The College Diaries #10

I had hoped to add a minimum of 25 posts in my blog under the label of 'The College Diaries'. 

I still can. 
But I do not want to, after I leave my college tonight. 
I would prefer that the last post under this label be typed, seated on my hostel bed, like it has been occurring with this blog for the past one year. I would prefer that the last post under this label be typed inside this college while I am still a part of it. 

An hour earlier, I had planned to type down all the instances that I had wanted to share about my college life as small paragraphs in this post. But to be frank, I am not in the mood to reminisce. 

I am emotionally drained.

And I would like to type down just one paragraph which, I feel, I would not get a chance to say anyplace else.

"Thank you, my dear 168 acre occupying, 31 year old institution. You are one of the best serendipitous happenings of my life. I became a part of you for the simple want of a degree. But you have managed to give me more than that. You have taught me about life and its workings and I believe that the lessons I have learnt from you, outside of my classrooms, would help me beyond quantification as I grow into a man. 
Thank you again and of course, goodbye."

(The College Diaries which had been a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that had struck pain and pleasure in the heart in the last fortnight that I spent in the college comes to an end.)

The College Diaries #9

A circular steel table that would mostly be struggling for balance as if in an intoxicated state. Pigeons that would be resting on the ledges as if they had had their meals just then. The people at the serving-counter who, apart from calling out the order-numbers, would open their mouths only for saying one statement - "Sollirukaen.. Sollirukaen! Wait pannunga! Vandhurum!".  

Our college canteen reminds me of these things and much more. 

Much more meaning birthday parties attended with a sorry feeling for the wallet of the person celebrating his/her birthday, Sweet lime soda's drunk for the sole reason of staying the duration of a pretty girl's lunch, first few bites stolen from a friend's dish as he left to wash his hands, laser-less scans performed of the entire canteen to check if any known person was eating a costly dish so that it could be devoured.

A college canteen, unlike other eateries, does not just function as a place that serves food. 
It serves many other purposes. 

It helps with strengthening friendships. It helps with making anxious love proposals. It helps with finding solutions for problems faced at a friend's house. And it occasionally does help with satisfying hunger.

Every person would have a favorite dish at his/her college canteen. 
I too have many dishes of my liking at my college canteen but the dish that I eagerly look forward to there happens to be the lunch of my day scholar friends'. Eating homemade puliyogarae (!) and spicy potato curry on the circular steel table with a rose milk by the side and a suspicious looking North-Indian ahead (who seems to have devoted his life to ruthlessly slit open bhaji's for the pav bhaji dish) is an experience unmatched by any other.

I had always reserved a special sweet spot in my heart for my college canteen.
But I realized the vastness of the spot today afternoon when a repeat of the routine conversation between me and the bill-counter guy happened.

Counter guy: Enna ji venum?
Me: Oru Aaloo paratha!
A 50 rupee note is handed over.
Counter guy: 5 rupees change irukka ji?!
Me: Illayae na!
The counter-guy hands over the receipt for the ordered aaloo paratha and searches for a moment before giving a 5-rupee-valued token that can be used within the canteen.

On any other day, I would have looked at the token with frustration. But today, I realized that there was a very high chance that it could be my last lunch at the college canteen and I would no more be issued canteen tokens at the bill-counter.

No more pigeons. No more birthday treats. No more sweet lime soda's with cruel intentions.

So I folded the token carefully and placed it in my wallet.
The small white paper lay there, unintentionally acting as a token of remembrance.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #8

There are people who make you feel that you need to change yourself. And there are people who make you feel happy for being the way you are.

I was fortunate to get a roommate/dear friend, from the first day of my college life till today, who was a member of the second category.

When you are a boy who 

• is not interested, in the least, about any sport 
• is interested more in in-depth conversations than small talks
• does not want to get involved in a fight just to show off a few heroics or the so-overly-admired courage
• thinks a lot more than he does

life gets difficult. Especially when you are surrounded largely by a majority that exhibits characteristics completely opposite to the ones I just mentioned or to put it in simpler terms, when you are surrounded largely by boys. 

I never understood what was the logic in sitting before a television and watching someone exhibit and hone his/her playing skills if it was only for pure entertainment. 

