Tag: colleges

Chapter Seventeen: Acquainting

After a tiring day on the streets of Bangalore, the three friends decided to take Sunday off. They had planned to use the holiday to explore the college campus. They had had already gone through the buildings on the day of their interview, but it would be a whole new experience to do it as students of the college; they had a sense of mischief that was forbidden then.

On Sunday morning as the girls got ready to meet Anil, Praveena remembered the previous morning’s fiasco. She was standing in front of the mirror, combing her hair, and Niveda stood behind her, folding her clothes.

“Hey,” Praveena exclaimed looking at Niveda through the mirror, “I forgot, what about your medicines?”

“What about them?” Niveda responded carelessly. She swayed to the song that was playing from her mobile on her bed.

Praveena liked that song too. It was a party song which would make anyone move.

“What were they for?” Praveena now turned to face Niveda. She was curious, she had seen a lot of medicines in her life. They made uneasy, unceremoniously reminding her of her mother and the disease of which she died.

Seeing the serious look on Praveena’s face, Niveda stopped her chore and turned to Praveena, avoiding her eyes.

“Look,” She said, trying to keep her voice even. “I don’t want to talk about it, don’t ask me anything”. That’s when Praveena noticed Niveda’s eyes were bloodshot and she appeared to lack energy.

“Ok…” Praveena dragged not sure how to prod further. She realized Niveda shifting into a bad mood. “Let’s go, shall we?” She changed the topic. “I’m starving.”

Niveda nodded and, leaving her clothes on the bed, she left the room while Praveena followed, locking the door behind her.

They met Anil in the canteen not far away from the girls’ hostel. There weren’t many students in the canteen, except for a few early risers grabbing a watery cup of chai or coffee. With half a cup of coffee in front of him, Anil was meddling with his phone, his eyebrows creased in annoyance over something. Or someone.

“Hey,” Niveda and Praveena chorused as they took the remaining seats on the table.

Anil looked up at them, irritated. “I’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour. Why do you girls always have to be late?” He shook his head in exasperation.

“Sorry, buddy.” Niveda laughed. “We got caught up.” she said as Praveena smiled at his reaction.

“I’ll get something to eat” Praveena offered, standing up.

Twenty minutes later, the trio left the canteen, Niveda cursing the chef for his dismal cooking abilities.

They sauntered around the campus, not talking much. Niveda’s medicine issue kept nagging Praveena at the back of her mind. She was tempted to open the matter again, but resisted the urge for fear of angering Niveda. She had looked a bit scary the previous morning and Praveena decided to keep her silence. She turned to join the conversation when she saw the other two glaring at her.

“What’s up?” she inquired innocently.

“We were talking to you, idiot!” Niveda sounded amused and angry at the same time.

“Oh,” Praveena smiled sheepishly, “sorry,” she shrugged. “What were you saying?”

“Never mind!” Anil sounded tired. “Let’s go sit somewhere.

They went over to the open ground overlooking the campus. They sat down looking out into the open without talking. Praveena enjoyed the moment; the gentle breeze, the subtle sunlight, the vast expanse of greenery, and her friends by her side; she felt content and complete. Anil broke the silence, “Tell us a bit about yourself and your family,” he asked turning to Niveda.

Niveda rubbed her hands, “Okay, my father is CEO of some stupid export company,” she recited, waving her hand “My mother’s the leader member of the Bangalore Women’s Club and I’m the rich and ignored heir, raised by servants.” she finished with a flourish that plainly said she didn’t care. For a minute though, Praveena and Anil became silent, taken aback by Niveda’s curt attitude. “Your turn!” she turned brightly to Anil.

“Oh,” Anil smiled slightly “er—my parents are separated. Mom raised me. Both Mom and Dad are lecturers. Mom’s in Delhi with Anit, my brother, and Dad’s here in Bangalore. That’s it.” he shrugged.

“Wow!” Niveda exclaimed, interested. “you’re an ignored kid too?” ‘Was that a hint of joy in Niveda’s voice?’ Praveen’s inner voice piqued from nowhere.

“Er – nope. Mom left for Delhi only after I got in here. So…” he trailed away.

“Oh,” Niveda was mildly crestfallen. There was an awkward silence.

