Second year, St. Stephen's College.
Brick-red, stone-grey, leaf-green.
--falling in love--
Lay down your arms.
And surrender to me
Parking lots and elevators and lobbies and bedrooms and bathrooms and dance floors and apartments and car-rides and... you get the point...
That kind of lovin'
Makes me wanna pull
Down the shade, yeah
That kind of lovin'
Yeah now I'm never, never, never, never gonna be the same
^friendship^
Brilliant, sparkling, sunlit.
Sneaking alcohol into the college premises in a bottle of Coke and drinking it blatantly on the SCR lawns.
Traipsing through College- drunk out of our minds.
Cribbing. Whining. Complaining.
ALL. THE. TIME.
and then...
Laughing. Giggling. Grinning.
ALL. THE. TIME.
Give me a problem and I shall show you how to humour yourself.
Thank you College.
Boring Sundays turned into hours of card-games and King's Beer. Shakespearan declamations in the middle of the street at 3 o'clock in the morning (thank you O.). R and N bring out the guitars and we spend all night singing everything we can possibly think of. Countless nights spent at H. Lines. One explosive couple and many slammed doors. Navy Cuts turn up under clothes, in books, in pillow covers, and on one memorable occasion, in the fridge! Emergency stash... Always prepared...
N-A-G-I-N-I
A small village a few hours short of Manali, with 2 shops (primarily stocking Pine cigarettes and Coke) and 2 trout-fishing resorts. Well... 'resort' is really an overstatement. Scattered tents on an incline. Cubicles on the upper slopes which were used as showers. Telling the helpers that we needed hot water at least half an hour before we wanted to bathe.
Days of doing nothing at all. Nothing productive anyway! Fishing, walking, playing cards, walking, smoking, walking, debating, walking... Bonfires and Pearl Jam and guitars and Euphoria and alcohol and the craziest, most ridiculous Hindi songs ever invented.
Kaise bhoolegi mera naam?
CM (the owner), generously doling out charas (he smokes from the moment he wakes up till he falls asleep). SM (his wife) doling out the pasta and fried chicken.
The river.
Gushing and frothy and infinitely entertaining. L. hopping like a goat across the rocks and stumbling in her overconfidence: splashes of laughter. Nearly losing a family shawl to the river. CM's precise instructions about the bait and the angle and pressure with which to throw the line out. Accidentally tangling the hook into D.'s hair while tossing the line. Inexplicable skeletons on the riverbank.
Going to explore the village on the other side of the river- no bridges! Only a dicey trolley that could take 2 people at a time... The guide pulling us to the other side with ropes that looked uncertain and frayed. Dangling above the sharp rocks and wondering whether we'd die immediately or in a painful, long drawn out manner, if we fell.
The temple on the other side. A small room with an idol in one corner and posters of Karisma Kapoor and Sonali Bendre on the other walls. Incredible.
An argument about reservation. Passion and zest and cynisism and idealism and resignation and anger and apathy and pragmatism and love.
A Canadian Punjabi who defied compartmentalization with a vengeance. Stories about her dedicatedly Buddhist group back in Canada which gathered for a spiritual weekend at a bungalow which was stocked with "every possible drug available in the world". Her religious faith and belief in God and incidents about her crazy dog that insisted on "humping" every guest who entered her house. Her loud, raucous laughter and her quiet, shy lady 'companion'.
Being ridiculously scared to go up to the bathrooms after a ghost story session one night. Working our way up the mountain slope with torches in a tight knot. Brushing our teeth in fear over the washbasins in the open air, fearing an attack by a psychotic killer any second (for as K. put it in a well-timed remark- "Psychos are easier to believe in than ghosts. Our guide could be one!").
The days flew by.
A holiday so perfect that no other will ever match up to it.
It raised the bar.
Forever.
alcohol
DV8 and Blues and Hash and RPM and F-Bar and Mantra and Elevate.
Again.
And again.
And then again...
And coffee at The Imperial when we were feeling extravagant.
the epics
The Iliad.
Sing, goddess, the deadly wrath of Achilles son of Peleus,
That brought countless woes for the Achaeans,
and sent forth many strong souls of heroes to Hades,
making they themselves spoils for dogs and
feasts for birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished.
Sheer magnificence.
A sense of loss.
We shall never live in times where glory is everything, where it is the sole motivation, where it is enough.
G. reading Homer with Metallica blaring in the background.
Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams
Blinded by me, you can't see a thing
Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream
Zeus.
Master of Puppets.
The Mahabharata.
Unravelling its secrets.
Like a treasure hunt!
Like scrabbling about in a dying bonfire and finding a few, scattered golden embers.
The joy of discovery; like Cortez in Mesoamerica.
Triumphing over a text.
Realising that we can never really triumph.