I never understood the logic behind hitting a guy for an offensive remark - practically speaking, there are more problems that arise when a person gets in a fight right from the mental instability that is caused to the adrenaline rush to the energy wasted on landing the blows to the implications that fight has on the surrounding and the victim. Wouldn't walking away silently be a better option? Wouldn't it save time and energy and be a much more fitting reply to the remark?

Not everyone agrees with these opinions of mine. To be honest, except for exactly 4 friends of mine at college and 2 friends from my school, no other boy does.

And my roommate/dear friend was/is a very important person among these six.

Both of us became very nervous when we were accompanied by a not-so-close-friend while eating in our hostel mess because we were relatively bad at small talk. We contributed very less to the conversations apart from our munching sounds.

Both of us came to know that a cricket match was in progress only by the cheers that erupted in the hostel. 

Both of us liked to watch a film by our own (even the films that we watched together were watched in our dead silence) unlike the usual norm in a hostel of watching a film as a group and passing a funny remark at every scene thereby spoiling the mood of the film. 

I guess the following conversation that the two of us had last week would give a much better understanding of our nature.

"What would you want to be? A werewolf or a vampire?"

"It depends! There are lots of different classes among vampires and werewolves. But I guess I would rather be a vampire."

"Reason?"

"Vampires are known to have more control than werewolves. Vampires can control their thirst for blood whereas werewolves, on a full moon day, are totally helpless."

"Valid point! But a vampire does not age. Would you prefer such a life?"

"What's not to prefer with that? You would get more time to achieve a lot of things. You would witness a lot of changes that might occur in the next generation and the one after that and the one after that. Would you complain about such a life?"

"Wouldn't you be bored with the never ending life after a point?"

"I guess I will keep myself engaged with more advanced people and their blood (laughter)! And that's another point that supports vampires. Vampires can control their blood thirst and let a person live after having sucked a small amount of their blood. But werewolves kill the person in most of the cases."

"I would say that death is better than the pain of being bitten and allowed to live."

"Many people mistake a vampire's bite. Literature says that a vampire bite, due to certain enzymes secreted then, is actually pleasurable than painful."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! So you tell me now - what would you want to be? A vampire or a werewolf?"

I know that many would be baffled by such a conversation. "This is no way better to a small talk" - many might think. 

But this is what the two of us loved. However irreverent the topic might be, we wanted to get to the bottom of it. 

Even two hours prior to the typing of this post, as I accompanied my friend from our hostel to the entrance of the college to bid him goodbye, we were discussing the best possible strategy that could be adopted for a trip around the world in the present scenario (thanks to the 'Nellie Bly' Google doodle).

For those of you who are surprised by learning that boys could exhibit such traits - Yes. Boys like us do exist. 

As a matter of fact, boys like us should exist. 

If not, the world would become a really aggressive and violent place. Trust me.

But for a long time, I was of the impression that there was something terribly wrong with me in comparison to the other boys. It was only my friend who pointed out that there was nothing faulty. All that existed was just a difference.

And I would always be grateful to him for that.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #7

There is one thing I love about the little Ganesh temple in our college. 
It has no walls. 

There is a slightly elevated, an almost-square like portion at the center of the temple which houses the main deity Ganesh and lying around this portion is a small path where worshipers go about in circles, the number of which increase on festival days, examination days and on-campus placement days - in that order.

I hold very dear memories of the temple. 
I had gone around in circles at the temple in my first year of college praying for a school friend of mine who was completely terrified of Chemistry and was definite of an arrear after the completion of the exam (The friend managed to pass, thankfully, making me visit the temple again).
I had accompanied my hostel friends to the temple on the mornings of festival days, filled with the excitement of seeing saree-clad girls crowd the temple (Yes! Tamil boys tend to go crazy over the 'saree wearing' part of the Tamil tradition).  
One of my friends and I had once visited the temple after having collected our hall tickets and my friend in the vigor of his worship, let go of his hall ticket and we ran around the temple chasing the flying hall ticket. 
I had accompanied one of my classmates to the temple a day prior to the placement process of an 'analytics services' organization. I had become a rationalist by then and had opted to stay outside the temple letting my friend enter the temple. He very badly wanted the job. It was his dream. His prayer that day would have been one of his truest. Sadly as fate/life/God would have it, I was placed the next day whereas my friend failed - another addition to the ironies of my life. But the thing that amazed me most was that he continued taking me with him whenever he visited the temple. He knew that I would not enter the temple yet he asked me to accompany him.  
And it is these visits with my classmate that I cherish the most.

