I've been guilty of neglecting two things in life:
Studies...well, my life is screwed beyond repair and any possibility of undoing all the damage would require a time travel into the past. The chances of that ever happening are rather slim and I've already made peace with my abject existence by now. The Hindu philosophy of nonchalance has come in handy.
But I can certainly do something about my aversion to taking care of my clothes. Bearing the maximum brunt of this constant neglect has been my much trampled stock of socks. They lie strewn all over the floor, in forgotten boxes, between books, behind bags and in places yet to be discovered. They laze around like destitutes neglected, forgotten, overlooked, nibbled at or lost.
A rather disturbing outcome of this state of affair is that socks which should ideally exist only in pairs are increasingly taking to solitary being, partners either eloping with stealth paramours or switching over to the other side of the material barrier. Dark Matter, anyone?
All this was fine initially, I had enough pairs to keep me happy till eternity. Or so I thought. As it turned out, each constituent member of a pair had a different lever of affinity towards me. So while some grudged the constant neglect, their respective partners preached the virtues of patience which in turn must have lead to a lot of discord. The result? I'm now left with too many mismatching pairs. So while I may have had a dozen 'couples' at the advent of my stay in Bangalore, I'm now left with perhaps only four or five pairs, the others now exist only in singles-divorced by their other halves.
Having realized my mistake, I'm now a man with a mission: Mission SokSuk. Come Saturday and I'll probe ever nook and corner of my house to bring disputing couples together. After all, what could be more satisfying than facilitating a reconciliation, especially when I was the one responsible for their parting ways? How consoling it will be, especially for the overused pairs that still stick and stink together.
But what happens if it's mission impossible? The world should then brace itself to deal with me wearing mismatched socks. It's an insult I'm willing to endure. It's an oddity the world must be equally willing to accept. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for now.