We inform with great regret....

If you get a message that has the same words as in the title, brace yourself for a punch in the gut. Or at least that's what it feels like after you read those words. It could be the news of a loved one who passed away or a job/college application for which you got rejected. "It's not you, it's me," is also an iteration of "We inform with great regret."

You know the truth? None of them regret it. They (whoever sent you the message, that is) might pity you, but there's no regret involved. It's a polite way of saying fuck off. REJECTED, if you may. Time for a crash course on how to handle a blow. No, not the kind you think. It's the kind you take on the chin. And bloody hell, it hurts. The teeth get forced into the gums and it gets all weird and bloody.

Rejection has become a friend. First, it came from schools. Then, from girls. Then, from colleges. Then, from girls. Then, it came from HR departments. Then, it came from ladies. Then, five of them came JAB! JAB! HOOK! JAB! BAM! KAPOW! Four universities and a woman. Goodness, that's what I call Black Eyed Piss. Because now, I got black eyes and boy it hurts while taking a leak.

You remember the booster shots dad got you when you were a kid? Those ugly, pain-in-the-arse injections? Little did I know that build your body's immunity. That's what rejection from women has become. Each one makes you a little more immune to 'no'. It hurts like hell, but you've survived one before, boy. You will not die and you know that. Even if the next one is around the corner. I think.

My last one was a little intense. We Skyped a lot. It was fun. However, I suspected she fantasised about another man. She later ratified my suspicion. For the lack of a better statement, it tore me to shreds. That teeny-weeny sensation of inadequacy grew into a little black hole, rather a dementor if you may. You know what dementors do, don't you? You filthy Potter-heads!

Yours truly is gifted. Not emotionally, but cut-and-dry IQ-wise. Well, sort of. You know what smart people do? They take sabbaticals because why not? I thought I'd make good of my time preparing for examinations. The trick worked in parts. The results were positive and the folks at GMAT were kind. The doors to foreign universities opened. I filled forms, pestered mentors and did the whole shebang.

First rounds were luckily a breeze. However, beyond that, here's what I saw everywhere.

We inform with great regret... We inform with great regret... We inform with great regret...

After the third one, I expected rejection to be the outcome for everything. I tell you, the mind is a bitch. But there's a way to trick it. I call it "When in doubt, work out."

The dopamine hit helps. You think Tinder will solve your problems. Haha. Haha. Hahahaha! Who told you to think? Besides, Tinder is a discussion for another day. But yeah, dopamine helps. So do the sundry endorphins. And screw dumb-bell curls, useless gym 'bros'! Learn how to squat and dead-lift for your own sake. You'll sleep better. Else, you'll only get sore biceps and awkward postures.

Chuck that. let's jump topics because I saw something interesting today. It was a WhatsApp status one of my contacts put up. It went like this: Ten signs that show you're matured. Oh. Fuck. No. But curiosity killed the cat.

1) Small talk no longer excites you. Small talk is a weakness, so PHEW!

2) Sleep is better than a Friday night out. Totally. Wow, I'm so mature already!

3) You forgive more. Aah, -1 I guess. But what do I forgive who for? Perhaps, myself. No idea.

4) You become more open-minded. Do you get a surgery done? Heck, open-minded about what? 

5) You respect differences. 3 - 2 = 1. I accept. Other bits I'm yet to reconcile with.  

6) You don't force your love on anyone. Who are you? Mom?

7) You accept heartaches. As if you and I have a choice. If you're Salman Khan, it's a different issue. 

8) You don't judge easily. Even if I do (which I do), no one gives a fuck. That's that then. 

9) You prefer to be silent over getting into a fight. I prefer being silent over everything. I can give dear old Manmohan Singh competition. Beat that!

10) Your happiness doesn't depend on others. Happiness? Oh, there's something called 'others' too?

I'm sure maturity isn't like puberty. Puberty is simple. It makes you hairy and sexy. Either that or it makes you curvy, sexy, bleed, and mad. Not maturity though. Oh no, no, no. Maturity has its own way. It spanks some at birth (Oooh, naughty), slaps some during childhood, punches a few during adolescence, kicks some in the arse at the dawn of adulthood, and knocks out another few in the 20s.

But it spares some.*Ahem*. To these rare few it says... "Go on, child. You're screwed anyway. What can I do you for?" You take a few wobbly baby-steps forward and look back longingly. Sobbing. Trying to be brave, but you have a lump in your throat. Then, you sense evil. The benevolent creature behind you transforms into a fire-breathing monster. And god, do you run like there's no tomorrow!