Deleted Orkut Profile - III

Yet another profile that will be deleted in the future..Guess she doesn't like blankness too much.
Twisted - bothering on the convoluted, sometimes she herself is not too sure what actually is goin on in her mind..
Too many people have told her that shes a little crazy...she doesn't know.. she agrees partially.. she speaks and does what pleases.. often with disastrous results..
Pushing the limit of frankness towards bluntness....she doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut when it should have been taped, stapled and bound...
Opinionated, and stubborn, one can't expect her to come down from her high ropes if she fancies she has taken a stand or decision or formed an opinion...
Her friends are limited, acquaintances are numerous....as usual...
She loves melody, sitcoms, new places, train journeys, views from flights, the night sky, the cool beach breeze, sunsets, junk food, chocolates, movies...
Chats with almost no one...and doesnt think she can manage new friends...especially on the net..
Guess that just about explains my imaginary best friend...
Hahah!
Kidding..
Am I?

...A Little Bit of Love...

Foreword: I'd sent this piece to a site which works like an online magazine and publishes selected stuff. However, since after about a month, i received no feedback from them, I decided to go ahead and post it here. Probably they didn't like the piece and chose not to reply... Anyway, here goes..

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It is rather ironic how things have changed after the last treatise on my team. Well, after my trip down memory lane, when I got back, I received a big shock. In my absence, one fine day, my team had had a meeting and our director gave us some shocking and unexpected news: there had been some management changes in our client side and they had frozen all outsourced work until further notice. So in effect, suddenly, within a few minutes, we were all project-less, on bench, as it is called in the IT industry. Thus, the very people we had been mocking for 2 years, the people who had not been allocated projects and spent all day doing nothing but surfing the internet or in the cafeteria - we were to become one of them.

None of my team could believe it and neither could I. An unexpected change brings in other unexpected and unwanted changes; involuntary challenges but challenges none the less. Most of us were apprehensive, and yet looking forward to new ways, new work, new tests.

It took quite some time for the news to sink in; we had no clue what the future held; our Senior Project Manager assured us that we’d be re-allocated to other projects except a few who would be retained just in case the project got restarted. So there still was a fragment of hope that things would go back to the same old days, where all us, so familiar with each other, so at ease with the team and where work was actually work n play, would again be working in one team. Yet, we knew, at the back of our minds, that things had changed irreversibly, for better or worse.

Anyway, within a few days, things began to move fast; some had already had discussions with other teams’ managers, an interview of sorts, some had been offered work in other teams, while some were to stay back, on bench till there was a final word from our erstwhile client. Initially, I was ready to move out, but then the prospect of free time, after so long, looked tempting. Additionally, I wanted to go home, and I wasn’t sure if would get leave in a new project. So, I decided to stay back for the wait until positive there was positive or negative confirmation about our project.

We were all going in different directions, and seeing that there was no surety as when who would move, the team decided to fulfill the self made promise we had made at the beginning of the year; that each month, combining all the birthdays in that month, we would collect money (as we would have if we had bought presents for the birthday guys) and give it to charity. Probably we could select different charities each month. That way we could be doing a little something for society in whatever small way we could.
We had all agreed; after all it was a good chance to do something charitable, if not ourselves, as a team. However, now with things going all haphazard, and no idea who was moving where and when, we decided to do the charity work atleast once before we all parted ways. And so, what was to have been a monthly exercise had to be reduced to a one time activity. We had a discussion about different charity organizations and concluding which was the best option - finally we all decided to donate to an organization called Nirmala Shishu Bhavan (of the Missionaries of Charity).

The organization is a branch of the renowned charity association started by Mother Teresa. This particular branch is dedicated to taking care of abandoned and orphaned infants and mentally challenged kids, with ages ranging from new born to about six-seven years.

We had mutually agreed that rather than giving cash, it was better to buy them what they needed; some team members volunteered to go do there to get the requirements. The coming Saturday they went and subsequently bought the requested articles – biscuits, blankets, food, clothes, etc. with the money we had all contributed. It had been decided that we would all go to the organization and spend some time with the kids before handing over the bought stuff and the remaining cash.

It was a sunny afternoon when some twenty of us left office for the organization; most of us were there but some two-three guys couldn’t make it as they had discussions with the new teams they were joining - a rather disheartening first sign of disintegration..

It was late afternoon by the time we reached the place. The organization is built on an average sized area, with two double storey buildings and plenty of space out front. As we enter the premises, there is a statue of Mother Teresa holding a child – it is like a shrine. At the other side of the place, in the area between the two buildings, through a gate of sorts, some firewood is kept. Some trees complete the austere picture.
In one of the buildings, the door was left wide open with a bell (literally) hanging outside for any visitors. As we rang the bell, we could hear the kids inside, and yet nobody came out. We rang several times, looked inside for any sign of someone hearing us, and waited...

After some time of looking around, finally a nun came out of the other building. Probably that was the administrative part as well as the sleeping quarters of the staff. She came out, and seeing so many people at once was pretty surprised; she asked if we all are together. We replied in unison, ‘yes’.

