Written by Anshuman Singh, LLM.

We submarined yesterday in Wang’s room. Kshitiz, Wang, Loma, Bala, Param, Anand, and myself. Loma took a matchbox, played around with it for a while. Something occurred to him then, probably because no one was talking. A vacuum had to be filled. It was almost as if everyone was expecting a magic trick of some sort – waiting for something to emerge from nothing. He tossed and turned the box in his hands, and asked me, “Which side do you think the black heads are on?” Having said as much, he proceeded to topple and turn the wretched thing over and over, as though it had no bearing on the affair.

But did it? No one was playing to win, really, even though it was that very illusion that sustained the entire script. Once again, he asks, “Which side?” I point my fingers to the…

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