…for 23 years and was told he still looked like a boy…that’s me!
I hear very often from people around me that I don’t look my age; I look like a boy who is still studying in college.
People would ask “Where are you studying?”
I would say rather irritably, “I am WORKING”
They would say “Oh. Your look like you are a student.”
I reply curtly, “That’s because I use Santoor soap. Chehra dekhke umr ka pataa hi nahin chalta”

Yesterday I turned 23. But the “boyish charm” is still as fresh in my face as before. Do I really care now? I used to. Even when people say I’m very funny and I tickle their nerves, I was actually covering my disappointment with the one thing called laughter. Now I don’t. But I pretend to be irritated so that they’d remember that I’m a working fellow the next time they meet me.

There are a couple of reasons for that.
I really don’t think I should waste my time on trifles like this. There are more important things in life — enjoyment, family and friends. One of life’s unexplainable things is the idea of friendship. As we grow older and maturate, and life becomes increasingly complex, it becomes more and more difficult to find people who match your frequency or simply those who are true to you. And I realised that I was very lucky in that aspect yesterday, on my birthday. I simply didn’t expect so many people to turn up/call me and wish me. But here they were… as friendly as ever.

Ok, seriousness apart, (I’m feeling bored. I’m never like this.) I’ll tell you about some little secrets about me. (I don’t mind disclosing them)

The title is because I relate myself in more than one way to Harry Potter, the one fictional character, whom I’d love to see in real.
My parents had to fight with me to get my hair cut. I cannot but grin at an early photo of mine (when I was 1 or 2 years old) with locks of black and messy hair covering my head. I was looking like a girl. (I’ll post the photos at a later time. I may need to scan them.)
Needless to say, my hair grows quite fast that I have to go for hair cut every 1 month. And it is usually so untidy, covering my forehead.
I’m bespectacled, although I can live without them.
I stutter and stammer when I talk to a girl to whom I have a soft corner.

I’m stopping here. I’m pathetic at writing serious things.

(BTW, I started my 9th iteration of reading the Harry Potter series yesterday :D)