She told us to not hesitate and enter the other building (with the open door) to meet the kids. As we entered, I could see that this was a kind of visitors’ room, with all kinds of commemorative certificates, photos etc. framed and hung on the walls. There was a photo of Mother Teresa with another smiling nun. I couldn’t read what written below the snap; probably that nun was Sister Nirmala - the head of this organization. At the other side if the room was another door which led to a corridor as well as to a staircase to the first floor. There were around two-three rooms, all contained kids as could be inferred from the voices emanating from there. We all proceeded to meet them.

Personally, when I met these orphaned kids, luckless, and yet fortunate to have atleast found the care of this organization, I felt things I have never felt before - the experience was a journey of realization in understanding the distressing nature of real life.

The first room we entered had several cots (or cribs) lined in several rows with space to walk by each, but only a few were occupied. There were about five kids there at that time, with the total number of around fifteen to twenty cots. Whether the rest of the cots were always empty, or had occupants who were currently elsewhere, I didn’t know. One team member frequently visited the place and spent time with the children; he took us around and told us the history of a few kids. The images still linger in my mind and probably will, for a long time to come.

There was (is) a seven year old child who was still lying on his back on the cot, crying occasionally, while replying to some of the words spoken by our familiar team member. He conversed in Tamil and the kid replied in kind, if somewhat disjointedly. I noticed that most of the kids who were old enough to understand and speak could understand the words in Tamil that my team members were murmuring to them. Why, the boy, being seven, was still physically about four years old (he looked really small), and why he was lying down all the time, I didn’t have the courage to ask. Most of the time, I was silent. For one, my speaking English wasn’t getting understood, and I’m not the kind who can be kind, who can speak coaxingly with kids - any kids, be they my cousins or these destitute children. I tried to talk to a few of them, but most of the time they didn’t respond. It is probably something lacking in me, that prevents me from being warm hearted. In my mind, I felt their pain, but my face would probably have shown indifference..

There was (is) a small girl about four-five years of age who was (is) very friendly with all of us, mostly. She talked to whoever talked to her, replied with smart answers in Tamil, laughed, came to anyone’s arms, smiled, and mixed around very well. She was radiant, even though dusky in complexion, and her eyes shone; she looked to be an intelligent child. I don’t know whether these kids are send to school, I hope they are, because I have a feeling this cute girl will bloom, given the right attention and care. She looked to be happy that she had company, while the rest of the kids there mostly seemed annoyed. I guess it was natural; it could hardly be a nice feeling - to be stared at each day, by people with looks of sympathy. Yes, maybe they were too small to understand emotions like pity and sympathy, but they were children after all, and almost no kids like strangers.

Another girl of similar age was in the cot next to the bright girl. Although she wasn’t as friendly, she too didn’t look to be disturbed; she kept moving around from one place to the other, observing us. I don’t know why I felt that she didn’t get as much attention as the other girl, and she seemed to want it. To my inexperienced eyes, she looked to be a little envious of all the fun her contemporary was having with us, while she wandered out, as if not caring at all. I hope all that conjecture was just a figment of my imagination; I cannot be sure.

One boy remains painted in my memory; he was unlike all the others. Barely two-three years old, he had burns all over his body, from head to toe. It seems he had 2nd degree burns when he had been brought there and had been in a worse condition than he was now. Now, the burns seemed to have dried up; even though they left permanent scars on his mind and body, he didn’t look to be in pain. He wasn’t crying or moaning, but his body told a different story. I wondered how it was that a two year old boy got 2nd degree burns on his entire body and then was left at the organization to heal – the realization that the answers could be nothing less than horrifying left me reluctant to ask the questions.

All the time we were there in that room, he sat motionlessly, without stirring a single bit. He had eyes which looked hard at you and which spoke volumes, in a language I couldn’t understand, i.e., I was unable to gauge what was in his mind as he looked at us. He was uncommunicative; he sat in his cot, immobile, with a plaything held in front of him, as if trying to guise his wounds. He didn’t look around, he wasn’t curious, and he didn’t respond to anything any of us said to him. He didn’t seem disturbed or annoyed that we were there, if you looked at him, he looked straight back at you, as if challenging you, and yet he didn’t speak a word. A few of us tried to talk to him, in fact I drew the attention of some team members about him so that they’d try to converse with him, but to no avail. After a few attempts we gave up. As we all moved from his place, my eyes looked back at him, and I noticed that now that no one was crowding around him, he had removed the plaything and was looking about, as if relieved that he was off the hook. I still cannot forget those defiant hard eyes…as if accusing us for his state.

Another infant was there in another cot; a tiny girl who kept crying for quite some time. I went by her side, helpless, unable to discover the reason for her cries. A helper was walking by - she came and held her in her arms. She talked to the little girl, as all adults do with kids, and which I am incapable of doing - sweet nothings, smiling, cajoling, cradling. During the whole time the lady was there, she quieted down. The moment she left, the bawling started again. None of us could help, our standing there and trying to cheer her up, didn’t help. She seemed to be in pain – uncomfortable, restless, twisting and turning all about the cot. However, the instant the lady reappeared, she relaxed, as if comforted. Guess children of such a tender age too have the sense of affectation for people closest to them, people who take care of them and make them feel protected and safe.