Looking at a temple and its happenings from the outside is different from observing them by being one among the worshipers inside a temple. Especially after deciding to let go of the faith.
But I would admit honestly that I have been more fascinated with the spiritual angle as an outsider than when I was a believer. Watching people truly express their belief in something is an enriching experience for a person trying to base his faith upon humanity.

I might have stood outside the temple more times than I would have entered it. But when I leave my college, the Ganesh temple would be one of the very important things I would miss.

The temple was more of a friend to me. 
A friend with whom I had had a serious fight and vowed to never speak again but every sight of him reminded me of our earlier times and all I could make up for the loss of words was a pain filled smile.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #6

Love is not heaven. Love is not hell.
Love is something as real as earth can get.

There always seems to be a want for love to be a fantasy, for love to be a dream, for love to be something more than love. Love is expected to push aside all pain. Love is expected to make every moment memorable. Love is expected to make life better.
Love sure does tick off all these check-boxes. Yes. But at times, it also tries to be a lot more. 
Something more than just a happy evening. Something more than just a prolonged conversation. Something more than just a never-ending walk. 
And that is when the heart starts to cover itself. That tiny four chambered guy doesn't seem to be ready for the deliverance of unrequited affection. Guess he is as selfish as our human race. 

Why do we exhibit such a desperateness for a happy ending? 
After all, the ending, whether happy or not would only lead to a new beginning. Why then the desperateness?

Smile and laughter are given too much importance. They sure enrich our lives. Science puts forth facts that they increase one's lifespan. But why not show the same affection towards a tear drop? Why does crying become a weakness? 
Tears help in purification. Literally and metaphorically. They help us introspect. More importantly, they help us live. 

But such views become sadistic excuses for a failure. Or, do they?

Hardships, I would say, do not get the due they deserve. They are projected more with the adjectives of dark and cruel when all they really do is define us the path we often fear to take. They help us get more appreciative and grateful. More importantly, they help us live.

I would go on making up such abstract statements that make little sense.
But I am fed up with them. At least, for this post.

****

I had no idea what love was when I entered college. And I have very little idea what love is as I near the end of it.
I was of the opinion that a romantic relationship would throw light upon the topic of love. But all it managed to do was muddle up the opinions I had had before.  

I believed that a proper understanding of the thought process of the opposite gender would facilitate easier access. But how do you go about that? Asking girls to sit down and presenting them a questionnaire that makes them reveal their decision making process would be one way. But I guess a degree in the field of psychology and a bald head would make things easier with such a task rather than the qualification of a classmate or worse, a college mate. 

I fortunately happened to have a friend equally interested in cracking the 'love puzzle' - that's how we termed it. We would discuss for hours together as to the selection criteria of a romantic partner, expectation levels that exist in a relationship, reasons that might lead to the end of it all and many such elements revolving around love, forgetting the fact that both of us were survivors of a failed romance. But most of our conversations would end with a story from his side or mine, taken out from our romantic phase and as I recall those stories now, I cannot think of a single instance when we shared those stories regretfully. Those stories were a way of asserting ourselves that we were more than just thinkers. 
And one of the most important conclusions that we arrived upon from our discussions was that people with greater understanding of the human nature, more than most, failed at romantic relationships (We even had 5 test cases that served as evidences for our finding). We opined that people who are more possessive, more expectant and not ready to provide the partner complete freedom had more chances of succeeding at love than the more compassionate and empathizing individuals. Thinking about it now, the finding seems more of a theory the two of us had devised to make up for our inabilities to succeed at love. But then, the love issues that I hear (and at times, observe) from my friends continue to provide more strength to our finding. 

Why such deep analyses into something that is more a matter of the heart than of the brain - I kept asking myself this question often. But when I set aside the psychological aspects, the hurt increased. Many friends of mine seemed to be in pain for no faults of theirs. And every such scenario that I came across, reminded me of a very close-to-my-heart statement from 'The Perks of being a Wallflower'.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

How true?!

