So long, farewell ...

Waxing and waning of emotions has always been very typical of me. Its probably something I got from my mom - the most loving, sensitive and selfless person I have ever known. She is prone to the odd outburst of tenderness and overwhelming melancholy that seems to have taken a hold of me of late. But that's what makes her human. You love people for their idiosyncrasies, and this is just one of them.

I remember going through a similar time a couple of years back. I was away from home for a while and met some people I could never forget. But it was only a short vigil, and that made the farewell more heart wrenching. A feeling that there was so much left undone - a sudden realization that I might never see them again - these beautiful, caring, loving people with whom I spent a few important months of my life; who made time fly past with bursts of infectious, endearing madness; who lent a patient ear to anything you might have to say; and who came to say goodbye and left you watching through a blur as they faded away into the distance.

They say that life moves on. After the first few days of heartache, the recuperative powers of the mind finds ways to get around it. But does it really ? A stray snippet of conversation, a familiar corridor, a long-forgotten tune, can all reawaken a precious memory stowed away in the dark closets of the mind and bring it rushing back into focus.

Sometimes I am terrified by the prospect of coming face-to-face with someone I knew and turning away without a flicker of recognition. But some part of me says that it will surely not be someone who really mattered to me. Even if it was for only a few months.

Return of the prodigal

After a couple of months of 'abstinence' I was welcomed back into the domain of cyberspace by my new laptop. This arrival was closely followed by the arrival of the first music gear that I can call my own. So the hours would now pass more easily. But then is that the best thing that could have happened ? If that surprised you, perhaps the following stats will make things a little clearer.

The highlights of my IIT life were two things of seemingly contrasting attributes: my computer and my music. Without either, I would not have had half as much fun or 'accomplished' anything of note. If the computer was an extension of my college life, helping me stay in touch with my academic side (however little that might have been !), my music was definitely my release, my way of putting frustrations aside - an invaluable stress-buster when the going got tough. Hence in the absence of either, there would be a sizeable hole in my daily routine as you can well imagine. A void that would be hard to fill, if at all. In Kharagpur (that was my college) it was hard to imagine that life without these two things were at all possible. Imagine my consternation when I was faced with the daunting prospect of confronting a new people, a new culture, a new university, essentially a new life, without the comforting presence of my old friends.

That was two months ago. I would work at my desk in the university, chat with my parents and friends, but when I came home at night there was this huge void staring back at me - an emptiness that I find hard to put into words. For the first few days I would just walk about aimlessly from room to room trying to pass the time somehow. I would bring back papers to read, but would soon be lulled into sleep by the sheer monotony. That was when I remembered another 'old friend' that I had quite forgotten about.

You see, in college, there would always be too much to do. If I was not playing football or fiddling around with a guitar, I would just spend hours lazing around on my computer. Caught up in this hugely demanding schedule, I had almost forgotten what it was like to pick up a book and be transported to another time, another place where time seemed to fly past in a blur. But all that was about to change.

In the depths of my despair, my gaze fell upon a book that I had brought with me, perhaps for just such an eventuality. It was a novel by Amitav Ghosh called 'The Hungry Tide'. The next thing I knew, I was 100 pages into it and loving every bit. The voracious reader in me had been awakened, and how! In the next few weeks I had gobbled up titles as diverse as 'My name is Red', 'Confessions of an Economic Hitman', Kafka's 'The Trial' and started on 'A People's History of the United States'.

And just when I thought I had rediscovered the artistic side of me, Dell came knocking at the door and ruined it all. Talk about timing !!

A Point to Ponder

Its good to be back. But then it could have been at a better time. Coz right now I'm a little depressed. Don't ask me why. I just am.

One month in the U.S. of A. and what do I have to show for it ? Well not much really. Made a few friends, a couple of really good ones, but not of the sort that I would have preferred. If you know me, you would probably know exactly what I mean. There is so much beauty in this world. Makes me wanna cry...

If you think I am not making any sense then you should probably stop reading right now, because you would be missing the whole point of this exercise. But then you are probably not to blame. It's just me I guess. To tell you the truth, spending 12 years in a boys' school, and five years in a boys' only college (no offense meant !!) would take its toll on any sane human being. With the most likely result that he ceases being what he started out as (let's see if you can work that one out). If you come to this conclusion about me, I daresay you would be very close to the truth.