“Hey! What about you, Praveena?” Niveda piped in, still in high spirits.

“Me,” she hesitated. ‘That’s exactly the problem,’ she thought. She couldn’t talk to them about her mother and father. She felt scared. Did she expect them to tease her? Maybe, but she wasn’t sure. She glanced at the two questioning faces. “Dad’s in the hardware business in Chennai. And my mom died.” Seeing their shocked looks at the last few words, she added “I was thirteen,” nodding a little too hard. She had tried to sound as impassive as possible; she didn’t want to appear vulnerable. She realized, with annoyance, that she was still insecure with relationships as she had been in school. She suddenly wanted to talk to Ms Marrie. ‘She’d give you the best advice,’ her inner voice approved.

The three of them sat in silence, reflecting on their lives. Praveena remembered the conversation she had had with Ms Marrie a long time ago: You are never alone with your troubles.

She smiled to herself, silently thanking Ms Marrie.

National Blog Posting Month – Day 19

Chapter Fifteen: Friends

Praveena was to become a Psychologist. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have imagined herself in this situation. The college was in Bangalore and Praveena had to adopt hostel life. He father didn’t protest, again to her surprise.

College changed Praveena’s life without her permission. She had to socialize with other students —  something she had evaded for a long time in school. She was glad of it too. After years of being friendless in school, it had been tough to make friends all of a sudden; everyone had already formed their own groups, jelling well together. They were unwelcoming to a new person. Having realised it the hard way, Praveena was determined not to repeat her mistake.

On her first day in college, a warm Friday morning, she sat alone in the last row, when another girl took the seat next to her. All other places were taken, even when Praveena came in. The ‘all students in the last row are morons’ attitude stood in Bangalore too, Praveena realized, as she looked around from her place.

The girl next to her remained silent, looking troubled. She had tied her long brownish hair back in a pony, but a few strands hung either side of her temples. Praveena liked the way the girl wore her hair; she had never tried it on herself. ‘Maybe you should.’ ‘Ya, and maybe you should shut up.’

The girl sat with her face down, resting on folded arms. She seemed to be in pain. Praveena wondered if she should talk to her.

She turned around to look at the other students. Everyone was quiet, tentative to start a conversation. A boy sat right in front of her. It was his hair that attracted Praveena’s attention. It was short, jet black and well kept. She felt a pang of envy.

A few minutes of silence later, the tension diffused and everyone began talking with each other. It seemed like the teacher would be late. It was only later that Praveena learnt that things were done quite differently in the St. Benedict School of Sciences; teachers never showed up for class on the first day of the year. This was to encourage students to get to know each other before they began academics.

As the others started talking, the boy who sat in front of Praveena turned to her, “Hi, I’m Anil.”

“Praveena,” she responded, extending a hand. He took it smiling. She noticed dimples in his cheeks. ‘Cute,’

The girl next to looked up, turning her head this way and that. She seemed to be annoyed with the silence. Anil spoke to her. “Hi, I’m Anil.”

The girl looked at him with a strange expression on her face, as if she could hear him but couldn’t see.

“And I’m Praveena.” She held out a hand.

The girl looked from Anil to Praveena and then back. She took a few seconds to respond, “Niveda.” she said at last.

An awkward silence fell between them as they looked at each other. Then suddenly out of nowhere, Niveda burst out laughing, taking the other two by surprise.

“Well,” she managed between laughter, “what do we say next?” her eyes were twinkling with excitement.

“Wow?” Anil said a little nervously, making her laugh even more. Anil looked at Praveena bewildered, and saw her reflecting his look.

“Friends?” Niveda asked, looking at the other two, her palm raised upwards.

“Sure.” Anil was enthusiastic.

“Friends.” Praveena affirmed.

It was the strangest thing that had happened to her. She had never made friends this way before. She was excited and a little reserved at the same time. She wondered if this friendship would be as strong as the ones she had seen and read.

From that day onwards, the trio became good friends. They had committed to the relationship knowing nothing about one another, but they would figure out on the way.
That evening, Praveena moved into the hostel. She was quite thrilled when she found out who her room mate would be.

