As I write this, it is slowly but surely sinking in that I have just one week of student life left. Like many things in life, this is an inevitability; but again like many things in life, it is not the happiest inevitability. I know it is coming one day, but I don't want that day to dawn. I also have not realised the passage of time until this morning, when two incidents occured which dropped on me with the force of a falling meteor.
Ajay casually asked me on our way to college, "When are your final presentations in corporate finance?" and when I replied, "Next Wednesday", he said, "Oh! I was hoping we could travel back together next week. But I have exams starting from Thursday, so I can't go home on Wednesday." I remained silent for a minute, because my mind suddenly raced over the four years of travelling we have done together. In four years we have discussed, argued, agreed upon, disagreed upon and debated just about everything under the sun from "hot" girls passing by on the road, to the possibility of life outside of the Earth, to every conceivable subject in law. Both of us have bunked innumerable classes just to return together when one of us was leaving early for some reason. I suddenly realised that one of my fondest memories of law school life - travelling with Ajay - was coming to an end. Monday morning will perhaps be our last ride together.
Then when I entered the Acad Block to attend class, "Yum" Bharat called to inform that class had been cancelled. Then when I called Tanmay, he said that there would be no more classes. The words "No More Classes" hit me like something fired out of a shotgun at point blank range. Five years of rushing to catch the bell, five years of managing attendance to just about reach the required 75%, five years of innovative bunking techniques, five years of SMS-ing in class, five years of chit-passing, five years of sleeping in class, five years of Snake and Bounce and F1 high scores, five years of heated (and largely irrelevant and nonsensical) arguments - they had all come down to this. No formal farewell, no official last class, no sentiment, no clamouring for a "free" hour, no vote of thanks to the teacher - nothing to indicate that our collective student lives are over. There is a time and place for everything, and this is the time and place for sentiment; but sadly, it hasn't been given an opportunity to present itself in the open.
It is true that I have spent most of my fifth year at home. It is true that I have antagonised approximately ten times more people than I have befriended in college. It is true that I have been one of the least enthusiastic persons in class as far as participation in "class" activities go. It is true that I am the butt of jokes for my utterly irrational, maverick and impulsive decisions regarding everything. Yet something binds me to this place, to my classmates, to my hostel mates, to my teachers, to the institution in general. I will miss organising and conducting the late night "crash courses" before any exam, I will miss my quisling-like activities during moot court selections, I will miss the "philosophical" discussions with people like Dnyanesh, I will miss making all those crazy and ill-timed points in class, I will miss the adrenaline flows during the final 24 hours before project submission, I will miss "flirting" with anyone female in college - hell, I will miss everything I ever did as a routine here.
Before my tear glands overflow, I want to look back upon what I have achieved here. On the positive side, I have achieved a moderate CGPA which ultimately got me a highly coveted job, reasonable success in moot court competitions which took me to one of the most prestigious national-level events, a subservience to the system which kept me in the good books of the faculty, a strong will power which helped me resist temptations, a wonderful world-view and maturity which has given me the strength and ability to live life, a strong moral base which is based on reason and tolerance, and finally, great friends who will be by my side through life. On the negative side, I have learnt how to "manage" the system which has reduced the value of hard work and perseverence in my eyes, I have acquired an arrogance and swagger for merely being a part of an "elite" institution as compared to others in more "mundane" colleges, I have made many enemies because of my wavering nature and selfishness, and as a result, I have become an introvert and a loner which makes me a very poor team player.
Now I have to put an end to this. Perhaps, years later, when the sentiment has died, I may find the patience to write some memoirs of my life in law school.
So long, farewell, adieu to you, my dear National Law School. It hasn't been an education, it has been an experience....
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
Mumbo-Jumbo Mania
A pair of eyes gleamed at me through the incense smoke. After a gap of a second or so, a fine set of white teeth sparkled through the greyness. Then a disembodied voice said, "I am sorry. You are going through a bad phase now. Your planets have gone and misaligned themselves, bad boys that they are..." If I was looking for sympathy in that voice, my search would be in vain, for the voice hinted of untold pleasures and unmistakable glee. I let out my breath through pursed lips, disrupting the smoke's lazy ascent to the ceiling. Suddenly I noticed that beads of sweat were now collecting themselves into a mighty stream and had overcome the barrier of my eyebrows and were hovering on the tips of my eyelashes. I fished out the handkerchief and thwarted the attempts of the salty river to blind me.
My relief was palpable. Planetary misalignment was a mere trifle. Planets are obedient characters. A prayer or so would move mighty Jupiter back into his path and a few more prayers or a lamp or so would make the dangerous Saturn shed the extra ring or so. I had feared that something more sinister than planetary whims were at play behind my misfortunes, such as mortal human beings a hundred thousand millionth the size of these planets casting a spell on me. Spells are dreaded in this part of the world. A single spell would stop the favourable planet dead in his tracks and send Mr. Good Fortune packing. But planets... Bah! They are just pawns in the celestial game of chess that astrologers play.
Having made the statement of the day, the astrologer looked to me for deliverance. I spoke the words he was waiting to hear, "What is to be done?" The glint in his eye was replaced by a professional matter-of-fact look. He outlined his plans. A visit to an unheard-of temple in a nondescript village in the remotest part of the State, where he would invoke the Lord Saturn, followed by a feast to the villagers and generous offerings of food, clothing and other goodies such as jewellery to the priest (who would be one other than the present speaker, the astrologer). The plan seemed foolproof. I could get away with an expenditure of a few thousands of rupees. What's years of good fortune compared to a little loose change like this? I approved of the plan. Only the awareness of his position as a respectable astrologer prevented the man from jumping to the ceiling faster than the rising smoke and shouting, "Whoopee!"