But then, I have also had the fortune of being a part of many a happy memory, on a personal level as well as on a 'friendly' level. Those moments - I could say with certainty - when they occur, make you turn a blind eye towards everything rational and logical. There is an indescribable emotion at work unlike any other which makes the letting go of a loved one much more difficult.

Speaking of which, letting go is considered by many as an act of cowardice. There is a belief that a person in love should always hold on to his loved one as if the letting go would make them both unfit for life. 
Yes. Letting go does leave you with unhealed scars. But sometimes, life presents you with a setting that makes you realize that holding onto desperately would only add further to the misery. And only the person who lets go would know about the mental strength he/she had to bring about in order to liberate the heart of the one thing that seemed like a source of eternal joy. 
Letting go is one of the hardest things to do in life. Perhaps, it is also one of the bravest things.

I do not remember the source but this is a quote that I often remember to console my heart that it had not made a mistake.

"When you like a flower, you pluck it and keep it with you for a while. When you love a flower, you admire its beauty as it is and leave it untouched. You let it bloom, let it live its life." 

How true?!

A college life is never complete without a love story, they say. 
When you have a happy story, the reminiscence becomes a reward. 
When you have a sad story, the reminiscence could still be a reward. If your flower had been a really great one.

I just happened to come across one such flower.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #5

One fine night. 10:30 pm. My hostel room.

My roommate looked at me. I showed him a thumbs-up gesture. My other roommate got up from his bed and moved towards our locker. All the three of us gathered around. 
Inside the locker, along with the now-dust-ridden certificate holders, lay our stash. My roommate looked at me again. 

It was time for the mission. 

The three of us walked out of our room. The long corridor of our hostel wing that led to the rest-room was empty except for a guy, unknown to any of us, who was grinning widely, looking at his mobile screen. 

"Namma pasangal'la yaaru yaaru ippa paal kudikka povaanga?!" my roommate asked. I gave him the list. A list of four guys. Two of them belonged to the room opposite to ours. The door of the room was shut. One problem was eliminated. Or rather, two.  

"So intha room prechana illa. Ippa namma wing la concentrate panna vendiyathu antha 2 rooms thaan!" my roommate said pointing his hand consecutively at two of the rooms where our friends stayed. 

"Nee oru  room'ku po. Avan innoru room'ku pogatum. 5 minutes eppidiyathu manage pannunga. Yaarayum velila varra vidathinga. Naan poi porul'a eduthutu vanthuren!" I told my roommates. 
My roommates nodded and started walking towards the rooms. I shut our room door and walked towards the staircase. I had to reach the next floor and had to ensure that after I retrieved the device necessary for our mission, I had to reach my room without being seen by any of my friends in the hostel. 

About 4 minutes later, I was seated in my room with the lights turned off. I was waiting for my roommates. One roommate walked in just then. 
"Vaangitiya?! Yaaravathu paathangala?!" he asked me. I shook my head to signify a 'no' and led him towards our locker. Inside it, lay the device along with the stash. 
"Enna nu solli vaangina?" he asked me. "Harish nu oru friend ku venum nu sonnen. Avanuku ethum doubt vantha maari therla!" I replied. 
"Yaarra Harish?" my roommate asked me, puzzled. 
"Yaaruku theriyum?!" I answered him, smiling. He let out a laugh on hearing my reply as my other roommate joined us. He locked our room door as he entered. The three of us looked at each other, filled with excitement. 

Our mission was successfully underway.

We ensured that the windows were locked as my roommate placed a long waste cloth at the foot of our door. The stash was taken out of the locker, the plug of the device was inserted in the socket and we turned on the switch. 
A few minutes later, there was happiness written in capital letters over all our faces. Our mission was nearing a victory.

And then it happened. 
Two knocks on the door.

The three of us looked at each other terrified. 
But we had already planned as to what had to be done in the event of such an unexpected disturbance. My roommate grabbed the plug of the device from the socket, hid the device inside the locker and shut the locker's door. My other roommate ran to his bed and lay down on it. I jumped over my bed and played a random video clip on my laptop, inserting my earphones and pretending to watch it. My roommate pulled the waste cloth from the door's foot and waving it wildly in mid-air near the spot where the device had been placed, he threw it on the clothesline. He then checked if we were at our positions and walked to the door to open it. 

