The 2 Days of Happiness
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  • Day 1: The Beginning of Volfest


  • This time, I didn’t wait for anyone. I informed them, of course—just enough so they wouldn’t pin the blame on me later. That’s when it hit me: punctuality isn’t about time—it’s about not waiting for others.

  • Despite having the event pass, I had no internet. So I did the only sensible thing: took screenshots of the route and the offline map. Lesson learned from my last misadventure—Rajdhani College, lost and defeated, retreating home. A wise person might say, “Why not just recharge your phone?” like Alamara did once. But honestly, I have no one to talk to. And someone like me—who thinks learning shorthand through screenshot lessons is cooler than buying books—doesn’t recharge so easily. Logic, right?

  • Anyway, let’s skip to the real story.

  • With my offline map and limited hope, I made a stop at Bilal’s place. He was, predictably, asleep. I reminded him of Volfest and left. Asking directions from strangers, I eventually reached the venue—this time, on time. We had a better stall this year: a wider table, no awkward overlaps with neighboring stalls.

  • I got busy decorating, doing whatever I could. Then came Amit—always loud, always bossy.
  • “Everyone’s working. What are you doing?”
  • “Who do you think made all these decorations?” I shot back.

  • Usually, I avoid confronting Amit. He believes he’s always right—and I let him believe that. His wrong decisions always reveal themselves in time.

  • Everything was predictable until the FEA group arrived. That’s the only name I have for them: Shilpi, Jyoti Ma’am, Vishal, Ayub, Bilal (with his so-called ‘muh-boli’ girlfriend), and a whole list of others.

  • “Are they your friends?” asked a girl from the NGO.
  • “Unfortunately,” I replied.

  • At first, I tried to act mature and professional. But seeing them laugh and enjoy, I gave in. I ditched the stallkeeper’s role and joined the games myself.

  • The first was a cup-and-ball challenge. You throw three balls—one needs to land in a cup. If it does, you get a dare.

  • Ball 1: Miss.
  • Ball 2: Miss.
  • Ball 3: Miss—but it bounced into the cup.

  • “Congrats! Time for a dare,” someone cheered.

  • What?! I had made these dares myself—I never thought I’d actually do one.

  • Dare: Flip a bottle. Every time you fail, make a promise to society.

  • No problem, I thought.

  • Flip 1: Fail.
  • “I’ll treat my friends to a party… every day! No—today!” someone shouted.
  • “I’ll always be a good friend,” Bilal claimed.
  • “I’ll try to be one,” I muttered.

  • Flip 2: Fail.
  • “I won’t throw even a single toffee wrapper,” I lied.

  • Flip 3: Fail.
  • “I won’t break anyone’s heart.” Lie again.

  • Flip 4: Fail.
  • “I’ll plant a tree once a year.” Another lie.

  • Flip ∞: Still failing.
  • Eventually, I gave up. The guilt of all those false promises outweighed the fun.

  • Later, while roaming with the group, someone asked, pointing to Bilal’s girlfriend,
  • “You know who she is?”
  • “Hmm… Anjali?” I guessed.
  • They stared at me.
  • “Oh… Priya?”
  • Wrong again.

  • I kept guessing names like it was a game show. “Pooja!” Bilal interrupted.

  • That’s when I realized: my poor memory might just ruin someone’s relationship—or situationship.

  • Anyway, her makeup and attitude repelled me. I didn’t care to interact.

  • They eventually left for Lodhi Garden. Only Shilpi stayed back.

  • “Everyone’s changed, haven’t they?” she said.
  • “Yeah,” I agreed.
  • “They came all decked up. Look at me.”
  • “Volfest isn’t a fashion show. You’re fine.”
  • “Maybe Volfest wasn’t even their first plan.”
  • “Maybe,” I nodded.

  • We spent the rest of the day exploring the passport activities—a little booklet with mini-challenges. The more heart stickers you earned, the better your prize.

  • We played Snake & Ladder, completed dares, did surveys, pretended to be blind. That’s what Volfest is—chaos, creativity, and games.