Faustian arrogance; hubris?
Being humbled by the awesome complexity and immortality of the work.
Regretting our 21st century existence.
Damn.
*love*
It defies description.
Shall I try anyway?
John Donne's 'The Sun Rising':
Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Suddenly... poetry makes a whole lot of sense....
.a.r.b.i.t.r.a.r.i.n.e.s.s.
R.'s guttural mumblings about Shakespeare.
Clashes with the Dean about sheltering puppies in a Rez room in the wintry cruelty of North Campus.
Arriving one morning to find all the benches round the dhaba tree uprooted. Speculation about the mysterious forces who had carried out this despicable act in the mystery and anonymity of the night.
Monkeys dancing devilishly and scattering the rezzies' laundry all over the College grounds.
AM's fantastic excuses to wriggle out of lecturing us: ear surgery ("I can barely hear"), hand surgery ("I can barely move"), eye surgery ("I can barely see"), abdominal surgery ("I can barely digest anything") and general surgery ("I'm on my deathbed").
Paharganj.
Flowy skirts, the cheapest drinks in town at Chandni Bar (respectably known as Vikram Hotel), and the nicest lasagna and slowest service in town at the terrace-top old-Manali-esque Sam's Cafe. Dappled sunlight filters through hanging scarves and rickety balconies and oxidized silver earrings and Tibetan style ponchos...
Your cool suburban sun
You're foolin' every one
You win some you lose some
To be continued...
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
Snapshots- the First
Snapshots:
First year, St.Stephen's College.
Brick-red, stone-grey, leaf-green.
Innocence blended with guitars blended with Robert Browning blended with cigarette smoke blended with Kamala Nagar blended with assembly speeches.
Free falling
The Gang of Five. Pasta and iced-tea and Big Chill. The larger circle of College acquaintances. Kebab rolls at the Hindu canteen; looks like a railways station: multi-coloured railings, a juice-stall, 102.6 MHz and bathrooms right next to the counter. But the kebab rolls were worth it.
The Shakespeare Society.
Theatre games and theatre politics. Green room conversations- random and generally accompanied by a Navy Cut. Tinted with nostalgia even as we sat talking; we were so aware that this would be one of our defining memories of College Life. The first post-production party. Crazy. The alcohol was loud and the music was flowing.
Yes.
Exactly that.
Culture shock?? We thought we knew it all... :)
Heated political issues. To vote or not to vote? Presumptuous statements, cafe walkouts, SMS arguments...
Nainital.
English departmental trip. Comfortable silences, video game parlours, one hotel room with 15 people, guitars and whisky, midnight walks, mountain climbing, an unexpected dragon, boating on Naukuchiyatal, sizzling aloo paranthas and mountain-tea. The induction was complete.
Hash, Buzz, RPM, TGIF, Ruby Tuesday's. Dancing on the tables. Shot after shot after shot after shot. Tequila... Bailey's... Vodka... What's that? Who cares? Bring it on... Blowing up a week's allowance in one night. Broke. Tanking up in the car for a hundred bucks and then heading to Hash, ordering one drink and dancing the night away. LC tap dances on the bar, OB is constantly worried about her eye-brows and R is convinced he has left his car open.
Aaisha, Aaisha
Passing me by
Parallel cinema, the world of Latin American stardust, small-budget movies, foreign films, Bengali cinema. Afternoons in the auditorium. Laughing and crying with Alfredo in Cinema Paradiso. Drooling over Gabriel Garcia Bernal. Watching City of God and wondering whether life would ever be the same again. Intense discussions in the Sarai coffe shop about the German Nazi propoganda film. Terminology being tossed all over the room. The same way you'd say 'Espresso!' or 'Cappucchino!". Except here it was 'Leftist' and 'Marxist' and 'Nazi' and 'Capitalist'. No-one said pseudo-intellectual. I wonder why. There were enough of them around.
Understanding a text.
Really?? Can one line mean all that?? Bullshit. That line cannot be analyzed in 20 different ways. It means what it says. Really?? Can one line mean that little??
Give me a word and I shall show you the universe.
Sitting in the cafe from the moment we arrived till Mohan and Bhaiyyan would literally push us out at 2:00 pm. Endless cups of tea and coffee, cheese toasts, Maggis, cigarettes (that would be suitably stubbed out when Wilson/ any other Threats were approaching), cards, tutes, conversations with each other and Mohan (Bhaiyyan's a bit of a grouch!), nimbupaani... Like the post-office of a small village, The Cafe: our very own community centre. Coming and going, coming and going... the Hub of all the drama, and the news.
Learning. Learning how to be your own person. In the midst of people and groups that told you something other than what you believed all your life.
Realising that they are not always right.
Realising that you are not always right either.
One phone call. Goa to Delhi. 4:00 AM, 1st January.
