20050921

You know you are not totally over the camping/trekking trip when...

You do not gross out when seeing assorted insects, worms or dead animals

Mess food tastes good

You try to eat random looking fruits, berries and uproot small plants to eat their roots

Whenever you see a group of people, you run upto the front and smile, waiting for your picture to be taken

You contemplate drinking water from the mosquito breeding centre – also known as ‘pond’ in local parlance – when you are thirsty

You think taking an auto for any distance less than 3 Km is either for invalids or wimps

Your friends and Profs donot recognize you because of your tan

When you donot recognize yourself in pictures because of your tan

And the #1 sign is....

When you want to answer nature’s call, you look for proper cover behind the bushes!!!

20050910

Im listening to MLTR

Im listening to MLTR on my laptop and a heavy rucksack beckons me. Its just 15 minutes for my departure. I am carrying Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient to read on the journey.

The adrenalin rush is still there, but I am more or less ready to take it. I need this diversion now. I am not sure why I signed up for this, but guess it will turn out well – as all my impulsive, spur of the moment decisions have been.

Met an Ayn Rand lover in the mess today. Who would have thought? Many of those I came across here either thought Ayn too hi-fi or too stupid for the reality. And one of the persons whom I never even thought had anything in common with me have something nice and interesting to tell about her.

MLTR gave way to Will Smith, and now Brahms is serenading me.

Ciao then. I am taking a notepad with me. I hope to write about the trip so that I can develop it into something and then put it up on you.

You take care and be a good blog now!

See you after 20th..

Im listening to MLTR on my laptop and a heavy rucksack beckons me. Its just 15 minutes for my departure. I am carrying Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient to read on the journey.

The adrenalin rush is still there, but I am more or less ready to take it. I need this diversion now. I am not sure why I signed up for this, but guess it will turn out well – as all my impulsive, spur of the moment decisions have been.

Met an Ayn Rand lover in the mess today. Who would have thought? Many of those I came across here either thought Ayn too hi-fi or too stupid for the reality. And one of the persons whom I never even thought had anything in common with me have something nice and interesting to tell about her.

MLTR gave way to Will Smith, and now Brahms is serenading me.

Ciao then. I am taking a notepad with me. I hope to write about the trip so that I can develop it into something and then put it up on you.

You take care and be a good blog now!

20050908

The wooda are lovely, dark and deep

I am extremely psyched out, and yet, I can’t wait for the trek to start. A bunch of XLers who are not 100% normal thought that the best way to enjoy a vacation is to spend the 10 days in the wild, trekking to Chirapunji, and rock climbing, paragliding et al on the way.

I have been always afraid of heights and falling from great heights. Even my most fearful dreams consisted of me falling and experiencing the gravity pull – and now I am on my way to experience the heights.

Why did I go for it? Well, a lot of factors contributed. One friend promised to take me to the neighborhood IIT and then to Calcutta. Then his mom called and demanded that he drag his fat ass home or else... [We never know what moms mean when they say ‘or else...’ Na?]

That left me with 3 + 3 days to spend on the train and subsequent courtesy callings, where except the places where I spent my childhood and places with kids, I have no wish to go again... but talk about the ‘or else... ‘clause of mothers....

So I decided I will brave the mosquito bites for 10 days than go home or sit at XLRI. The latter was never really an option as I cry whenever I see my friends lave for end term holidays. Weird but true.

But all this really do not explain why I signed up.

I want to go there because I have never done this before. I want to experience this, so that I can tell myself later that I did it. So that when someone who looks upto me asks me for advice, I can look at them in the eye and ask them never to fear the unknown, but to explore it at the risk of discomfort and anxiety.

Weird, but true. Which makes this even weirder for me.

20050901

GH4 is dead, long live GH4

GH4 is not mine anymore. I tried being there this term, this entire term, but no; I have disowned it; and it has forgotten me. That floor where I used to go for really good talks and watching all sorts of movies ranging from Chinese to Lebanese is not there. The floor which expanded my reading, my movie related knowledge, the floor where I saw how filthy you can keep a room and still live there, the dope room, the cigarette room, the daroo room...

And the people in them. A nice gentleman sweetie pie, a stubborn bull, a slightly moody doggy, a bear that is totally selfish like a kid, the creative muse of our batch who was bursting with ideas, the guy who could have been the topper but chose not to, our own Pele, the rain gods, Neo from the matrix -– they all were there.

That floor had something special in it. It housed some of the best brains of our college, some of the best players and some creative geniuses. I guess it was our equivalent of Paris during Renaissance, with people from other floors and hostels flocking there for likeminded souls. The place which was the base to an eclectic array of people who added strength and spine to our culture. They were the mavericks, the people who chose to be who they wanted to be and cheerfully waved the finger at disapproving eyes. Individualism was their mantra. They spread out into different directions, different dimensions, thus adding depth and meaning to the subculture of GH4.

I miss them.

Now GH4 is much tamer. I cannot find the same intense conversations, gyan sessions, insights and inspirations which were so abundant then. It is inhabited by a different breed, not as coarse as the earlier one, and definitely not as attractive.

GH4 has renewed her password, and all of a sudden I find myself not knowing it. My onlyreprievee is the memory of those days, and the EL top where I sit to think and to star gaze. And I find that I do not really care about belonging to each and every room of that floor any more. They were my seniors, the people whom I watched with awe, who opened the magic box called XLRI to me. And the current residents are my friends, the people I know and love, whose feets of clay I am too aware of. Add to it some juniors -blasphemy! - and the disenchantment is complete. The Mavericks have moved on, and so should I.

GH4 is dead, long live GH4.
Google PageRank Checker Tool