It was a regular day at the D.Y.Patil Pimpri hostel, or so I thought. I was coming down the stairs, probably in my oversized tee and partially broken trademark chappals, when this girl, walking up the steps like she already owned the place, asked what I was studying.
“Comp,” I replied.
And in that split second, with all the conviction in the world, she heard “B.Com.”
She blinked and thought in her head, “This girl really came all the way here from Jamshedpur for B.Com?!”
I got to know this much later, of course.