Its funny how the human response to entirely different phenomena can be so strikingly similar. Take sleep for example. The most natural and arguably the most addictive way to pass one's time. Go too long without it, and your mind starts losing its ability to reason. You begin to hallucinate, the edges of the world begin to blur. Slowly but surely, you go stark, raving mad. Through long and tortuous years of self-denial, I am now of the opinion that the same is true of female companionship. Which now strengthens my belief that I am insane. Not a word issuing out of my mouth, should be taken to mean what it seems. Obviously this very fact should make even my last statement quite suspect.

And yet again the sheer unpredictability of the human mind comes to my rescue. When your morale is at its lowest, when you think that you can't possibly feel any worse, out springs a thought from a remote corner of your mind and changes your whole mood. Maybe that's just me being my moody self - something that I am at pains to conceal from public view - but then it might just be the immutable truth, for all you know. In this case I thought about the hilarious posts I had read a while back. If you are a bong in distress (physical or mental) just take a time-out and read these ('The Bong' and 'Hottie Hottie, Bong Bong !' ). You'll know what I mean.

And so with my mind suitably freshened, I return to the more mundane activities of my life, leaving you to ponder this post. Did I really mean all that, I wonder ?

Didu

She reclines on the sofa, a myriad of thoughts coursing through her mind. Innumerable worries wrinkle her brow. Foremost among them, however, are her grandsons - the two souls she loves with all her heart and soul, and both of whom are away at the present, much to her anguish. She sits with the telephone at her side. Her hearing is failing her and she is afraid lest a phone call goes unanswered. The light on the phone flashes, and shaken out of her stupor she answers the phone.

'Hello!! Who is it ?'
'Hi Didu! How are you?'

It was her grandson! A sudden flash of life lights up her face, and joy crinkles her eyes into little half-moons ensconced in a sea of crows feet. In the conversation that ensues, if one could call it that, you could hear her hanging on every word coming out of the receiver. She tries to make sure nothing escapes her faded hearing, but even if something does, her grandson patiently, lovingly repeats his words, for he enjoys it quite as much as she does. And then after a while, it is time. Loath to put the phone down, they say their goodbyes, struggling to keep the emotion out of their voices.

The day had taken on a new coat of life. She stood up and went about some of the house-hold chores with a new spring in her step. Her knees, usually the cause of so much pain, seem to bother her less and the usual cloud of melancholy had lifted. For was this not what she hoped for everyday of her mundane existence ? Was this not what would help her through a few more days of boredom and anxiety ? She knew it would, and satisfied in this knowledge, she smiled wistfully at no-one in particular.

She had never been able to reconcile herself to the fact that her grandsons had to leave their home to go to college. She would always be amazed at what she construed as a mistake on the part of her daughter - to let her sons go. She was afraid that once out of sight, it would only be a matter of time before they were forgotten altogether. Her vulnerability would drive her to tears that she would keep to herself, too proud to show her anguish. Four years had passed before she began to realise that her fears were, perhaps, unfounded. Although she could not communicate with her grandsons as often as she would like, the occasional phone call would assuage her fears. Her grandsons had not forgotten her, and she thanked God for that.

She comes to the end of her chores, and tired out by the effort she sits down in the balcony of her flat to catch her breath, and enjoy the sunshine on a slightly chilly afternoon. She enjoys the refreshing warmth on her face, and is soon drifting off to sleep, dreaming of the days gone by ...

Nostalgia

The strains of music float through the air as I wonder where the past four-and-a-half years have gone. It seems only yesterday that I had taken my first unsure steps down Scholars' Avenue awed by the presence that was the Indian Institute of Technology. And now, a million new friendships and innumerable memorable moments later, here I am on the threshold of graduation. Reminds me of the old song I was taught in school:

Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing,
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago ...

A few more months and we will all be going our separate ways. A new beginning, a new world, and hopefully new friends, in lives forever altered. There are days when I look upon this positively, with enthusiasm and energy, as around the next corner lies challenges and thrills that, so far, we have only had occasional glimpses of. And yet there are invariably times when I experience a certain tightness in the chest - an inexplicable heartache. I find myself wishing that perhaps by some miracle we could start over - that perhaps even a few of the fleeting moments of happiness came to life again, drenching us anew with sheer heady excitement. Crushing, cruel reason barges in just then and slams the door of my imagination, bringing an abrupt end to my reverie, leaving nothing but a dull sadness in its wake.

The lines of a well-known song comes to mind just then ....

I was sitting on the edge of the bed,
Staring at the headlines on the paper,
It said 'Looking for Gene Kelly',
I guess he won't be singing in the rain,
You can take away all my heroes,
Can't you take away my pain ?

Can anyone ?