09 March, 2013

left in peace. with the remnants of my hair and sanity. uff. jotoshhob!

01 March, 2013


 It was supposed to be the last "hooyah" for the two of us, old school buddies. The last time we share the stage. A welcome addition was the Li'l Kid as moderator. Old times, old smiles, older jibes.

 We won. met those never-changing chaps in that campus that was not really ours, but pretty much a second home during a certain time of our lives.

 The younglings. Those friends we meet all of a sudden but always joyfully. All glee and high spirit. Then the finish, switching off the lights, the folks drifting in threes and fours to 8B. The walk back to the food! With ghosts from years past walking side by side. From high school madness to the sudden fancies that overtake you when you near the end of the collegiate "old chap" thingy. the way old men look at the places they lived, the schools where they studied, the benches they sat upon. The stones they left unturned. The words they left unsaid.

 It was well worth it. This our last foray into that old, old adopted Neverland of ours.

 On other notes, there is a sense of solemn satisfaction. Not the gleeful ecstasy that I might have expected. A funded university admit was something I had spent the better part of the last 4 years working towards. Oh yes, I did wish for it with every other waking breath.

Wishes are like dishes. They need doing.

 A few days ago that came to pass. The paperwork, the overly-polite la di dahs all remain, but the crux of it is this - every evening spent in a lab alone while friends made merry on Park Street, every line of code and reports hammered out in exchange for a so-called 'having a life', every sardine-packed bus-ride across the heart of my thrice beloved city chasing a dream too distant to even mutter out loud; every stone left unturned, every cross-roads never explored  . . . all of it added up to something. somewhere. at long last.

 Yeah, its not a victory march. I am not jumping for joy. Those spontaneous things seem befitting, but something, some vitality, is lost. Maybe that is the price one pays for getting wishes. You get them, and there is no joy. There is however a sense of achievement, however small and personal. And a sense of duty.

 That is enough.


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