For old times' sake

‘And this time, it's going to be brilliant’, were my thoughts when I disembarked from the train and was mighty chuffed to find everything so ‘in-sync’(for want of a better expression) – that car, that front seat, that stereo playing the same old CD, passing that Green-and-Yellow gate on GT road, that Kolkata Knight Riders’ Billboard(:o), etc.

And yet there was this voice at the back of my head which said, ‘Stop it – this rummy feeling isn’t going to last for long. Before you know it, it’s gonna be gone’. Understandably, I scoffed at even the slightest thought of the hols ending. Three months is a long, long time yaar. Now I have to go and vote as well, first thing in the morning. Will it be the Reds or will it be a Trinamool whitewash (err, greenwash)? Why am I thinking of all that bilge? And so I filed away that unsavoury thought somewhere far, where it wouldn’t be able to needle me.

It’s surprising how easily one can get back into that old way of doing things. It’s no point living in the past – I know someone who’d sneer and say these exact words. Well, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to live in the past. The past lives on… in you. And you don’t take a couple of days to ‘acclimatise’ to the change. You know how to deal with it. I trudge into the dining hall first thing in the morning, which has the TV no. 2 tuned to Times Now/NDTV 24x7/BBC World and that familiar genial man sitting in front of it, sipping his morning tea, and then downing whatever he can find in the fridge or in the loft. The lady in the kitchen reacts testily –‘Your cholesterol levels are going to get you!’, to which all he offers is a sheepish grin. A 13 year-old bloke emerges from the bathroom in a towel and yells – he’s getting late for school.

And I’m back there. In the afternoon at 2, I go to school to pick the brother up. Familiar faces smile and wave – the juniors, the teachers, the guards at the gate (Traffic duty, boss :D) and the usual question ‘Kemon aachish/Kemon aacho/How are you?’.

In the evening, I make a couple of phone calls, zip down to Polo Ground/Apcar Gardens/Burnpur Club/somebody’s house(whichever is convenient) and kickstart those adda sessions which seem neverending, until there’s a missed call from mum at, say, 10:30 pm at the earliest.

I come back home, shove dinner down my throat and then flounce off into the study. I switch on the PC, resume the inactive torrents and transfer the completed ones onto my laptop for viewing later on. Then I watch some TV, after which I switch on the AC in the bedroom and read whatever it is I’m reading at that point in time.

And then drift off to sleep until next morning, for which I can’t wait. That’s because I’m going to take out my two-wheeler at 5 am and go someplace with my bros. Or do something our group feels like doing, like having a gang over at our place to watch some movies or duel it out in Gran Turismo on the Playstation or indulge in the usual guy-talk (cars/sports/films/THAT girl).

These are my life’s little pleasures.

It’s been rightly said (here I go again, cockface) that people seem to get nostalgic about a lot of things they weren't so crazy about the first time around. How effing true is that!

That’s why I’m typing this out, while sipping Diet Coke, biting into the last pieces of that chocolate cake Mama made, and listening to ‘City of Blinding Lights’, which I feel is weirdly suited to the tone of the sentimental hogwash that you’re reading right now.

Life. Will never be the same again.

It's a cliche, isn't it? 'Life will never be the same again'. How very true. But if you think about it, nothing, ever has remained the same. And a cliche comes to be known as a cliche because it's something that keeps happening, regardless of the day and age!! All that we are surrounded by, all that we are, all that we have been and all that we want to be is never what it was, is, or will eventually be. Even our past looks different from a distance. The thing is, time has a fantastic knack of throwing away all the bad bits, those which we wouldn't like to remember or give much importance either way, and retain all the good things about our life 'back then'. Maybe that's why we tend to view our past a little leniently. More often than not, you'll hear people tell you, "Those were the days!!".

