What does a guy do, with an hour to kill, in Mumbai's top-notch engineering college with prestige and all that jazz? Puts pen to paper and hopes the words flow like traffic on an unjammed expressway.
The letters appear shakily on the crackling brand new notebook. Though a prolonged absence from actual, conventional writing is one of the reasons, the main culprit is the resting of my arm outside a third floor window, with my biscep acting as leverage and forearm dangling outside during a midnight conversation, with the wind trying to act more like a tornado. I'd talked about cleavages and bases, among other things.
I have to wait for a long time more. I see the senior students strutting in the canteen with a sense of possissiveness. I hear the loud discussions on Orkut, i hear the somewhat muffled girl-talks about the return of an ex-flame. A black and white cat smiles at me as it walks by. I smile back incredulously. I think a girl somewhere is trying to catch my eye but that's just my imagination.
I've been running around for almost two hours now. Hostel fees, Bio-datas in the office, a random line which turned out to be one for the railway concession form. I glance outside on the basketball court and feel a dead hope of seeing a known face. I've already stalked the college to that effect once. Puneites don't usually come on this of the country. They don't like the climate.
I glance at my watch. The impatience is starting to seep in. I feel my feet rhythmically under the table. I think of the person who slaps my thigh in irritation when i do that. I miss her.
I see friendships being bred here in the canteen. Some will last.
This ain't gonna end man! Another damn half hour to go! I randomly think of Ninitha and her accusations me stealing her bakarwadis. I realise my writing's beginning to smoothen out.
I consider going for another walk around the campus. Feels good walking through an array of emotions. The college is a minimised version of the great city it is in, I feel. I drop the walk idea. Jus cuz I can. I minor commotion is caused when a guy almost steps on the cat.
I put my pen down and look around helplessly. Time seems to crawl and itch it's way across. I begin to play Tabla on the table. A few heads turn. Only for a moment.
I realise I've been stealing looks at a certain girl between sentences. I take a long look at her and turn away an instant after she looked at me. I can feel her inquisitive eyes on me as I write. I try to straighten my posture.
I begin dreaming about good old times. Times on the tekdi, in the university. I think about whether they're gonna come back, ever. Thoughts turn to the future. I start missing a certain person a lot suddenly.
I slow down, realising I can kill more time and write neater that way. I recall a joke about killing two birds with a stone.
I'm whistling Johnny Cash's "I Walk the Line." A guy two tables away hears it and quick turns around in recognition. I go on whistling. I realise how much I adore whistling. I turn to a new vague tune. I think about the new earphones I need to buy for my iPod. I contemplate on whether to go for Philips or Panasonic.
My watch tells me it's 1 minutes to go. It's started raining outside. I think of getting my third cutting chai before i leave. A guy at the next table is narrating a joke. The girls listen intently, the guys seem uninterested. In another corner of the canteen some people start singing. The girl I was looking at goes upto the food counter. I resist the temptation of following her with another chai as an excuse.
I believe it's time I start packing. It's been a fun hour! I put my pen and notebook in my bag, get in my raincoat and head to the auditorium........
Off my Journal (the wine and the divine)
1 year ago