the end and beginning o many sorts

I was very excited. Not because I was going to my dream college or something, but because I was going to a college, which was very impressive according to many sites that got redirected from “I am feeling lucky” when you google “Top 20 engineering colleges of India”. I was one of those kids, yeah, twelfth pass kids, who think they are extremely evolved and have decided presumed opinions about almost everything under the sun. I was pretty convinced I wanted to graduate in something fancy, something out of the league, something that would get eyebrows raised when I would answer their rhetoric question, “so what are you doing, Beta?”-nuclear engineering, a branch of engineering I knew practically nothing about, except that it was a comparatively new branch of engineering, and a certain college down in Chennai had recently started teaching it. Only after attending the counseling and looking at the stark reality of things was I redolent that it was impractical to pursue such far-fetched notions. So, after undergoing many kinds of tribulations which involved tiresome persuasions from my well-meaning parents, the celebrated college mentioned above was duly and respectfully chosen and I was sent there with a respectable sounding branch-electronics and communication engineering. And after some time, I was only too happy to advertise it; after all I was not unaware of the magnanimity of what I now had. So the bottom line is that, I was happy and I reached college being so.

epithelial

PROLOGUE:
The wind is blowing fast-a bit too fast for my liking. But then, it was better than I expected, given that I was standing on the highest point my college could offer me. We had chosen a wise date for the dare as it is the last day of the second semester, precisely a certain basic electrical engineering exam in which the likes of eight and nine-pointers failed to make a mark in the mid-semester examinations. Somehow we were sure we won’t flunk in the end semesters that all the more increased our perseveration towards performing the…well not undoable, but the preposterous dare.
Visiting the bell tower-this is a feat all the first year students get in legacy from our seniors. We specially identified the need to visit this place after going through the album of one of our seniors in healthy detail. It emerged as a sort of “tashan” to steal to this place…especially as it was not allowed. The entry was a rickety spiral staircase that evolved from the out-of-bounds siren room, located just near the vice-chancellor’s office. The guard had been meaningfully positioned there by the authorities for carrying out three simultaneous duties that is so exclusive to the Indian way of doing things or rather getting things done, namely-barring access to the VC’s office during unofficial and inconvenient hours, ringing the sirens at exact intervals of fifty minutes signaling the end of periods and third (less tiresome and seldom responsible), guarding the staircase to the college terrace.
Our plan was well-made, and even better accomplished, that is so untypical for first time wrong-doers. But now when I think of it, sitting within the confines of my room that impedes absolutely every chance of stepping a toenail out of line, maybe this instinct was too well-honed not to be successful during the recessive periods I spent in my room at large with no one for company except me in the first semester. But that’s a different story altogether.
Yes-the plan. One of my less daring friends-Palashi was supposed to do this little bit for us; her share of contribution towards this plan-the necessary evil part of being one of us. She was to create a diversion by feigning to be confused about the complex labyrinths of passageways and involving the guard in her quest. Meanwhile, we were supposed to make a grab for the now-unguarded doorway and fly off towards the sky! And that we did. We successfully reached the terrace of or building, none of us were what one would call averagely tall, so we didn’t particularly worry about us being seen by the euphoric students frolicking in the grounds below. And we believed Palashi too much to worry about any intruders to our blissful bout of rule-breaking.
We glided up the staircase leading from the terrace to the bell-tower, and I ran to touch the bell, symbolically trying to ring it, signaling the end of our second semester of engineering studies. I was happy…very happy the way things turned out to be; especially after the murky details of the first semester. The subsequent years would be even better, I decided then. There. I narrowed my eyes, trying to blink away the tears, but Ravi saw me. I smiled apologetically; she looked away, choosing to ignore my gesture. I was thankful.

reshma aka ria

 Ria: Ria is an archi student..she was that sort of a person who is least bothered about the tribulations of her surroundings she would fall in love, repeatedly, dump and get dumped, FB, throw a cola party the night before the exams, undulatingly organise vodka binges and still top in the exams. strangely enough, inspite of being surtrounded by all sortsa bitchy girls, nobody dared bitch about her. she couldn.t be bitched about coz. and I, i adORED HER...IN THE TRUE SENSE OF THE WORD. everybody deep down wanted to be like her, i was one of the few people who dared to accept it!

Snippets from a myth!!