It was one of our friends. He entered the room and walked towards my roommate's shelf. "Trimmer eduthukaren!" he said as he reached the shelf. Searching around for a few moments, he spotted the trimmer and took it. As he was about to leave the room, he suddenly turned and looked at my laptop screen. 
The random video clip I had played on my laptop, unfortunate to our mission, had been the 'Baby Doll' song. 
With a loud "Daiiii..." exclamation, the friend sat down near me. I hit my forehead hard with an imaginary hand. The friend moved the video-player cursor to the beginning of the video as it played from the start again. My roommate gave me an angry stare. For the first time, probably, I wanted the video to end and after it ended, I let out a relieved sigh as my friend turned towards me smiling. 
However, within a moment, his smile disappeared and his face assumed a questioning look. 
"Etho oru vithyasamana smell varala?" he asked me. My other roommate let out a loud cough. I remained silent trying to keep my face blank. 
"Velila irunthu etho.." My roommate began but the friend had gotten up from my bed and had walked forward into our room. His nose shrunk and a moment later, he turned towards our locker. Slowly opening the door, he looked inside.

"Ada pavigala dai! Maggi pannitu irunthingala da neenga?!" he shouted, in surprise.

My roommate silently switched on the light and walked out of the room. I started staring pointlessly at the laptop screen as my  other roommate arose from his bed with a devastated look on his face.

Mission failed.

Twenty minutes later, 7 other guys had gathered in our room and had seated themselves on my bed and my roommate's bed. They were eating Maggi noodles from their drinking cups. 

My two roommates and I looked at the noodles left inside the electric heater. A small yellow lump lay at a corner. 
I looked at my roommate sorrily as he looked at my other roommate who looked back at me. Someone among the 7 guys played the 'Baby Doll' video clip on my laptop as a loud cheer erupted.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #4

"Machi.. Hostel poga venaam. Konja neram nadapom da. Oru vishayam.. Enna panrathu ne therla.." A request from a friend on the way to hostel.
"Dai! Paal pidichutu room'ku vaa. Inniku oru prechana aagi pochu." A text message from a friend in hostel at 10 pm.
"Roll call yeppa unnaku? 8:30 ku thaane?! Apram enna.. Muditu okaaru. Pesanum!" An order of a friend at 7 pm, seated on a bench near the college entrance.

All such statements trigger a mixed feeling in me whenever I hear them. Joy that a friend is about to share a fragment of his living experience with me. Sadness that he has been made to encounter a problem in his journey.

One-on-one conversations have a magic of their own. 
While in a group, there might be an attempt to impress some member or an act of false vanity. But one-on-one conversations reveal the true nature. 
Words that are uttered, take birth at the heart. Not in a calculated way at the brain.
No effort is taken to justify an action. No effort is taken to glorify an action. An act of jealousy is explained as such. An act of insecurity is confessed as such.

One-on-one conversations also help you learn more about people. 
A person who seems like he could crack a joke even when in an accident tends to break down at the slightest hint of a problem with a loved one.
A person who seems like he could withstand a 35 hour secret service interrogation tends to collapse at a tiny hurtful remark of a friend.
And these conversations, on many occasions, steer back to the past which make them even more memorable. 

A tale of an impossible choice between a friend and a lover, a tale of not meeting the expectation of a parent, a tale of having been misunderstood by a friend, a tale of not getting the deserved recognition, a tale of inability to talk to a liked one, a tale of possessiveness since a liked one has a really close friend, a tale of having an artistic talent fade away with maturity, a tale of not having an aim in life, a tale of being constantly mocked at by classmates, a tale of feeling inferior to an intellectual friend, a tale of failing at one's passion - All these, however often they may be depicted in stories and films, always have managed to adopt an uniqueness when narrated by a friend. 

All such conversations that would involve me and any of my friends have always had the spoken-amount ratio of 9:1, 9 being the amount my friend would speak and 1 being, my amount. The main reason - I love listening.

