Taking a break from what I call “My Most Serious Work” [:P], I decided I’ll write a post on some sentimentalities I’ve come to harbour, and how they have influenced my writing, my spirit, my life, and my personality.
This blog I started writing when I was home. say around when around sixteen years old. Sixteen is a tough time, and it’s not sweet, no way! I had just finished my class X CBSE Boards at PSBB, Chennai, and was then in class XI with IP as one of my electives. Informatics practices – I don’t know why I took it as an option, probably because I was eligible for one other easy subject which was Sanskrit, but that required an aptitude test. So IP it was. We had a nice teacher, Mrs. Rukmini. She was fun at times, strict at others. But she was a good teacher. Very polished you should know! Mrs. Rajalakshmi was my English teacher then, and English had always been my favourite subject. I could just forget there was an exam tomorrow, be reminded of it in the morning, go write it and still top the class! Ah yes, English was my sentiment in this period. This was when I decided I would do something to do with English for a career. And Mrs. Rajalakshmi played a very important role when it comes to me. I’ve always had this sorta unique rapport with English teachers. When my parents come to the school for a discussion, the English teacher always gives a good report no matter what! I don’t know, may be it was the language itself, my fluency in which surpassed my mother tongue’s. Well, yeah, I know I should probably be ashamed of that, but English I will always hold very dear. I miss it now, but luckily I have this blog :D.
And then, I was in college all of a sudden. Now was when I missed my table, my beautiful study table at home which I’d never used in favour of the comfort of my big teak-wood bed. I think the table was made of ply wood, with a large, sprawling desk and an overhead shelf which had all my books. Books as in story books, novels mostly, and most most prized posession: LOTR. The book is now in tatters but in good company, with my friend Arun back in Chennai. Ah, I miss him too. The times we used to play RA2 together, fighting for control over the game, shouting at each other to decide which strategy to use in the Allied Campaign. Anyway, I wanted that desk now. I could prop my books on it, study till dawn. In spite of the heat of summer, the desk always was cold – I liked it. And it had the beautiful smell, of old newspapers, of old stories and older memories. I don’t know how old the table is. And I don’t know where it is and who’s using it, but I hope they’re using it well. I still miss my table, four years down the line. Hope you’re well, my friend.
But the hostel wherein I was put up brought on a new life. National Paints. Our glorious hostel, the scene of our protests, the home where we as friends first bonded. The hostels of our college were spread around Dubai and Sharjah, and National Paints beat them all! 176 of us, a small community, but a powerful community. We could shivers down the wardens’ spine if only we wanted to, in our unity. It was a ramshackle, but it was a home nonetheless. Our gym, our gym instructor Mr. Raju, our cooks, our neighbours, our lousy room-mates, our awesome room-mates, room 318-B, room 227, room 220, the morning mists, the rush hour after breakfast, the unavailability of water when we most needed it, our excursions to Al Taawun Hostel, our KV campus, our neat classrooms, our rowdiness, our rogue rivals, our dumb juniors, our formidable seniors, our food court, our Hot Bread joint, our life for the next four years. Our day scholar friends, Zane, Baqi, Zubair, Chappu, Zainab, Zane’s beautiful camera, the sands around us, the bumpy bus ride, Saboo’s MP3 player, the bus drivers, the nasty smells, the love affairs, the suspensions, the cracking walls, our cranky friends, everything. The list is endless. But all cherished as much as the other. This was when we started to grow into who we are today.
And then, after two years at NP, we shifted hostels. We moved into the larger (or comparatively larger) campus at Academic City. The generators growling all over the place, especially S350/229 – the loudest one standing next to my block. Like those soldiers, who strike up friendships at boot camp but are then split up when it comes to war, we were thrown apart. I was elsewhere, Minus was elsewhere, but then I met Vohra the great and Bala (bassmonster!), guitar guru, Pringles guzzler, a friend indeed! And this is to be my life for the next two years.
Me in mechanical engineering [m/], a class devoid of females, a whimsical music club to catch up with, some India Kings to keep track of, my god, this post can’t get more random. I’ve come from teak beds to English teachers, so specific, to my life overall. I guess, after some point, you can’t really say thanks enough. It all matters.