2012's last life lesson.

I will forever be grateful to 2012 for teaching me things, and not too harshly either. It taught me that it's okay not to know what you want to do once you've finished college, but also, that it's not okay to sit around and complain about it. It taught me that if you can't be specific when someone asks you what you want to do, then it's important to go out and find the answer, rather than waiting for an epiphany to find you - epiphanies have better things to do. It taught me a lot about self control: namely, that it's possibly the most important quality to have. Without self control, it's difficult to have self respect. It taught me a lot about people: those who seem shallow and boring and who seem to have not much to say for themselves are sometimes the least pretentious, the ones who have their heads screwed on right.

Anyway, this isn't a monologue on how I've evolved this past year, it is rather, an anecdote on something extremely stupid I did, and what I've learnt from it.

Date: 24.12.2012 (which turned to 25.12.2012, which should have been the first warning).

Place: Third party of the night (second warning)

Incident: Climbing into Varun's car (sensible, if it had been Siddharth Sharma's, I would probably have been dead by now).

Fault: mine, and it was a twofold one. It included my natural accident proneness, and also, large quantities of wine and vodka, which was an amateur mistake, and one I am kicking myself over, because I learnt long ago not to mix drinks, and this was a good reminder of why you shouldn't mix drinks, or drink irresponsibly.

We were at this lovely party, but unfortunately (actually, fortunately) I don't remember much. Beautiful house, and long stretches of garden, and cheerful bonfires which no one fell into, and I was feeling pleased with myself because I was wearing high heeled shoes and not falling over. I always get into trouble when I feel pleased with myself.

This is good, said my treacherous mind. Let's have one more Vodka and Redbull and feel like we're in college.

(I'm not in college. Note to self: never want to 'feel' like being in college again, it was an undignified time).

The drink was lovely, let's have one more. Oh look, people I know, let's talk to them. Oh, but they're being boring, so let's rudely move away mid- conversation, and go join another group. They're even more boring, why are they talking about this, why do I want to hear about this, maybe we should go back to previous group, oh no, wait, there's a friend I haven't spoken to in twenty minutes, let's go over and say hello. (I have more than one voice in my head usually, I'm sure most of us do).

Oh look, here is a Frenchman I've only met once who is extremely good looking and rude, let's be rude in return to show that we don't think he's good looking. Okay, done being rude, let's go get another drink. Oh look, there's another friend. Tra la la la la.

[Insert dancing which I don't remember].

[Insert leaving party which I don't remember].

[Insert climbing into Varun's car which I do remember, albeit vaguely].

The next thing I remember is that the car was moving, and I hadn't closed the door properly, but I didn't have time to shout, or maybe I did, and I was desperately scrabbling around trying to get a hold of something, but I missed, and the door swung open, and I fell out. I remember wrapping my arms tightly around my head as I fell - hah! I do have some sort of half baked survival instinct then - and I hit the ground.

I remember lying there, thinking this was the end. I think that's where the vodka comes in. I know there were people around me, but I couldn't open my eyes. My consciousness had tucked itself into a warm, dark corner of my mind, and it just wanted to be left there. I felt a friend shaking me frantically, and I wanted to respond but I couldn't. It was all very strange and traumatising.

And then I heard the word hospital, and I was just like, NO. No way was I going to be taken to hospital, a recorded statistic of irresponsible drinking. So I sat up, and I suppose I got back into the car, and then I came home. My mother yelled at me and put me to bed.

Later in the morning - Merry Christmas! - I went to get a tetanus shot, and to get my knee dressed. All the skin of my knee had come off. It really wasn't a big deal at first, and I came home to a whole lot of undeserved Christmas presents, and a peaceful day, spent the way Christmas should be spent.

But since then, I have visited a doctor, and been informed that I should get plastic surgery on my knee, and I am supposed to be leaving for Delhi on the 3rd to start a new job, and basically, all hell has broken loose.

None of this was as bad as the phone calls and e-mails I had to send off the morning after the party, to all the people I'd apparently been rude to, traumatised, and otherwise inconvenienced.

I strongly believe in making the best of bad situations though, of emerging from a pile of poop smelling of roses. So I am trying to tuck away the embarrassment, the humiliation (there is nothing I can do about the pain which, I assure you, is AGONY), and instead, use this incident to emerge a better person.

The obvious answer to that is to never let it happen again.

More importantly, I think, if faced with a similar situation, to ensure that it is tackled with a bit more dignity. Up to this point, I hadn't made a resolution for 2013, but 2012 cackled and was all, "think you've gotten through me with no need for improvement, next year? Ha ha, let me change that, just a bit."

Courage, someone once said, is grace under pressure. I don't know whether I would call that courage, but to be graceful under pressure, and also not to aid said pressure with Absolut, is what I will strive for this coming year.