The beginning of an era.
Vascillating for weeks.
Resorting to good old cellphones in order to flirt.
15th February. Clinched the deal.
BD- the Queen of Slaps: "let them echo forevermore"
Sunny afternoons outside the chapel.
Endless days and endless nights.
Maqbool and momos and mellow madness.
A summer full of vodka and hip-hop.
Football matches and sweaty bear-hugs.
Laughter.
Laage tumse mann ki lagan
Nescafe.
Pink sweaters and Christmas.
General Insanity at the Grad Di party.
Partying so hard that we learnt the art (there is one...).
Winter's cold spring erases
And the calm away by the storm is chasen
Everything good needs replacing
Look up, look down, all around
Satellite
To be continued...
First year, St.Stephen's College.
Brick-red, stone-grey, leaf-green.
Innocence blended with guitars blended with Robert Browning blended with cigarette smoke blended with Kamala Nagar blended with assembly speeches.
Free falling
The Gang of Five. Pasta and iced-tea and Big Chill. The larger circle of College acquaintances. Kebab rolls at the Hindu canteen; looks like a railways station: multi-coloured railings, a juice-stall, 102.6 MHz and bathrooms right next to the counter. But the kebab rolls were worth it.
The Shakespeare Society.
Theatre games and theatre politics. Green room conversations- random and generally accompanied by a Navy Cut. Tinted with nostalgia even as we sat talking; we were so aware that this would be one of our defining memories of College Life. The first post-production party. Crazy. The alcohol was loud and the music was flowing.
Yes.
Exactly that.
Culture shock?? We thought we knew it all... :)
Heated political issues. To vote or not to vote? Presumptuous statements, cafe walkouts, SMS arguments...
Nainital.
English departmental trip. Comfortable silences, video game parlours, one hotel room with 15 people, guitars and whisky, midnight walks, mountain climbing, an unexpected dragon, boating on Naukuchiyatal, sizzling aloo paranthas and mountain-tea. The induction was complete.
Hash, Buzz, RPM, TGIF, Ruby Tuesday's. Dancing on the tables. Shot after shot after shot after shot. Tequila... Bailey's... Vodka... What's that? Who cares? Bring it on... Blowing up a week's allowance in one night. Broke. Tanking up in the car for a hundred bucks and then heading to Hash, ordering one drink and dancing the night away. LC tap dances on the bar, OB is constantly worried about her eye-brows and R is convinced he has left his car open.
Aaisha, Aaisha
Passing me by
Parallel cinema, the world of Latin American stardust, small-budget movies, foreign films, Bengali cinema. Afternoons in the auditorium. Laughing and crying with Alfredo in Cinema Paradiso. Drooling over Gabriel Garcia Bernal. Watching City of God and wondering whether life would ever be the same again. Intense discussions in the Sarai coffe shop about the German Nazi propoganda film. Terminology being tossed all over the room. The same way you'd say 'Espresso!' or 'Cappucchino!". Except here it was 'Leftist' and 'Marxist' and 'Nazi' and 'Capitalist'. No-one said pseudo-intellectual. I wonder why. There were enough of them around.
Understanding a text.
Really?? Can one line mean all that?? Bullshit. That line cannot be analyzed in 20 different ways. It means what it says. Really?? Can one line mean that little??
Give me a word and I shall show you the universe.
Sitting in the cafe from the moment we arrived till Mohan and Bhaiyyan would literally push us out at 2:00 pm. Endless cups of tea and coffee, cheese toasts, Maggis, cigarettes (that would be suitably stubbed out when Wilson/ any other Threats were approaching), cards, tutes, conversations with each other and Mohan (Bhaiyyan's a bit of a grouch!), nimbupaani... Like the post-office of a small village, The Cafe: our very own community centre. Coming and going, coming and going... the Hub of all the drama, and the news.
Learning. Learning how to be your own person. In the midst of people and groups that told you something other than what you believed all your life.
Realising that they are not always right.
Realising that you are not always right either.
One phone call. Goa to Delhi. 4:00 AM, 1st January.
The beginning of an era.
Vascillating for weeks.
Resorting to good old cellphones in order to flirt.
15th February. Clinched the deal.
BD- the Queen of Slaps: "let them echo forevermore"
Sunny afternoons outside the chapel.
Endless days and endless nights.
Maqbool and momos and mellow madness.
A summer full of vodka and hip-hop.
Football matches and sweaty bear-hugs.
Laughter.
Laage tumse mann ki lagan
Nescafe.
Pink sweaters and Christmas.
General Insanity at the Grad Di party.
Partying so hard that we learnt the art (there is one...).
Winter's cold spring erases
And the calm away by the storm is chasen
Everything good needs replacing
Look up, look down, all around
Satellite
To be continued...
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