 times in a row.
My Brain: You kept count?
Me: I believe there’s a thing called estimation?
My Brain: Something which Physics uses a lot. You remember when we did Vectors? At what angle should you hold your umbrella so you don’t get wet?
Me: I know. It doesn’t count in the effects of wind and such. Not to mention that you’d probably get wet before you figured out your angle.
My Brain: And also the odd lightning strike. Or maybe a murderer who hates the rain and slits your throat from behind while you’re doing Vectors in your head. No angle could keep you dry then, could it?
Me: Oh god.
My Brain: Yes, I’ve been told the resemblance is startling.
Me: Why do you always have to think of the most morbid and tragic outcomes?
My Brain: I agree. It is tragic, for your dying thought to be v-sine-theta.
Me (ignoring Wrinkles and glancing at the register): What’s taking him so long? What’s that, Biot-Savart’s law? I don’t understand what use these laws are of in real life. This one literally says BS law.
My Brain: Oh, look. Anisha made a funny.
Me: ‘Funny’ is not a noun.
My Brain: It’s all about context, my lass.
Me: Nobody says ‘lass’.
My Brain: Because it rhymes with ‘ass’?
Me: Not if you’re British.
My Brain: Then it rhymes with ‘arse’.
Me: Nobody says ‘lass’ because it’s an old-fashioned word, not because it rhymes with butt’s synonyms.
My Brain: You don’t necessarily know that.
Me: I do. People say ‘class’ all the time. Well, maybe not all the time, but it’s a commonly used word.
My Brain: I thought you were all about not being part of the herd.
Me: I still am. This doesn’t count as herd mentality.
My Brain: Oh, it does. I think I’ll start a revolution to remove the stigma around some words.
Me: There’s no ‘stigma’-
My Brain: FREE THE WORD ‘LASS’! AND OTHER SO-CALLED OLD-FASHIONED WORDS, FOR THAT MATTER! BECAUSE BEING INCLUSIVE IS IMPORTANT!
Me: Why’re you shouting?
My Brain: Because I’m a revolutionary.
Me: Shouting isn’t revolutionary behaviour.
My Brain: How else would people listen to what I have to say?
Me: Nobody can hear you anyway. Except me.
My Brain: Oh yeah, right. I’m so overwhelmed by my own brilliance sometimes, I tend to forget that I’m stuck inside such an incompetent being as you.
Me: If you’re brilliant and I’m incompetent, as you claim, that would cause a paradox. I’m you and you’re me, after all, and no one can be brilliant and incompetent at the same time.
My Brain: Quantum physics says that elementary particles can be in two states at the same time.
Me: You’re not an elementary particle.
My Brain: Elementary, my dear Watson.
Me: Wasn’t I Sachin Tendulkar two minutes ago?
My Brain (philosophically): No one is the same person now that they were two minutes ago, my deer.
Me: That’s not how you spell ‘dear’ in this context.
My Brain: I’m talking. How can you know what spelling I mean?
Me: Well, duh.
My Brain: Duh indeed. It’s a fascinating slang term- I mean to read up on its origins. Where did it come from? Is it a shortened version of ‘dumb’? Or is it a deeper, more meaningful origin?
Me: I have better things to do, Wrinkles, so I’m not gonna research the origins of ‘duh’. And by the way, it doesn’t make you sound intelligent, you wondering about the origin of ‘duh’.
My Brain: I never said it did.
Me: But you thought it.
My Brain: How can you know what-
Me: Duh again.
My Tutor: I’m all done, Anisha. You seemed to be deep in thought. Something bothering you?
Me: No, sir. Nothing at all.