waves's blog

I stepped out of the car and was greeted by the familiar security guard at the gate. I smiled in greeting and passed by him to swipe my card. The swipe was not recorded and the buzzer beeped angrily. I stepped back puzzled. I then realized it was ages since I had left this place and obviously my card was de-activated. The guard helpfully offered the sign in register and told me I could enter after signing in. “Please get your card re-activated by raising a request”, he suggested the universally known remedy.

I trotted towards the heritage building, which, as the name suggests was the oldest building in the campus…where I had begun my career more than a decade from now. I stepped in gingerly hoping to spot some familiar faces, but found none. As I walked towards the elevator I heard someone exclaim, “Wow! You are back!” I turned around and was glad to be greeted by Naveen’s wide, ready, friendly smile which never failed to reach his eyes! We exchanged pleasantaries and headed towards the cafeteria to chat over a cuppa. “Why don’t you re-join your old lunch group for lunch?”, he asked.

“I don’t suppose there is anyone I know left in the lunch group anymore, other than you”, I said.

“Well, you might not know anyone, but everyone in the new lunch group knows you!”, he winked

“Huh?”, I wondered what had transpired to turn me into a public personality while I was on a sabbatical.

“Well, your blogs…I have made sure you are a household name by publicizing it! By the way, your blog site was down for the past couple of days but it is back up now”

So much for a blog site which I did not even remember I owned for the past 3 years! This blog site which had brought me my share of fame, friends and a medium to let my thoughts flow without having to worry about my identity. A paradise in which I basked in times of gloom. When was the last time I wrote? When did I lose that urge to share my thoughts, my experiences, to peep into other “ilands” , as they were originally called, leave my comments, wait for comments from loved friends… I wondered where all the “ilanders” are…I suppose the bevy of changes that have taken place in my life kept me busy and away from iland. Well, I am back…for good, or for a while, I can’t say. But I just thought I would knock and check if anyone answers…if there are any open arms…any familiar smiles and “wow, you are back!”s. And what better way to enter into the future, than to take a glimpse at the past? So here is a post – a blast from the past- called “Reminiscence”

REMINISCENCE

It was yet another bright and sunny day in college…with girls and guys parading their wares, flaunting what they had and hiding what they didn’t.

The familiar sounds of cat calls and whistles which assured the presence

of pretty young things in slinky little clothes and the omnipresence of seedy Romeos, filled the air. The prettier ones, obviously enjoying the attention but displaying pretended disgust, put on a smirk on their flawless faces and swayed their beautiful hips more violently which caused louder outbursts. The more studious ones or MSOs(read less beautiful) muttered insignificant bickering, more out of envy that they were not the object of attention, than out of anger at the outbursts, stamped their ugly feet and walked off in a huff! Heard them say something about people coming here to study and not to flaunt their beauty and it was due to the skimpily clad females that the world was what it was…but it all sounded like “sour grapes” to the onlooker. The older ones (the teachers, with due apologies for not mentioning the profession) displayed an air of non-chalance…some sighing nostalgically and the others nodding disapprovingly. But nothing could stop the world for these full of life youngsters for whom everyday brought a new breath of fresh air…another day of wearing a new dress, trying a new hairstyle, flaunting a new lip color, trying to woo that pretty/handsome girl/guy with a different gesture…and if time and mind permitted, listen to what was being said in class as a part of academic interests.

I had been a part of this mania too. I had my share of cat calls though the shrillness was less enthusiastic. This was in accordance with the cat call rule. The shrillness and amount of vocal chords that went into the cat calls were directly proportional to the beauty of the target. I had my share of crushes too and the airs of an MSO, sometimes. I had my share of fanfare too…much to my surprise and in one particular instance, my dilemma too.