Just next to this room with cots, there was another room, slightly airier and spacious and there were more children there – about ten. There were one or two 2 large mattresses spread together on the floor of this room, and the kids (ages ranging from two to four years) were all mostly lying down there. One or two slightly older kids were sitting on the benches places next to the mattresses - one of the older children kept on moaning and crying, making wailing sounds, as if bothered or in pain or irritated. There was a cacophony of voices actually, emanating from him, and some of the younger ones lying down, and also the staff helpers attending to the children, who were cajoling or scolding them.

I was somewhat taken aback by these kids. They were not ill, but they all looked somewhat unwell; lethargic, rolling on the mattresses, tossing and turning, some crying, some looking up at the roof, but most with a blank kind of look on their faces, as if staring past us. It was a very depressing room inspite of the sunlight rushing into the rooms through the open doors.
I wonder why the kids were so enervated - not moving, not happy… were they mentally ill? I hadn’t asked. But I haven’t ever seen kids so lulled, so dull, not just in terms of activity, but their faces, especially their lacklustre eyes; they didn’t seem to hold any happiness, hope or cheer.

As the others interacted with some of the kids, I felt a profound sense of despair. My standing there, seeing the children, I felt unreal. These less than fortunate children were the reality - the comfort of my childhood, the love and support of my family, the education, the luxury of choices, everything seemed to have existed in an alternate world - guilty pleasures that I had been privileged to get when I had been a little girl.

These innocent kids, they had to share love and care of the staff and the nuns, one among so many. Where would they find the love they deserved, the care that each born child has a right to? Leave aside the education (though that too is important) but lets waive that for the time being, just the personal attention - of having parents look after you, support you, guide you and above all treasure you, where would they find that? I don’t know how these orphanages work, do they offer adoption? Do these kids have the chance to get adopted by a good family? I wish I could confidently say ‘yes’ but I can’t because I know, that although there are chances, they are very slim.

Somewhat disheartened by these thoughts, I moved out of the room. Further down the corridor, on the other side, there was another room; I went there. Here the situation was no different, except perhaps the kids were older. One girl, about seven years of age, had her foot in one of those metallic frames (which are used to support the foot); she was sitting near the door, facing us. As we looked inside, wondering whether we should enter or not, she kept signalling something all the while. She pointed her hand forward, and then put it down on the floor and tried to say something; I guess she had some disorder, because she wasn’t able to articulate the words.
We were in a quandary as to whether she was forbidding us to enter (the hand forward as a sign of ‘Stop’) or welcoming us to come in and sit on the floor. She repeated the gestures several times - finally we hesitatingly entered the room, unsure if she’d react negatively. Turns out she was in fact welcoming us in, because as soon as we entered, she signaled to sit on the floor. The sight which met us inside was similar to the previous rooms. Like the earlier children, here too there were immobile kids; some lying down, attended to by the staff, and three (including the girl who had called us) were sitting. The other two were seated in some fixed kind of seat, with a table like structure attached, so that one sitting on the seat couldn’t move much. Their limbs had some problem, which was in the process of getting fixed, avoiding movement as much as possible; hence the seats. I looked around, feeing the now familiar sense of helplessness. I didn’t sit down, but came out, even though the child with the metallic frames kept on gesturing to sit down. While some others of my team remained, I walked out of the room.

Some team members were walking upstairs, so I joined them. The rest of my team was also now visibly less boisterous, spending time with the kids, trying to make a difference in whatever small way possible. Upstairs, there was one contained room, which had very young infants in cribs. We could not enter but glanced through the window. They were all so tiny; most were sleeping while some were crying. There was one abnormal child – she/he had an unnaturally large head compared to her/his body; double the size of what would have been the normal size for his body. We couldn’t look in much and yet we could make out that the baby had some problem. Another baby was bleeding – whether she/he was hurt or the bleeding was internal I don’t know; a nun was bandaging the wound tenderly and yet deftly. Because of the entry restriction, we couldn’t do anything else and so moved away from the window.

Further ahead was the terrace kind of part of the floor, with the top covered, and the side wall absent except a wooden railing. This part of the building was a like a large covered balcony. As it was open partially, fresh air and bright sunlight illuminated the place, somehow lifting our spirits. Besides the surroundings, the place itself was cheerful; it was like a playhouse - two small swings, two miniature slides, other playthings which I can’t recall, all vivid in multiple hues. There were five kids in prams - two were napping, and the other three were interacting with the team members who were there..

To my relief, for their sake, these few babies looked well - physically and mentally; they looked happy. One tiny girl, smiling as one my team members approached her crib and fondly touched her cheek, and two tiny guys, looking with a look of wonderment in their faces. Their eyes and faces held the shine and glow that is normally present in kids; they looked to be enjoying our visit, putting out their hands to anyone who proffered theirs, holding the fingers tightly wrapped around their little fingers, getting amused by the coaxing and cajoling sounds made by us. Here I also interacted, not so much with words but with touch, gestures, facial expressions and smiles. Now, when I think back, I wonder why it was that with these cheerful children, I was able to get along, while with the other less happier ones, I was withdrawn and unable to communicate. Rather shallow of me I guess; I’m not comfortable with suffering and pain.

