The one time in my life I hit an absolute lucky fluke was when my class XII Board results came out. What made it better was that no one in school knew I wrote every exam high on roughly five cups of black coffee to keep myself awake, and notified the management, which sent me a shiny slide phone. Perhaps it was meant to assuage. Or bribe. Or put into effect a managementish theory about performance, which is as pointless as it is strange but there you go. It didn't really matter, my prison term was done. I carried the phone around for roughly two weeks, gave myself palpitations about how often I let it fall down and left it behind at places, then passed it on to my father and returned to my Motoflip. The Japanese horror movie feelings stopped, my dad took to the phone and listened to ghazals all over the place. It got on with him fairly well for three years till he left for a trek on Sunday and went into the train loo ten minutes after leaving Howrah behind, where he managed to drop it through the toilet-hole into what I assume was a pile of steaming crap. He sounded apologetic about it. I like to think of it as a befitting end.