Hamari Rastriya Basha!!!!

The laughter around me made me realize that I, too should at least smile.
The professor cracked a ‘wise’ joke and all my classmates were laughing their lungs (a**) out.
Just to join the company, I let out a sigh and forced my lips to curl to a absurd grin.
For the professor to understand that at least 1 sentence in the last 60 minutes had gained access to a 100% efficient response from the class, I had to join the party. 
I looked around as the people around me were trying hard to control the fits of laughter. 
The sight around me was that people were draining out the streams of joyous tears that left salty marks on their cheeks.
Now it was my turn to put up an artificial but authentic looking smile. 

The reason of me being left out was not that I was sleeping.  
I was sitting in the second row and for the very first time in almost a month, I was on the winning side in the battle with my eyes that were forcing to close to take me to the distant land of dreams.
The reason was simple: my lack of knowledge in Hamari Rastriya Basha, Hindi.
I leaned to the chap sitting next to me to translate the joke.
Reported speech never carries the zeal and vigor of active speech.
The joke just brushed through my senses, only able to initiate a small curve of my lips and failing to reveal the dimples hidden amidst the flabs of fat.  

Just the very moment, the professor started the monotone balderdash and the class was left to reel into the world where they would best fit in.

I never knew Hindi would play an important in my life. 
Accha, Teek Hai, Main Zaroor Hindi Sikhunga!!! 
Never mind.

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