College

21st March, Delhi

I am a ghost walking through college, and am greeted as one. People do double takes as they see me: I am a stranger in the making. I am open to all the impressions college leaves on me, but I don't leave footprints behind. I was afraid of feeling like a misfit: instead, I feel transparent. I'm not anyone over here anymore, I don't exist for my room, for my classrooms, for the red bricks: but college will always exist for me. The nice thing is, it does feel like coming home, and I get the strong feeling that it always will. I feel that I was here yesterday, that the last one year in P. has been but a dream. And this feeling scares me. I feel at home at the busy station, on the wide roads, on the Metro. The sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the feeling of space opening up on all sides, the warm scent of spring in the air, the whirlpool of flowers and grass: these are things I experienced but yesterday. I don't feel the need to familiarize myself with them again: it feels like I never left. I'm told that that's because they are still so vivid in my memory. Maybe. Maybe because I was so scared of losing who I'd become that I never let go.

I miss the place as hell, I always will. I miss the sense of peace I get, the serenity. When I'm here, I don't feel afraid of losing myself anymore.


22nd March, Delhi

An and I part ways at the Metro station: just like it's another day from a year back. I walk down the familiar road to college. I walk slowly, trying to memorize the experience: the warm scent of spring, the golden rustling spread of summer leaves, the green, empty D.U. ground. I let the soft evening sun soak through my skin, I let the wind whisper to me of memories and moments.
I meet Ay. I feel slightly uncomfortable with her: the closeness of summer has been lost. Why does distance build so many walls?
I wander to the front porch: Andrew's court is serene, welcoming. I feel myself opening up. The piston clamping me down in the last one year seems to be gradually reducing its pressure.
I'm told that Menon was looking for me. Menon! The IDG! I always felt like such a misfit and I always learnt so much. Unable to find him, my feet lead me to the science dhaba: the oasis of the shady sciencees, offering relief to those weary of equations and labs with steaming (?) cups of chai and maggi, mince and eggs. I'm disappointed that the dhaba is closed: I've forgotten the flavour of the chai. And then I know it's time, time to let my unwilling feet carry me to the science block. The place is absolutely deserted. I am free to peer through glass windows into classrooms where I felt so lost, where I learnt so much, where I fell in love with physics. The empty benches beckon me, I can mentally picture AG at the teacher's desk; but I can't even enter the place. I pass the teachers' offices: the place where S.K. used to sit, where I would face Vyas with new trepidation each time. I manage to hold back the tears till I reach the new physics lab. The large, old-fashioned wooden tables with all the equipment are in darkness. I feel like running my finger along the grooves on the edge of the nearest table as I remember lab from our third year: An: "ho jaega!" and our incessant discussions, Je. coming around for a round of flirting, sneaking off for a cup of tea, discussing physics with Ta. and Sha and Shi's 24X7 laughter show. I didn't like lab too much, and I landed up learning so much from it. I force myself to turn away.
I don't think that I've ever been so ruthless to myself. But the hurt felt good, like the bitter medicine Gibran claims pain is. That's why I put myself through it.

I lived in this place: I acted out my whole part in the show. I laughed all my laughter and shed all my tears, I debated and wondered and grew through my confusion. I now marvel at how open my heart was, at how easily I soaked up the lessons. These days, I feel more like a spectator in my own show, I go through all the motions, but I wonder if I'm really all there.


23rd March, Delhi

You take the closeness, the easy conversation, the teasing, the jokes, the laughter, the buying of birthday gifts, the asking of favours,the exchange of ideas, the sharing, the confessing, the listening ear, the support, the concern for granted. The little things which weave up so much of what you are. And then distance and time make you acutely conscious of how invaluable they really are, how rare and how obnoxiously expensive: even your tears can't buy them back.


24th March

The last few days have been but a dream, or a game. A game of pretending that I'd not really left, that I still occupied a room in Rez, that filling up my bucket from the pump outside because we're out of water (again!) is as normal now as it was then. That girl talk and gossip as we curl up on beds is as much a part of my life now as it was then. That when An says they're at the science dhaba, the words don't carry anything apart from information. That having breakfast in the mess is just a part of my routine.
The game is over. And I'm left wondering if only loss can teach us the true value of the things we don't even notice when they're there. It's been a hurricane of emotions. But I've come out feeling oddly fragile and oddly stronger than before. I feel that the last few days can carry me through a few more years at the very least. I wonder at this dependence. Is it healthy? Isn't it time to get over college? But this one time, I don't feel like pressurising myself to escape from this emotional whirlpool: not yet at least.