Here too, the staff/volunteer/attendant was sitting with the babies, entertaining them as well as taking care of them. Momentarily, I thought about them too, devoting their lives to the cause of these children, not having time for their personal lives. I wonder how they can be normal, seeing so much of pain and unfairness around them everyday. Taking care of these orphaned children, loving them, spending time with them, for no reason that is beneficiary to themselves – that is indeed selfless. What is it that induces them to do it, and how do they do it? It is indeed admirable.

Looking at the infants’ bright faces, I realized that besides the financial and materialistic help, (and perhaps more than that), these orphans need love, attention, care, opportunities, a family. People like us might contribute in terms of money (mainly perhaps to salve our personal consciences), but how many come to actually spend time with these kids - to shower some affection and love on these less fortunate angels?

We all look at the state of things, condemn them, complain, sympathize, but how many of us do anything? I include myself because I’m guiltier of a bigger crime. Atleast the others are more or less ignorant about the state of affairs, but me, even after visiting that place, being affected by it, I haven’t gone again. Despite knowing the reality, I cannot bring it upon myself to take the initiative, to rouse myself from inactivity and visit the orphanage again. I’m scared, frankly. I am afraid of the pain in the eyes of the children, the stories of their lives, and the ugly face of reality.

The feelings of guilt have always stung occasionally, before and after this orphanage trip. The pricks to conscience hit me when I see a beggar on the street, or when I see young children selling stuff on the traffic signals, or when I see old people who still have to work for their living (in a time where they should be resting) - so many times, and yet I do not know how to change things. I know small steps go a long way, but I haven’t taken any, till date. Doesn’t make one feel anything more than despicable does it?

To go back to what I was saying… after seeing these kids, i.e. the bubbly babies in the prams, my heart lightened a little. On that heartening note, after giving the money (for which we got a tax exemption receipt, which was unusable because we had given the donor name as our organization) and the things we had bought, we left the place. On our way back, everyone was quieter, lost in their own thoughts. I guess mentally, everyone was still in the orphanage that we had just left behind, their thoughts still wandering around the people they had met, the kids they had spent time with, the state of things. My Project Manager was the only one still talking lightly, about the institution and other sister organizations. I replied to him, uttering the appropriate sentences at the appropriate time, because I had to; he was sitting across me and it would have been rather rude if nobody had answered.

That evening left a lasting impression on my mind, and I’m sure on the others too. Forces of the corporate world had made a sudden attack on our well being; the team of long standing, working in harmony (with of course some problems), was finally split. Nobody knew what the future held for them. Yet, despite the state of confusion that each of our careers was in, that visit made us see the bigger perspective - we still had a job, and had had a childhood filled with love. These blameless children had just stepped into this harsh world and they had no clue, being taken care by a group of selfless people, striving to make their lives better. We have no right to feel bad about ourselves – there is a long queue of people who deserve that sympathy more than our self-pitying selves.

As I sat there in the cab, I looked around me, at my team of the past two memorable years. A team which worked together, laughed together, lunched together (sometimes), discussed together, now as a final farewell, gave together. It felt good that we had done a small infinitesimal part to help these kids; a final bow before the last show, one good cause before the parting. Now, new horizons await us, we are left with many memories, some that might grow fainter with time, and some, which will never fade. The children at Shishu Bhavan take their place in the latter; an indelible footprint on the sands of our time together…

..A Bittersweet Aftertaste..

Another trip, another experience, this time with a difference; it was a trip down memory lane.
I was going back to college, literally.
The occasion was irresistible – a close friend’s wedding, a batch-mate who is the son of a professor (don’t know the exact post) in our college, who lived in the campus, and whose house we occasionally raided back in college days…

The train journey from Delhi to Allahabad was a noisy one; some of us had landed in Delhi, some were from Delhi (Gurgaon, Noida) and the bunch of us destroyed the tranquility of an otherwise quiet AC coach. Almost half the night was spent in catching up, and planning for the coming 2-3 days - where to go, who to definitely meet, what to definitely see, etc. etc.

It looked to be a promising trip.

It was seven in the morning and none of us felt like waking up. One friend had found out; supposedly we were about twenty-five kilometres from Allahabad. As all of us, such intelligent engineers, had no idea how much time the train would take to cover that, we decided to get up from our warm bunks.

Whether it was wrong information about distance, or the train always takes more than an hour to cover twenty-five kilometres, is uncertain. Whatever it was, when the train halted at a relatively unknown looking station with hardly any people, we were not expecting it to be Allahabad Junction station, even though we had been told by co-passengers and the train staff that it was.

Confirmation was made and we descended from the train, all ready with so many bags, as if we were staying for weeks. Our groom-in-waiting had come to pick us up. Well, actually I was going to stat ay my Bangalore room-mate’s place, while the rest were going with the groom to the college Guest House (GH) where he had made arrangements.