Many people fail to experience the ecstasy of listening. 
When a person utters a statement, they hurriedly try to register their opinion or pass out their suggestion. They are in a hurry to make themselves heard which completely jeopardizes the objective of the conversation. 
A person opens up, primarily, because he/she wants to give the heart a vent. But most of such conversations are misunderstood as a cry for help or suggestion. 
There are, of course, conversations that call for a suggestion. But most people tend to open up for the simple sake of sharing and by the time they end their tale, all that they look for is an assertion rather than a suggestion. An assertion that their actions in their tale were right. An assertion that the way they want to proceed further is right. 
Our duty would lie in absorbing, completely, the tale and pointing out, politely, if there was visible a wrong intention/act instead of turning it into a discussion as to whose life is better or worse as is usually done. 
And I guess this is the reason that I am chosen by many of my friends for sharing their stories. Simply because I listen.

It pains me knowing that these one-on-one conversations would be coming to an end, at least, on a face to face basis.
There is definitely not going to be a shortage of friends as I move ahead with life but I believe that the problems that formed a basis for the sharing are what made the conversations special.

Life, in a short time, would become too serious to worry about a friend not wishing for a birthday at midnight or to worry about not being in the Facebook profile picture of a loved one.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #3

As a hosteler, there are certain things that are prohibited. 

Falling in love with the mess food.
Setting a condition that a particular pair of jeans should be worn only twice.
Expecting a 500 gram Boost pack to last more than 5 days. 
Waking up before 8 am.

Of these, I started breaking the fourth law by the end of my second year. Not with the aim of excelling in academics.

The purpose was much more purer. 
A morning walk.

How did the idea of a morning walk take its root in my head - I know not. 
I neither have any issues of diabetes (I hope so) nor am I a person concerned with physical fitness. I guess the desire for solitude and silence was what led me towards this now-treasured routine of mine.

I have re-discovered the beauty of many a forgotten song during my walks. There is nothing more exciting than the beginning of an unexpected song as you take a turn leading to a long empty road. 

But the ultimate gift of a morning walk would be the undisturbed nature.

Leaves that dance in their branches like the supporting dancers of a 90's Tamil film romantic song, squirrels that keep running hither and thither as if in the wedding preparations of a close friend, birds that keep crowding at random places to disperse after a minute and conduct a meet elsewhere like a political party's members on an election day - all such moments lay waiting for the eyes of a privileged few like the health conscious joggers, the dark skinned old man riding on a Hero cycle to operate and start the motor pump and the sleep-deprived-colorfully-dressed security guards returning to their homes.

"The same route every morning.. The same locations and surroundings.. Don't you get bored?", One of my roommates asked me, one day, after I returned from my morning walk.
I gave him a simple answer (after which he gave me a Ada-Goyyale look). 

The path might be the same but every morning has been different.

And I meant every single word of my answer.

The sun would decide to show up earlier than usual, one morning. 

Another morning would symbolize a standing testimony to the previous night's rain.

There would be mornings when the weather would complement your mood.

You would come across a To-hell-with-life lazy dog enjoying its slumber once.

You would come across a not-so-lazy tree lizard another time.

A beautiful flower ostracized from its community would catch your eye on a morning.

Every morning I have walked has been unique. For reasons like the above ones. Also, primarily, due to the memories that get carried over from the previous day. Many happy ones and a few, sad.

It was during my walk today that I decided to post this. But after the decision had been made, a sad truth hit me. 
And it has begun weighing me down since its revelation.

I have only 13 more morning walks left at my college.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #2

17 years. 
17 complete years I had stayed at home. 
And on one fine day, the 13th of July 2011 to be exact, I was suddenly left alone at my college hostel room to spend the next 4 years away from the comforts of home and, more importantly, away from my mother. 

But I had been given an option. A lifeline of sorts.
13th of July 2011 was a Wednesday and I had my TNEA (Tamil Nadu Engineering Admissions) Counselling appointed on the Tuesday of the next week. I had 3 days - till Saturday, the 16th - to decide if I was ready for a hostel life. 
And this is the story of what made me stay back. 


