Reunions are the perfect opportunity to re-live those memories; the shards of longing that take on new meaning, a fuller picture is built with the bricks of collective recollection. On such days, when friends get together, the sun goes a shade of nostalgic pink. A familiar face evokes the frantic spring-cleaning of memory for a forgotten name, the quiver of the heart as it takes in the shock of recognition.
The Michael Jordan in me indulges in layup shots, three-pointers and wanton fouls the entire day, as I am stretched out on my back on the lawns. There is no trouble from the time-keeper, the food at the canteen seems more edible, and nothing can go wrong with the world. I don’t even need my jacket today. I am warm, flush with fluffy, cotton-candy thoughts.
The Sardar became my friend, philosopher and guide in the nuances of Industrial Training. “No way are we gonna give these geezers our ass for 600 rupees a month”. His demeanor was bristling, the choicest abuses drove his conversations and the unbridled aggression made everyone sit up. I don’t know why he took a liking to me and decided he was going to watch out for me.
What followed was a steady stream of pulsating invective that immediately raised the room temperature by a few notches.
The ITDC Ashok Hotel, all chrome and very bureaucratic, with its trademark fading red carpets and mangy odour in its rooms, was falling off at its seams when I reached there..
Campus interviews are like falling in love.
I am yet to have survived in a place dirtier than Sithara.
The IHM Chronicles Series
On My Nightstand
Tweets and Chirps !
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