As she entered their room laden with heavy bags, Niveda threw herself at her. “Hey! Welcome, my new roomie!” She sounded so excited that it infected Praveena as well.

“Hey!” She hadn’t expected Niveda, “This is wonderful,” she said earnestly. “Wow, the two of us!” The thought thrilled her. She had heard Anil was in the hostel too. It was the first time Praveena looked forward to meeting a friend, and she liked the feeling.

Niveda took Praveena’s hands and ran around the room in joy. “We could do so much together!”

“Sure, why not!” Praveena laughed. She felt dizzy already.

National Blog Posting Month – Day 17

It Doesn’t Matter

Because in the end, nothing matters.

Feels awkward, to start the day with a thought like that. But it’s a bitter fact. Nothing matters. In the end. Not the people we choose to hold hands in church with, not the kind of soup we pick at the supermarket, or the lifestyle that we adopt.

But, sad enough, it all matters. Now.

And like it or not, we live in the now. We think ahead — humans are weird that way — and save for the future. Save money, save the journeys we’d like to make, save everything. We save ourselves now, hoping to take up life later  on— in future.

But in the end, nothing matters. In future, once I’m dead and gone, it doesn’t matter that I had once smoked pot in school. But oh, it matters so much when I’m in school.

But, which matters to us more; the future, or this moment?

Sometimes, even thinking about it is meaningless. Because it won’t matter to me at the end of this post. But mid-way, it matters a lot. Not only because it’s giving me something to ramble about, but also because my decision now affects the course of my life.

This moment matters to me. The small choices matter. Like choosing to read alone, instead of throwing myself into a crowd of college kids drunk on their parents’ money. I know it won’t matter later. That’s why it matters now. Because it’s trivial. And short-lived. Because I’ll never get to make these choices again. I hold on to the things that matter to me now, because when I get to a point when nothing would matter anymore, I would remember these little choices.

Because, after all, even the death bed is just a moment. And then, it would be the now.

To Do or Not to Do

paulo coelho - university
I know a lot of people who regret not getting a college degree. It’s hard to not feel bad too, because all anyone’s ever talking about is what you do after high school, and after the first degree. Somehow, people have taken a liking to the idea of children living off their parents.
In India, in particular, parents are proud to spend for their child’s education – for as long as they want to study. Even though education has become one of the highest earning businesses in India, they hardly accept the futility of a degree.
So for everyone who regrets not getting a degree, Paulo Coelho has said it well. Besides, the world already has too many engineers, what it needs now is artists.

Life Is What You Make It

“If you have not made somebody’s day happier, if you’ve not appreciated something good that has happened to you and if you have not felt thankful to be alive, then you have wasted that day of your life on earth!”

~Preeti Shenoy, Life Is What You Make It

Alright, before I start about the book, let me just declare that I can’t tolerate love stories. Surprised? Yeah, I get that a lot.

Bleeding hearts, love letters, sleepless nights, butterflies and all the other insane things people relate to love – I hate them all. Particularly when the author takes up multiple pages describing how blissfully painful the sensation is.

I totally hate when simple events are exaggerated. Oh, I can’t stand to read how people in love, trip over something as tiny as a pencil and break their leg! Love isn’t about such mindlessness and I dislike it when authors illustrate it so.

Having said that, I was a bit tentative about reading the book. Knowing it was a love story, I had evaded the book for some time now. It was only when I held the book and read the description on the cover that I realized that the story addressed a bigger issue; a disease bigger than unrequited love; Bipolar Disorder.

I so wanted to read the book after that! 

I wasn’t new to the condition; I’ve read blogs of people who are bipolar, and a few other articles too.

So the adventure began. It kept me awake through the night, and that doesn’t happen often, in the case of books that is.

I’m not into reviews, so here’s the story in short. It’s the life of an Indian girl, whose ambition penetrates her love story. She is the brightest student in her MBA batch, until she starts showing signs of bipolar disorder. With her recovery, ends the story.

I only felt that the learning-to-manage-without-medication process was too quick to be true. It is a lengthy process, as I understand, but it seemed simple in the book.

Bipolar Disorder seems to have a simple solution, and trivial matters, like trusting the “weird sisters“, end up tragic. Maybe that’s the queer thing about the written word. But that’s a topic for another time.