  • Shilpi had to leave early. I walked her to the metro. On the way, she got a peek into my “relationship history.”

  • What could a depressed person say to another one sharing their sad story?

  • Just one line: “My life’s worse than yours.”



  • Day 2: The Mission


  • I arrived early—too early. That’s why we have this unwritten rule: always come half an hour late to NGO events. Even the NGO follows it.

  • We set up the stall quickly. While waiting for visitors, I suggested exploring the passport games again. This time, it was me and Jyoti—our new mission: win the grand prize, even if we had to bend the rules.

  • To be fair, I already had a stash of stickers from Day 1.
  • “Wow, Ravi! How do you have so many?”
  • “Hard work,” I smiled. (Smart work, actually.)

  • You might call it cheating. But remember: I’m a product of society.

  • We focused on the last six activities—those were the key to the biggest prize: a mug set.

  • Photos clicked? Check.
  • Stories posted? Check.
  • Followed HOV on Instagram? Check.
  • Secret code? Stuck.

  • Only a few HOV members and Aditya knew the code. I knew Aditya wouldn’t spill it—not even Dora (actually, Dona), the South Indian girl, could get it out of him.

  • Flashback:
  • Truth or Dare at Vegas (a park near campus).
  • “Bro, what are you talking about?” Aditya had said.
  • “The day you cried in the park,” I reminded him.
  • Bilal: “I don’t remember either.”
  • I dropped it, taking Bilal’s ignorance as a hint. But Dona didn’t.

  • Back to the present.

  • I joined Dona for blood donation. I wasn’t eligible— thanks to methotrexate. But I got the sticker anyway, while watching her donate.

  • “Thanks, Ravi. It meant a lot,” she said.


  • It was about to sunset, and I was having my period pain experience. Last time I was feared but not this time.
  • Day 1: it felt like loose motion in kidneys
  • Day 2: ok fine, but why it feels like current
  • Day 3: it’s actually current bro, stop it!!
  • I signalled to stop as soon as I lost control on my knees and couldn’t bend them.
  • Instructor: “Sir, it was just start of day 3”
  • I lost control of my knees.
  • “Can you walk, Ravi?” Dona asked.
  • “Yeah… I will,” I forced a smile.

  • We completed nearly all activities. Then Aditya and I went to claim our prize.

  • “Sorry sir, everything’s gone. No mugs. No t-shirts. No postcards.”

  • Aditya looked disappointed.
  • “I don’t think we’ve lost yet,” I said.

  • We ended up with something… different: a soft, stylish facial tissue box.

  • “Bro, that’s stealing!” Himanshu cut in while I was recounting the story later.
  • Himanshu, the vibrant LGBTQ+ boy brought by Poonam, danced wildly during the Volfest concert—but had serious face-painting skills.

  • Still, I chose Aditya for my tattoos.

  • “Draw whatever you want,” I said, flexing my left bicep.
  • He drew: ‘Life is better in…’ and added ‘bikini’. I didn’t expect that.

  • On my right arm, I asked for something simpler—‘Aroma’—in elegant script. I never showed the right one, but dared to reveal the left to Jyoti.

  • Her confused smile said it all.
  • Now I know why. It didn’t even look like a bikini.



  • The Night Concert

  • Everyone was buzzing with energy—except Jyoti. She hid in every group photo. I tried to lift her spirits, but she stayed withdrawn.

  • Until the music changed.

  • A Bollywood track dropped—and suddenly, she ran to the stage and started dancing.

  • “What the…?” I blinked.

  • Her moves were perfect. That night, I officially retired from my dance career.



  • The Return Journey

  • On the metro home, it was just me, Aditya, and Poonam.

  • “The love triangle,” Bilal once called us. I never disagreed.

  • “Let’s play a game,” I suggested.

  • “Okay,” Poonam said, pulling out her earbuds.

  • “Say something you hate about someone we all know,” I smirked.

  • Both opened up—grudges, annoyances, names. But when it was my turn, I diverted the topic. Of course I did—it was my game.

  • Because I wasn’t playing the game I made.

  • I was playing the one they made.

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