As we all stepped out of the station, I looked around, expecting what I’m still not sure – probably some changes, something major. But I was destined to be disappointed, at that time and, and, as I was to find out later, for most of the coming two-three days.

It was the same place; the same rickshaws driven by rather emaciated and elderly people, the same local version of the autorickshaw, called the Tempo (or Vikram), still asking for a larger sum than usual, assuming us to be new to the place. Although now, even the exaggerated sum didn’t sound so much; I guess living in a costly city like Bangalore changes the way one values things.

The one change we could make out was that the eating joint just outside the station that had started while we were in college had been broken down. It looked sad, with broken pieces of bricks and mortar lying around. Though we hadn’t frequented the place as much as other places, it was still some change..

As we drove to my room-mate’s place, we crossed some familiar places, and they didn’t seem changed - the town seems to brushing past life slowly, sleepily, at its own sweet pace, not in a hurry at all. Its as if this city is lulling the citizens too, as if saying to them ‘let the big cities and metros do the rushing, this city always sleeps..’

After freshening up, I headed to Civil Lines (the major market place in Allahabad) to meet the others who were wandering around, doing some shopping, along with a friend’s sister (lets call her Junior) who’s currently studying in our college. As I sat on the rickshaw, I realized it was after quite some time that I had ridden in one of these. I looked around as we crossed familiar lanes, familiar buildings; I realized that change couldn’t really hit such places in so short a span of time (almost 3 years) - nothing drastic would ever happen.

Anyway one new development in the city was a new mall that had opened up in the heart of the city (Civil Lines). Well, it wasn’t all snazzy and well maintained like the malls in other cities I guess, but it’s a start -McDonalds’, Big Bazaar and some more outlets, that was about it..

After wandering around in the Civil Lines streets, drinking ‘ganne ka juice’ (sugarcane juice spiced with a tinge of pudina and salt), we bargained with the Tempo-walas, and finally finding one who was willing to go at a reasonable rate, headed towards my room-mate’s place. I had decided to move to the guest house, as mostly all of the people were there, so I was collecting my stuff from there. Inspite of having gone to her place so many times in the past, we lost our way; we called her and somehow managed to reach her place after a lot of wrong turns and wrong TV towers (the landmark next to her place). Then, we headed to college.

There was an undercurrent of anticipation in my mind; back to campus…those old streets, those old lanes, would have much changed? I didn’t know.
As we entered the campus through the main gate, it didn’t seem (like everything else) to have changed much. I didn’t get the opportunity to look around that much, what with holding the multitude of things there with us.
Anyway, since the others were otherwise occupied, after keeping the luggage in the GH, I went to the girls hostel with Junior, who is currently in 2^nd year (if I remember correctly).

KNGH – hmmmm.. Kamala Nehru Girls Hostel – the place I spent most of my four years..

Going there again, this time as a guest; it was a new feeling. In retrospect, I think that had I gone there with a contemporary, a fellow hosteller of my batch, people with whom I had shared good times in those corridors and rooms, then I wouldn’t have felt as weird as I did.

When we entered, Junior was reminded by the guard sitting there to sign the Hostel register. Old rules which would never change – every student had to sign in while leaving (even for college), and sign again on return, with the time etc. Well, at least the guard was new; i.e. his face didn’t look familiar.

It had been almost three years, so basically, the juniors who were in first year when we were in final year, were now in final year. I.e., the girls we’d seen as scared freshers, always looking to be busy in studies, respecting us, (false or real I can’t say), were now the confident final year dames that all freshers eventually evolve to after 3 years of submissive behaviour. Besides them, nobody knew me (obviously) and the regal treatment we used to get when we were in final year by all juniors, was missing. Except the few juniors who were present at that time, who recognized me and said the general ‘Hi Hello’, nobody knew me; I was a stranger, in a place that had been a second home…

My being alone there further accentuated the feeling of not belonging there; had someone else been there with me, we could have reminisced and wandered around. Since nobody else was, I felt… well… alone.

The hostel was strangely quiet for a late Saturday afternoon. In our time, this time of the year the final year would be lazing around in the courtyard until the sun was shining its last rays, and then in rooms, all in clusters, mostly never alone - chatting, watching movies, gossiping, or playing games and all of this, with the doors open, loud music playing. Some lazier human beings would also be sleeping, in the coziness of their own or someone else’s room. Well, come to think of it, besides the courtyard part, most of the other mentioned activities went on for 2^nd and 3^rd years too, and with limited privileges, for 1^st year too.

While evening set in, people would be seen getting ready to go out someplace, probably Civil Lines or college Canteen; out of hostel, taking full advantage of the half an hour’s extension of hostel deadline from 8:30 PM to 9 PM. It used to be a loud noisy place - music, shouts, calling people from one corner to the other. Another additional noise had been the voice of someone or the other, calling out from the ground floor, for someone else, if that someone else’s phone call had come on the extension phone or the PCO, or someone had called at the hostel gate.