Let me share this anecdote with all who care to listen –

There was this guy who smoked like a chimney, who looked and smelt like one too, whom I met during the first days of my college life. The meeting was an accident…a tragic one at that, for me, coz he was no better than those ugly, drooling, scheming villains in a c-grade movie, in looks and perhaps in mind too and who later caused me a great deal of  dilemma. For him it was another of those many instances of love at first sight…or so he declared. He talked to me first under the pretext of the usual tradition of ragging the new comers. He was, kind of, gentle than most others, I must admit. More so, because “ragging” always brought a monstrous fear for me, thanks to the description of it provided by the “experienced” who had distorted its very image beyond the limits of our flexed teenage imagination. I remember vaguely that he had asked me to sing after announcing proudly that he was in the 2nd year and that he was my senior which gave him the right to exercise this authority to rag. He had managed to get into the 3rd year when I last saw him and I recently learnt he was still around in the college, as a student, of course.

Getting back to where I had stopped, our meeting seemingly renewed his hopes of finding his lady love!  He declared he was forced to be my fan after he heard me singing and he showed his devotion by following me around the college like a faithful puppy. A smoking puppy, dressed in weird tight clothes (in an effort to show muscles which didn’t exist), pierced ears and black metal chain which looked more like a noose. This wasn’t the kind of attention I had wished for or any girl would wish for for that matter. Anyway, I got it just the same and there wasn’t much I could do about it except put on some airs and remain aloof. I had his friends howling whenever I happened to pass in front of their eyes and I had my own friends teasing the sense out of me. This hero finally mustered courage, a little too soon - a week after the fateful meeting, to profess his undying love for me. The confession was accompanied by a red enveloped card with colorful hearts hand drawn all over it and, which by the silhouette, looked like it was those teeny heart shaped fluttery cards. Don’t ask me what he had managed to  pen on it because I didn’t bother to take a look before I politely refused  to accept it…but with the look on his face I could say he had burnt the midnight oil trying to get the right words on paper. This was followed by more confessions and more desperate attempts to get me to say “yes”. An “yes” for what, my teenage mind never bothered to dig into…but it was known and  understood that an “yes” meant a moony look on your face, his/her name strewn all over your notes, more cards, more flowers, weekend dates, long rides, mushy phone calls, movies, more teasing and lot more “fun” things. It was the “in” thing that you should have “someone”…but this chimney was far from the “someone” I wanted. But that was not his problem or so he thought.

A week later, his friend walked up to me and said accusingly that his friend (our hero) was going to smoke himself to death if I didn’t say the holy “yes”. For all I knew he was enjoying the whole exercise considering chimneys are meant to smoke. I imagined him sitting with a passel of cigars, his dirty t-shirt clinging to his sick body, singing “Teri duniya se…” and smoking away to glory. My face writhed with disgust and words tumbled out before I knew it and I was surprised at my own voice which said, “He could continue being a chimney and smoke all the cigars in the world. I’ll be glad to lend you my week’s pocket money in case you want to buy him a few more boxes. But if this stupid threat continues your dear chimney will find himself in the principal’s chamber. He can smoke himself to death and die on the principal’s desk for all I care!”

His friend shot one piercing look as if I had wrung the chimney’s neck with my dupatta as the noose. He said something incomprehensible and walked off in a huff. Next thing I know, the chimney was saying this to a pretty young thing on the stairs of the admin building - “hum tho aapke aankhon ke fan ban gaye  hain..”, not even noticing that I had just passed by and watched him display his affection to yet another “junior”. I sighed! Another renewal of hope for him, another year of cards and flowers and another year of being a chimney…

I look back to all this with a nostalgic eye. I was disgusted at being wooed by a sick young teenager, a good for nothing bloke but then, come to think of it, I prided narrating the incident to all my friends (of course with a distorted look on my face as if I hated all the things which were happening to me).

I prided being wooed, even if it was by a chimney and we all had a lot of fun at his cost.

I prided getting cards and flowers and the thought that he would be there, waiting for my arrival, watching my every move.

I prided avoiding him too.

Now I know, every girl needs a memory of refusing love…just as much as she needs a memory of saying “yes”… to go back and reminisce in the authority…in the greatness of oneself…in the feeling of being loved and the luxury of not wanting it!!