Nevertheless, I have learnt a great deal, most of which I have spectacularly failed to practise myself. But I have seen people succeed by following these principles, so let’s dive in.

Rule number one: leave the moment things become inconvenient. Whether your family expects you to contribute, your university friends expect you to show up, or somebody simply asks you to explain why you disappeared when they needed you, remember that protecting your peace is paramount. Let others deal with the consequences whilst you enjoy the freedom of having absolutely none. After all, why put out a fire when you can leave the building and call it personal growth?

Rule number two: become emotionally unavailable, but make it sound intellectual. You can ignore somebody for weeks and call it needing space, forget their birthday and call it being overwhelmed, or abandon someone during their worst days and announce that you are prioritising yourself. Should they complain, remind them that you cannot pour from an empty cup, even if you have been happily drinking from theirs. Self-awareness is important, but self-awareness without behavioural change is an excellent way to become aware of precisely how insufferable you are.

Rule number three: give people hope, preferably in small, carefully measured quantities. Tell them “dekhi ki hoy” or “maybe someday things will work out” whenever a definite answer might cost you something. Keep every door slightly open, because you never know when you might need someone again. If they finally leave, complain that people give up too easily. You kept them waiting for months, and they could not even spare you a lifetime. How selfish of them.

Rule number four: become everybody’s favourite almost-friend. Tell everyone, “Dost, kichhu lagle call dis,” and then ensure that your phone is on silent when they actually do. React to their stories, remember their birthdays when you need something, and offer precisely enough affection to remain relevant. You need not be there for people; you merely need to ensure that they believe you might be. Think of yourself as a university canteen during exam season: everybody knows where to find you, but nobody can guarantee what they will get.

Rule number five: master DARVO, or Deny, Attack, and Reverse Victim and Offender. If someone confronts you about something hurtful you have done, deny it, question their intentions, and explain how their confrontation has traumatised you. If they cry, call them dramatic; if they get angry, call them toxic. Soon enough, the person who came to you for an apology will be apologising for making you feel guilty. It is rather like setting fire to somebody’s house and demanding compensation for the emotional distress of watching the flames. Honestly, I wish I had learnt this before developing a conscience.

Rule number six: treat university friendships as intelligence-gathering operations. “Ekshathe class korlei ki bondhu hoye jae?” should be the motto of our lives. I once had a friend who told me, “I gather information from others just to use it when necessary. That’s how you deal with people.” I remember feeling betrayed, but perhaps I was simply witnessing adulthood in its most sophisticated form. Remember their insecurities, memorise their secrets, and keep their vulnerabilities safely stored for future reference. Who needs trust when you have a database?

Rule number seven: rewrite history before anybody else gets the chance. If you hurt somebody, post about how nobody understands your struggles. If you never tried to fix anything, announce that you tried your best but cannot keep sacrificing your mental health. If someone finally calls you out, explain that you do not want to disappoint them, but circumstances have made everything impossible. Nobody can verify what you tried, but confidence is a marvellous substitute for evidence. After all, the truth might set you free, but a vague Facebook post can make you look innocent before the truth has even opened Messenger.

Rule number eight: never apologise properly when a half-hearted apology will suffice. Say “Sorry if you felt bad” instead of acknowledging what you did, and follow it with “I never intended to hurt you” to suggest that the real problem is their reaction. If they refuse to forgive you, congratulations, you are now the victim of their inability to move on. Accountability is difficult, but apparently being held accountable is an act of oppression.

And finally, the golden rule: win at all costs. Become avoidant before anyone can abandon you, become indifferent before anyone can disappoint you, and make everyone else responsible for the anxiety you refuse to confront. We call it maturity, boundaries, and self-preservation, because admitting that we are frightened of vulnerability would require more courage than most of us can afford.

Perhaps these techniques really do work. You can leave people confused, hurt, and questioning themselves whilst walking away convinced that you did nothing wrong. The only problem is that one day, everyone might finally stop chasing you, and you will have nobody left to blame.

Anyway, these are my observations from the magnificent vantage point of unemployment. I have not mastered these techniques myself, obviously, because I continue to make the rather embarrassing mistake of believing that people should be honest with one another, that apologies ought to mean something, and that caring about someone should not feel like a strategic disadvantage. Perhaps I shall learn better in time. After all, if life has taught me anything, it is that the easiest way to survive in a world full of people who are afraid of being hurt is to become exactly the sort of person they are afraid of.

Until then, I shall remain spectacularly unsuccessful in a world where the house always wins, provided the house has absolutely no mirrors.