Now, with everyone owning cell phones, the use of the extension phone or the PCO for receiving calls had significantly reduced. Or maybe, just that evening, the hostel was exceptionally silent; no loud screams (perhaps for a stray lizard found in a reptile-phobic girl’s room), no calls, no music and most of all, no people. There was hardly anyone around; on enquiring, I got to know that there was some mock campus going on and final year students were taking campus for 3^rd year students. Wow! If I recall, I think the same was there in our time too, but never this seriously that everyone had to be in college on a Saturday evening. Even though we had been only about 27 girls, the hostel had never been lacking our presence for such noble purposes as campus for juniors. Supposedly now it was mandatory…Haha…. thank God we didn’t have to do all that.

So anyhow, that was a disappointing start. As I walked towards the 2^nd floor, where Junior’s room was (second years got second floor, third years got first floor, and final years got ground floor while the first years were in a different new wing), I looked around, As expected, things hadn’t changed, except for the walls.

When we were in first year, our final year had started the custom of painting one whole wall as a token of remembrance of the batch. All subsequent years had followed suit, and when it was our turn, for the 4^th painting on the walls, we realized that none of the remaining wall facades were suitable to painting because there were other activities involved besides just painting the wall.
Following our seniors, we would have the ‘100 day countdown’ before college ends, (in our case it was 50 days), and every 2-3 days (according to the number of girls in the batch), we would all have get-togethers next to our artistic creation, and one girl would have her day that day - a day where she’d dress up and share her special moments, in college as well as elsewhere, sing, dance, act, whatever she wanted to or the rest demanded. So, the wall to be painted should be well located. During our time, the walls which were still blank were somehow not suited; either they were near the bathrooms, or dustbins, or occupied by MBA, MCA students (since our batch strength was so low, the ground floor was occupied by other girls from non-engineering streams too).

So we committed the sacrilege of scraping off our immediate seniors’ mural completely, little by little. Then we plastered the whole wall, painted over it, that too with a totally black background (so that everybody thought twice before erasing ours in later years), and also put a coat of varnish over that. As I looked now, our subsequent batches had also followed our suit, and two new murals had now replaced the earlier batches’ paintings. Our batch’s one looked to be the next victim of erasure; I guess that was inevitable, I was just thankful that it was present at the time when I went - I would have been heartbroken had it been already painted over.

Besides that, well everything else looked to be the same; the badminton court without the net, the large courtyard, the PCO, the stationery shop inside the hostel. I didn’t venture into any of my former rooms, I think I would’ve liked to but at that time, I was feeling a little low, being there all alone and so avoided it. Probably it would have been rather silly to be knocking on the doors of the rooms I’d formerly occupied, asking permission to enter from a girl I didn’t even know. What would I have seen inside?

The memories were resurfacing, but there was no one around to share them with; the familiar faces were absent and so were the comforting laughter, screams, the hedonistic nothingness… they were all a distance apart…back in time.

When I entered Junior’s room, somehow it seemed smaller than before, perhaps that was because of the somewhat clustered placement of the few pieces of furniture - the bed, the ubiquitous table with the PC, the chair with loads of stuff dumped on it, books, clothing, etc., the cluttered shelves filled with assorted stuff, some eatables, some cosmetics, books, toiletries, amongst other things. Basically each room is one’s whole world, all in some square feet of space, and the above description is mostly what all hostel rooms are like; some might be neater, more organized, while others worse - but than it’s your own room, do whatever you want…that’s the freedom you have.

On hearing some of the woes of Junior, regarding power cuts, teachers, classes, I was conscious of a feeling of achievement of having survived…the place, the people, the shortages, the extremes…

After some time, we went back to the GH, and got dressed for the ‘Tilak’ ceremony - some kind of pre-nuptial ceremony, more like the traditional version of the Engagement, except in this case the bride isn’t present at the function.

The ceremony was held on the grounds of the GH itself and when we reached, the preparations were going on; the decoration, the arrangement, the music, the food, etc. The invitation card said 5 PM, but of course nothing happened before 7 PM. It was chilly and as most of the sitting arrangements were al fresco, we didn’t have much choice but to enjoy the cold of Allahabad. We all sat there in a circle, with some extra friends of the colony, a junior who also happened to be the groom’s cousin. There were our former professors all around; it was a different feeling. We still respected them, yes, but we were no longer uncomfortable around them; we were behaving normally in front of them, and not a whiff of the discomfiting feeling one gets, if one meets their teachers in any surroundings other than class or college.

Some professors recognized us, some ignored, some smiled, somewhat vaguely, aware that they would have had taught us at some point of time, but not recalling anything beyond that. Yet, in this case, the knowledge that these professors hadn’t changed, was comforting. Not all change is good, and seeing them all again, a feeling of permanence of the place arose - it felt good.

A few of us went and talked to the teachers we liked and respected a little more than the rest, asking if they remembered us, I guess they did remember. Since I wasn’t one of those to go and approach my professors, I really couldn’t say.

There’s a particular teacher, who is the kind of person everyone is in awe of, and a little scared of too, because he remembers everything and everyone. People he met once, no matter how long ago, remain inscribed on his memory. When he took our first subject, it was in 4^th semester I think, and the first day, he made everyone tell their names and something they had expertise in. After that one day, he still remembered most of the details a year and a half later when he took another subject in another semester.
That evening, he came up and talked to all of us, remembering most of us; names etc. even though we had passed out about three years back and had been a batch of large numbers.