When you are a boy and when you spend your eleventh and twelfth standards at school with a very close bunch of 5-6 boys - boys who do not have even a single friend from the opposite gender - the attraction towards the opposite gender tends to increase manifold. It increases to such an extreme point, at times, that when a girl borrows your pen for a moment, you start wondering as to why the girl chose you in particular for borrowing a pen and you start making assumptions if the girl has romantic inclinations. 
Trust me. These things do happen. Especially with friends who, after the girl returns you your pen and leaves, start making a huge fuss about such a trivial thing, shouting,
"En?! En correct'aa unkitta vanthu pen kekkanum?! Irukku.. Etho irukku da! Ithelaam elaarukum amayaathu machi!"
So much so for a simple ball-point pen. Phew!

But this had been the way my last two years of schooling had been. And after my mother left me at hostel on 13th July 2011, to make compensations for the solitude I guess, I would have fallen in love with even a girl who simply looked in my direction. 

2 nights and 2 days had passed since my first moment at my hostel room. I had taken a liking to one of my roommates. I had become close with two of my classmates. I also had a schoolmate who had joined my college and our friendship had grown stronger in the 2 days that had passed than it had in the 5 years spent at school together. Things were starting to look good but there still remained a yearning for home.

My schoolmate, who had come to my hostel room that night (Friday), in the midst of our conversation suddenly drew out his phone from his pocket and showed me the picture of a girl. The girl looked extremely pretty. I kept staring at the picture with a wide grin. 
"Ennoda 12th standard tuition center la thaan ivalum padicha. Ippa namba college thaan sernthirukaa. Romba close friend. College vantha 2 days'aa ivaloda night laan nallaa chat pannitu irukken. Nethiku night full'aa unna pathi thaan pesitu irunthom!". 
He paused to look at my face. I looked at him wide-eyed.
He let out a chuckle and continued, "Bayapadathe da! Inga college la ennaku yaaru romba close nu kettaa. So unna pathi solla aarambichu appidiye poiruchu."
My eyelids refused to decrease the width of my shock.
"But unnaku theriyuma.. Unna pathi pesa aarambichu avaluku unna nallaa pidichu pochu! Un number ketaa. Unnaku text panren nu sonna. Unnaku ok'va?!" He asked me.

My jaw dropped. 

My schoolmate placed his hand on my mouth and got up to leave my room. 
"Un number kudukren avaluku. Msg pannaa reply pannu. Bayanthutu vitturathe. Nalla ponnu ava." He said and left. 
I immediately grabbed my phone and held it firmly in my right hand. It remained so for the next one hour after which the first text message came from her. 

About 20 hours later, by Saturday evening, the two of us had become really close. As much close as two people can get over a night's conversation. My schoolmate had been surprised by the volume of messages we had sent each other and had started a pleasant tease. It was in such a situation that my mom called. 
The call reminded me of the decision I had to take. I looked at my schoolmate who was sitting nearby and my mind remembered, immediately, my roommate, the two classmates and my new friend. I replied happily to my mom that I had adapted to hostel life and convinced her that a hostel life would change my opinions about the real world. My mom, rightly, could not believe that I had undergone such a transformation in 3 days. But she was happy that her son had grown up and ended the call.

Adaptation to the hostel life, forming opinions about real world did matter. But frankly, the biggest motivation for my stay had been my schoolmate and my new friend. 
The conversations with the new friend continued that night and by Sunday evening, they had reached a new level. With a heart filled with happiness, I went to my schoolmate's room. Sharing with him all the text message exchanges I had had with our mutual friend, I asked him if he was okay with the three of us meeting the next day. His face suddenly bore an expression of panic. I asked him the reason for his panic. He did not reply. Leaving his panic aside, I picked up his phone.

"Enna da panna porre?!" He asked, his panic reaching a peak.

"Onnum illa. Oru phone thaan! Nee ava kitta pesi sollu.." I said, smiling, and started typing her number (I had memorized it by then). My schoolmate tried to grab the phone from my hand but I managed to keep it out of his reach.
"Dai.. Call laan pannathe da! Ava thappa nenachippa da! Phone'a kudu!" He started shouting. I did not understand his fear. But I finished typing in the number and pressed the call button. Exactly two seconds later, the screen flashed,

Calling.. 
Jim (roommate)

I looked at the screen puzzled. At the same time, I heard a phone ringing in my schoolmate's room. I looked around and saw a guy in a bed, nearby my schoolmate's bed, holding his phone and looking at me with an awkward smile. It was his phone that was ringing. 