Three weeks later, I had a nasty fight with my girlfriend and we broke up. Then the examination department of my college told me that I was dangerously close to falling short of attendance. The few Universities which I hoped would offer a seat to a moron like myself responded by invoking some technicalities and thus denied me admission. To add to the growing list, my boss called me up and said a monosyllabalic "No" to my request for a pay hike so that my joining the company would become meaningful. So that evening I stormed into the astrologer's house and confronted him with the situation. He gave me the look of a man who was expecting it all to happen.
Then the incense got the better of me. My reverance for the planets and the spells and all associated stuff returned with a bang. I waited until he rolled his dice and did some random mathematical calculations on the floor using a piece of chalk. In the meanwhile I weondered if I could also communicate with the planets by using the above-described methods, and whether couching these actions in scientific terms would win me one of the most famous patents in history. While I mused thus, the man finished his interplanetary voyage and prepared to speak. I was reminded of what some Shakespearan character told another about the Oracle and his listeners - that the listeners wait so anxiously for words of wisdom to flow from the mouth of the Oracle, but when the words do flow, the listeners feel like fools for having waited. I could now empathise with these ancient listeners and mulled over the fact that the practice of astrology hadn't changed over the millennia, the world over.
The man did speak eventually. The disembodied voice said, "You will have a bad time till the 26th of May. After that, you will have a good time. In the meanwhile, there is something you can do (with my help, of course)...." Shakespeare was so right. We listeners end up as fools. The Bard should take the place of these Oracles or astrologers or whatnot with his sharp prophetic insights. However, since Shakespeare died a few centuries ago, fools like me have to make do with the available stock of astrologers. This time I was having none of it. The incense began to choke me and the vermillion smeared on his forehead began to look more like part of a clown's ensemble. Without the atmosphere, the astrologer was nothing. From the Master of Planets, he had now dwindled to the position of a Nobody. I stormed up from my seated position. Fearing the worst, he let loose the secret of my misfortunes, "Your great-great-great grandfather was cursed by his second wife on her deathbed. The curse has to be broken...."
I sat back on the mat. The incense began to intoxicate me again. The vermillion on his forehead looked more intimidating than ever before. I spoke to his now-smiling countenance, "What can be done now?".....
My relief was palpable. Planetary misalignment was a mere trifle. Planets are obedient characters. A prayer or so would move mighty Jupiter back into his path and a few more prayers or a lamp or so would make the dangerous Saturn shed the extra ring or so. I had feared that something more sinister than planetary whims were at play behind my misfortunes, such as mortal human beings a hundred thousand millionth the size of these planets casting a spell on me. Spells are dreaded in this part of the world. A single spell would stop the favourable planet dead in his tracks and send Mr. Good Fortune packing. But planets... Bah! They are just pawns in the celestial game of chess that astrologers play.
Having made the statement of the day, the astrologer looked to me for deliverance. I spoke the words he was waiting to hear, "What is to be done?" The glint in his eye was replaced by a professional matter-of-fact look. He outlined his plans. A visit to an unheard-of temple in a nondescript village in the remotest part of the State, where he would invoke the Lord Saturn, followed by a feast to the villagers and generous offerings of food, clothing and other goodies such as jewellery to the priest (who would be one other than the present speaker, the astrologer). The plan seemed foolproof. I could get away with an expenditure of a few thousands of rupees. What's years of good fortune compared to a little loose change like this? I approved of the plan. Only the awareness of his position as a respectable astrologer prevented the man from jumping to the ceiling faster than the rising smoke and shouting, "Whoopee!"
Three weeks later, I had a nasty fight with my girlfriend and we broke up. Then the examination department of my college told me that I was dangerously close to falling short of attendance. The few Universities which I hoped would offer a seat to a moron like myself responded by invoking some technicalities and thus denied me admission. To add to the growing list, my boss called me up and said a monosyllabalic "No" to my request for a pay hike so that my joining the company would become meaningful. So that evening I stormed into the astrologer's house and confronted him with the situation. He gave me the look of a man who was expecting it all to happen.
Then the incense got the better of me. My reverance for the planets and the spells and all associated stuff returned with a bang. I waited until he rolled his dice and did some random mathematical calculations on the floor using a piece of chalk. In the meanwhile I weondered if I could also communicate with the planets by using the above-described methods, and whether couching these actions in scientific terms would win me one of the most famous patents in history. While I mused thus, the man finished his interplanetary voyage and prepared to speak. I was reminded of what some Shakespearan character told another about the Oracle and his listeners - that the listeners wait so anxiously for words of wisdom to flow from the mouth of the Oracle, but when the words do flow, the listeners feel like fools for having waited. I could now empathise with these ancient listeners and mulled over the fact that the practice of astrology hadn't changed over the millennia, the world over.
The man did speak eventually. The disembodied voice said, "You will have a bad time till the 26th of May. After that, you will have a good time. In the meanwhile, there is something you can do (with my help, of course)...." Shakespeare was so right. We listeners end up as fools. The Bard should take the place of these Oracles or astrologers or whatnot with his sharp prophetic insights. However, since Shakespeare died a few centuries ago, fools like me have to make do with the available stock of astrologers. This time I was having none of it. The incense began to choke me and the vermillion smeared on his forehead began to look more like part of a clown's ensemble. Without the atmosphere, the astrologer was nothing. From the Master of Planets, he had now dwindled to the position of a Nobody. I stormed up from my seated position. Fearing the worst, he let loose the secret of my misfortunes, "Your great-great-great grandfather was cursed by his second wife on her deathbed. The curse has to be broken...."
I sat back on the mat. The incense began to intoxicate me again. The vermillion on his forehead looked more intimidating than ever before. I spoke to his now-smiling countenance, "What can be done now?".....
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