So the evening went on - soon when the rituals and customs had been performed, the groom also joined us. We all ate the food, which was fantastic and had a lot of choices. After dinner, when most of the guests had left, me, Junior and another girl returned to my room-mate’s place, because the guys had other plans - of revisiting the inappropriate unsavoury places they used to visit back in college; a place called Gaddopur (the spelling might be incorrect) which had(has) a Dhaba where alcohol was(is), I guess, of lower price. I’m not sure what the specialty of that place was and why these guys were so fascinated with it. Anyway, no further details about their evening are available - let it suffice that there was a lot of liquor, a lot of small stake gambling, a lot of laughter (the rolling on the floor laughing kind).

Next morning brought in a lot of sleepyheads unwilling to get up, while us, who had retuned to my room-mate’s place the earlier night, were all fresh and raring to head to the college campus, to visit old times. After trying a lot to wake them, finally six of us headed to college, out of which one guy was a friend who was not from our college (Mr. InvoCasa if you’ve read my ‘Comfortably drunk..’).

Our college campus, the boys hostels, girls hostel and staff quarters are not under a single boundary – the whole college campus and all but one boys hostel is in one campus, while staff quarters, GH, KNGH are in another. These two parts are divided by not much distance, but some local area, shops, a post office, Xerox centre, sweet shops, Maggi and omellete serving shops, and a railway track, come in the area in between. The entrance we took to the college is just next to the train line, and there, at the time, due to some drainage problem, the whole road was strewn with dirty water, we had to tiptoe through select spots, to reach without soiling our footwear. A sign of some deterioration…

Just after this entrance is one of the canteens of our college (yes our college has more than one) and that canteen had been a very favourite hangout for us. However, in our final year of college, the ownership had changed from the local guy named Ubed to Nescafe, which had been a big blow to us. Not only that, they had changed the place’s look. The canteen is not very big and previously, it had a partially wired sort of roof, the sides had plastic roofing while the central part just had a wired frame. This whole semi-covered structure as well as the empty sides was sheltered by a kind of flowering bushes which take a support and then grow around it. This miniature forest of leaves also blossomed some kind of purplish mauve-ish and pink flowers.

So, almost throughout the year, the canteen used to be covered, almost completely from outside. Especially during the hot summers, it used to be a cool haven when we returned from classes. Plastic chairs, some broken, some painted with birds’ poop, would be scattered over the place; pick any suitable (preferably non-broken, non-dirty) one, take it where you wanted to sit, and just relax. Two-three marble top tables were also there, but they were hardly used, except for sitting or supporting one’s feet on - the ultimate place of luxury, the food was good (well maybe OK but some things were really good) and Ubed allowed students credit in times of financial scarcity. Aloo paranthas, egg bhurji, with butter, bun masala, mango shake, cold coffee (both seasonal), noodles, and sometimes, very rarely, chicken rolls, all very reasonably priced.

Another advantage the place had was that any professors walking towards or back from college, on glancing towards the canteen couldn’t really see anything - neither the students nor their faces; it was like the best place to hang out if you had bunked class and the teacher knew you (although I know one guy who had sat there, bunking class after some reason of illness, and had been unfortunately seen by the same professor (the same one who remembers everyone)).

During our final year, somebody had complained something about the owner (Ubed) of the canteen, regarding what I’m not sure; that was why he had to leave. He soon opened the same canteen just outside college near the Boys hostel. Lucky guys.

Nescafe entered the scene and opened its joint in the same place, but after removing the entire history of bushes from the site. The canteen looked like a building abandoned in its initial stages of construction with no walls, almost no roof, and no colour. We never really liked the place after that.
Now as we glanced towards it, despite so many poignant memories, there was no feeling of nostalgia; it looked cold and formal, barren without the greenery around, it didn’t look comfortable at all….

Just next to the canteen is the college auditorium, MP hall. For a long time we didn’t know what that stood for (I think its Multi purpose hall). Anyway, we used to sit on the steps leading to the hall entrance for hours at end, doing nothing, sometimes playing Ludo (for which we got scolded by a professor once), watching the trains go by just outside the campus. We took some photos, and walked along - the basket ball court, the gymkhana....

The general condition of the grounds had improved, the roads looked good, all lined with white paint. One part of the ground next to the Civil department laboratory, which was previously barren and used as a short cut, had now been converted to a beautiful well maintained garden. Apart from that, no other tangible changes could be seen around. Further down, we came to the main building - I still regret that we didn’t enter, to see the lecture rooms (known as GS rooms) amongst other places. Actually, well, everybody else had other things to do, and I guess nobody else felt the college nostalgia as much as I did.

We then reached the second canteen of our campus; this one was known as Panditji’s canteen because a very cheerful old man runs it, and he’s called Panditji by one and all. He used to know us by face, and always greeted us smilingly (this canteen was where we went when we had an off between classes or we had a break during class; so a lot of time was idled here). Unfortunately, he wasn’t there that day.