 """"""  I didn’t like Hindi movies; I was very vocal about my dislike of girlish oomphs, and about my frequently changing crushes…these were reasons enough for people from not-so-big-towns to dislike me, I myself did not belong to a hyper metro city, came down from a small city called Kota which had recently shot into fame owing to its now-flailing IIT-JEE coaching institutes, but I was somehow, unworkably, not one of them. And the fact that I belonged to the infamous NRI quota was the last straw for any person who would try to search for one small reason to befriend me…and she left the mission """"""

""""""  yesterday chhotomama came, he advised me to first form a theme for the story (theme for a dream ;))..n i thot n thot and struck this chord...the stheme of the story is that::::
a freshman's account of the exclusively freshman years at college. this real life account has it all.  Bad decisions made, and corrected, wrong friends chosen, and dumped, bad times and good, pathetic grades and well, not topping grades, but not-so-pathetic grades following. the only thing that remained constant thoroughout those couple of years was HOPE. somewhere deep down, someone long back once said: Everythings gonna be all right. And it all did.
but the question that lingers inspite of everything is What is right? is it what you think or is it what they decide? what matters to you most? you or the ones who care for u the most, or  those, whom u care for the most? inspite of us being capitalistically selfish, debatably egoistic, some people and what they think do matter, however minuscule the realisation maybe, but it does. and this changes the course of your life...

This story begins in the present that is me...in the holidays…in Doha…waiting for the third semester to start…with all the colorful details and confusing bits…the other flashbacks will come in eventually as the story progresses, following specific incidences that would remotely relate to some ongoing incidents.
dun wory girl, the progressing semesters would give u enough oppurtunities to look back into ur first semester and reflect reminiscently.

Nasim Mohammed, a nerdy-looking-but-as-far-from-being-onez-as-one-could-possibly-imagine guy from Saudi arabia, was the active member of the infamously elite group of the college, the NRI group. (yeah, it always took me a while before i realised i was an extremely redundant member of that group too..so redundant, that even the seniors throwing fresher's parties were unaware of the fact).  althpugh I personally did not find him particularly intolerable, yet, for me, the fact that he was one of them was reason enough not to strike any friendshippy string with him, inspite of him being in my own branch and batch, just one roll number preceeding me. Plus the disinterest was excruciatingly mutual. The end. He too was one of our frequent subjects of joke, in the realms of girly gossips that I used to share with Raveena and Erica. Everything he used to be  bedecked was a matter of sheer laughter for us. I stubbornly ignored any bright spot his persona had, him being a good elocutionist being one of those very few, and like ignoring Brutus' bright side, we used to make fun of every aspect of him, starting with his first name which according to me was a name good enough to be that of a domestic cat, his nerdy looks, his elucutionary skills, his over-politeness, his 100/100 in boards in math and his worshipping Sureeli (Ah! now that justifies my hatred) """"""


This name is derived from one of Shahnaz Hussain's product. It such happened once, I bought this product and showed it to Ravi. She immediately rendered that name fit enough to be awarded to a genie..as in Shamoon ki Aka. The only person close enough to be called a genie was this other NRI guy(another pseudo -NRI) called Mobashir Ahmed. I used to feel guilty everytime we talked about him, because according to what m y good senses always kept reminding me, he was simply not a person wwho deserves any kind os discussion within any kind of girl groups, least that being ours. His nick was Droopy-eyes, which I had immediately attributed to be a result of drug-consumption (prejudiciously) and his total disinterest in girls resulted in him beign branded as a gay by Erica. I shall not discuss about him any more here as I again am feeling that familiar guilt engulf me.

शितितल

शितितल की श्वेत शम्म है
हिमांश फलक पे विराजमान है
यूँ देख देख द्रवित हो उठे
मन माटी मेरा क्यों आज

समय की धारा न बहे हमेशा
कछु किंचित यह रुक सी जाए
कभी कभी विमुख हो जाए
कुछ ऐसी ही सांझ ई आये
बीत गए जो लम्हे वोह फिर
याद है आये, क्यों ये आये?
वो शाम भी कुछ ऐसी ही थी,
शम्म जले थे जिस दिन उस दिन
पहले-पहल तामीर व बातें
हुई थी उनसे, बीते दिन, वे मलिन मृत्तंश
दर पर मेरे जाने क्यों आया!
खोला जब दर मैंने देखा!
बस याद ही आई थी वो याद...

one ounce less

one night very famed
burgeoise blue, hand held,
it came n went, juxtaposed,
it never knew d capers caused

she held the emerald river noble,
and the stars saw her thru their tiny wings,
which spread over the glossy veneer
of the mirthless robe of tree bells

it flew, blew, roared n called,
the minx of murky pity, the hound.
silence o mute, tranquil, forsaken solitude,
it pricked the skins of loners nude,

ah ecstasy! it knew no bounds,
the hilary of woe
it spurred the souls of pitied, the envy
of words n actions, unjuxtaposed.

satiny satan said saturnalia
alas!had she heard,
or unawares was she taken?
or dd she knew, just an ounce less???

nay, she answered her guardian devils,
the penultimate whole,
the stain of beat betraying,
the taste of a wine age old...

ah! but just an ounce less....