My mind could not grasp the occurrences. I looked at my schoolmate. He had sat down by the corner of his bed, placing his left hand on his forehead with a blank look at me. I ended the call and dialed the number again. 
Again, it showed the same message. Again, the guy in the nearby bed smiled awkwardly. Again, his phone had started ringing.

It took me a minute to put together all the events and as my mind arrived at the conclusion, I looked at my schoolmate shocked. He turned away his face. I could not believe it. 

I had been prank'ed!

I silently placed my schoolmate's phone on his bed and walked out of his room. He came running behind me and started pleading forgiveness. I did not reply and proceeded silently to my room. That night was a very difficult night. 
But the next day, thinking about the prank and more importantly the replies I had sent, I couldn't help laughing. I went to my schoolmate's room that evening and we had a nice hearty laugh about it.

This prank, whenever I thought about it in the first year of my college, seemed a very funny and silly attempt at making me a fool. But as I recall it now, it seems much more than a prank. It could have probably had much more serious consequences but it didn't. On the contrary, it partially helped me in making one of the most important and probably, one of the best decisions of my life.

The prank, however immature it might have been, played its own part in making me stay. 
A life-changing prank, I guess, in that sense.


(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #1

I was walking along with my friend across the playground of our college, last Sunday. He was about to vacate his hostel room and leave the college two hours later. An excellent corporate job awaited him.

Between the two of us, we had a little game. A game we always played whenever we walked across our college playground. 

At any time of the day, there would be, at least, 3 cricket matches being played amongst our college boys on the ground. My friend would select a particular match and ask me if the batsman on strike then, would hit a sixer or not within the time-span we crossed the playground. On many occasions, I would reply positively and at times, my answer would be on the negative side. If my prediction turned out to be right, I would win and if not, my friend. But it was the victory prize that mattered. 
If I won, it would mean that I would be the first person (between the two of us) to get committed in a relationship and if my friend won, he would be the first.

"Yess! Yess!! Six adichitaanaee! Saavu da!! Commit aagi, daily night, un kannu munaadiye 5 mani neram mokkai pottu kadupethraen paaru!" I would shout happily, if I won.

"Hello!! En pa!! Yaaravathu intha six'a paathingala?! Ayyo.. Ayyo.. Dai! Unnaku ithula kuda rasi illa da! Nee kadaisi varaikum solo performer thaan! Duet laan out of syllabus!!" my friend would say, if he won. 

The two statements above, as I typed them now, seemed very childish. But the game, for the two of us, would always be a very dear memory. The prospect of leaving the fate of our romantic lives to the batting skill of an unknown person, an equal 50-50 probability for success and failure - such factors seemed more than tempting.
And I always felt that the reason we loved the game was because the two of us knew very well that there was a very bleak chance of romantic success in either of our cases and we could carry on the game till the end of our college.

Which brings me back to last Sunday. 
The two of us had had our evening snack at our college canteen and were returning to our hostel. We had started walking across the ground and I who had been speaking to him in length about how people would be more competitive in a corporate environment, was suddenly caught off guard when he uttered this statement,
"Anga oru red shirt batting panraan paathiya.. Antha pitch! Enna sollre?! Six pogumaa, pogaatha?!"

It took me a few seconds to process his statement and I replied smiling, "Pogum da! Kandippaa oru six pogum!". 
We continued walking and we would have not taken even five steps ahead before which the red-shirt wearing guy hit a huge sixer on his off-side. I looked at my friend with a broad smile. His eyes had become watery. 
"Inime intha maari laam velayda mudiyaathu la?!", he said.

My heart sank, hearing his statement. He was right. We had played our last game. 
But I knew I had to change his mood. 
"Dai! 4 varusham mottai pasangalaa irunthathu pathaadha?! Innum vera velayadanuma?!", I asked him. 
He let out a laugh, wiping his eyes. We continued our walk towards our hostel with my friend happily recalling our earlier games.

About two and a half hours later, as I stood at our college entrance to bid him goodbye, I tried remembering our evening and I wished in my heart - probably for the first time I can truly remember - that I had lost the game.


(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)