And I am talking about all this because I experienced it recently. I had this urge to (finally) go watch 'Jaane Tu...Ya Jane Na'(a strictly OK-OK movie. That's my review.). And not because I really wanted to, but because it had already been three weeks since the movie released, but I hadn't watched it till then. I was chastising myself, thinking that I was the only sub-20 guy in town who hadn't seen the film, when all my friends were gushing about this 'masterpiece'. And I picked up the phone, and dialled Shubhra's number. 2 rings later, I suddenly recalled something and hung up.

Shubhra's classes had already begun the week before. He was already in college! And I was cooling my heels at home... I would have ended up looking like the greatest idiot alive when I would have asked his folks, 'Is Shubhra home?'

There are a lot of things we take for granted. And that's only natural.

'Koi cheez jab khud se chhin jaaye, tabhi uski aehmiyat ka ehsaas hota hai'.

There was a time when we, a bunch of 5-10 St. Patrick's guys, would go for a dinner, a lunch, even a tuition together. It was the 'normal' thing back then. All we had to do is make a few phone calls, and we louts were on our way, accompanied by our horrible sense of humour, our outrageous shouting and our intolerable wisecracks. On any normal day, that was a given. And now, it's hit me like a train. The fact that it's no longer going to be a 'given'. In fact, we'd be extremely fortunate if life has even one small occasion like that in store. The thing is, my definition of 'normal' has to change. Staying here in Chennai has to be normal. Not meeting up with old friends has to be normal. Making new ones has to be normal. Will I succeed?

Yes. Because I must.

Vanakkam Chennai. Chollam, Asansol!! Pore dekha hobe!!

Grazie St.Patrick's...Thanks for the Trip.

“Sach hai ki dil toh dukha hai...

Humne magar socha hai...

Dil ko hai gham kyun, aankh hai nam kyun?

Hona hi tha jo hua hai..

Uss baat ko...jaane bhi do...

Jiska nishaan...

Kal ho naa ho.”


My favourite lines from one of my favourite songs...

A short ode to my alma mater, St. Patrick's:

I don't remember the start particularly well... all I remember was that I cried more than all my classmates put together...'Maa ki yaad bahut aati thi', probably.

Come to think of it, I hated going to school, and despised everything it stood for.

13 years down the line, things have changed. And how!!!
My school is my 'everything' now... and the journey I've had, is something which is indelibly etched in my heart and soul. The journey is not about an epic that had been set in motion 13 unforgettable years ago, but it is about the unforgettable moments we've had along the way. Those were the ones that made life so beautiful...So, it has become all the more painful to let go. It has become hard to wake up on weekdays when the sordid reality hits me like a train - no more pseudo-traffic duty, no more getting "Heyy"-ed by Mr.Victor, no more bunking LNG's classes, no more hooliganism in the canteen... I could go on. And on. And on. Like that car in the Amaron Batteries’ ad.

And I can’t start talking about the comradeship amongst all of us Patricians, and all those bittersweet memories we share. Sounds clichéd, I know, but this is an indisputable fact. If I even begin on that topic, several tomes will be filled up, and I’d still want to write some more! And yes, its all over. ‘Picture abhi baaki nahin hai mere dost! Ab toh zindagi ke theatre mein sirf andhera hai…Jisme main khud ko, aur apne doston ko dhoondhta hoon…’

In hindsight, I really consider myself extremely lucky because I had something with me that made saying 'goodbye' so, so painful.

The memory of our last two days at school shall forever remain our memory, like the dazzle of the Sun after a hazy fog...You just couldn't have written a script for this.

We always want perfect endings. 'Happys Endings'(a la OSO). But now we've learnt the hard way that some poems don't rhyme and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end.

We don't know what life has in store for us - for life is about not knowing, about having to change constantly, taking the moment and making the best of it, without being aware of what lies in store...

Weak, weak, weak. That's what you are thinking now. The guy whose blog you are so painstakingly looking up is a complete wimp. He can't bear losing his school! What stuff is he made of?

Actually, saying all this and feeling all this doesn't show me as a weakling. In fact it goes on to show how strong I actually am. Because giving up does not mean I'm weak. It means that I am strong enough to let go.

Grazie, St. Patrick's.

Thanks for the trip.