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.