This canteen is situated in a small clearing in the side of forest like wilderness which was not that dense, but wilderness nevertheless. The canteen consisted of just one small circular room surrounded by a circular boundary where chairs could be placed and people could sit, on the chairs or perched on the boundary railing which was of just the right height. That was it, the sum total of infrastructure; there was nothing else. Mostly, people preferred sitting with chairs outside the small building (if you could call it one), among the trees etc. which were less dense near the canteen. It used to feel so comfortable during all times. In summer, one could place their chair in the shade outside or one could sit inside the shaded boundary; because of the trees, one could count on the cool breezes to float around. In winter, one could place their in the little pockets of sunlight between the shades. The food was also, as usual, good (I guess when you live in a hostel, all food except mess food tastes good) - aloo paranthas, maggi, bread pakoda, tea, coffee, cold drinks…

In present day, i.e. when we went, a building was being constructed on one side of the canteen, thus clearing out most of the trees in that direction. Although it was development an hence good for the college, the building marred the charm of the place.

We sat there for a long time, ordering one eatable after the other; some more friends joined us a little later. Some juniors (now final years) also came around; supposedly they recognized us, but I’m sure we were all vague recollections and none of them remembered names, which was but natural. Just sitting there, temporarily without a care in the world, watching the world speed by, even though it was just for some hours, it felt great. Simple things, like eating plates and plates of the different food being served, the coldness of the winter afternoon, the tranquil sounds of the flora and fauna around, magnified to invaluable pleasures.

It was after two hours before we headed back; the groom had his ‘Haldi’ ceremony and had called us. As we walked back towards the same entrance through a different path, we came across the almost completed Computer Science & Engineering department building which had been in its initial stages when we were studying. Junior said nobody wanted to come here; it was situated at one corner of the campus and looked to be boring and isolated. We were glad we hadn’t had to come to this cornered place for classes. Because our present department was a small wing in the main building, we had classes scattered all across campus - sometimes in the Lecture hall complex, which was a separate building near the Panditji’s canteen, while sometimes in the GS rooms, which were in the main building. So we had a lot of time to stroll around the campus while commuting to subsequent classes. We always had an excuse to be late; sometimes we even used that time to have a quick cold drink in Panditji’s canteen, even though the next lecture had already started.

That was the end of my revisiting old moments – an untimely end forced by lack of company, or, lets say, lack of interested company. Now, when I look back, I rue over the several places that I had missed - Naini bridge, Softy corner, Civil lines, Ganapati Café, Destination, the cold coffee and Pav Bhajji place in Katra…
Well no point thinking about what couldn’t be helped.

We attended the Haldi ceremony for some time. Since the function was a total family ceremony, with some members smearing turmeric on the groom, we left soon. I returned to the GH, not wanting to venture into the hostel where all I’d feel was a sense of not belonging. The rest had other places to go to and the others who had gone to the Students’ canteen had not returned yet. Thus, for some time, I was alone.

An unfamiliar sense of solitude enveloped me; I can’t say I welcomed it - after all I was feeling alone in a place that had almost never let me feel so, what with so many friends around all the time. It was a rather unexpected part of the trip that I hadn’t been prepared for and didn’t really fancy.

Anyway, that evening was the wedding. Well, won’t go into much detail about that, except that it was loud, noisy, and a lot of fun. No other groom in history would have looked as happy as our groom, a grinning smile permanent on his face. He even danced in his own baraat, and later with his fiancée at the marriage hall, before the marriage ceremonies. A special event was the dinner, where a long table was set for all the friends and the bride and groom. We all sat and were served with way too many food items, while the bride and groom fed each other, except, in this case, the groom was happily eating multiple spoonfuls himself without forwarded any to his wife. On being reprimanded by us to give her something too, he did feed her - she smiled, ate the spoonful, and then she fed him something too. They looked so wonderful together; it was an auspicious and joyous occasion.

The next morning, because of the late night, most of us just slept and slept. Then, in the afternoon, we went to the groom’s place and had lunch. We sat there for quite some, waiting for our married friend to return from the temple he had gone to. He came and soon he had to leave again, this time, to meet his in-laws and finally bring his bride home. We returned back to GH. Nobody was in the mood to do anything and so the entire evening was spent there; some slept, some went somewhere or the other, while most of just sat around, talking and lazing. I don’t actually remember how we spent time, just that we packed and again went to the groom’s house to meet the newly married couple and say our farewells to them (temporary because the couple were returning to Bangalore in a week’s time) and his family too.

After dinner, I don’t know how, we managed to be late; some miscommunication regarding the train’s arrival time. We ended up leaving in a big hurry barely twenty minutes before the arrival of the train, almost leaving a suitcase behind (mine, I might add).

The trip had ended; I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Mine was a rather different story than what I had anticipated it would turn out to be - some moments were magical, some moments unimaginably depressing, some memories have been blurred by this trip, while some refreshed. Perhaps, for me something had been missing in the trip. That is why I am in the state of mind, where, if anyone asks me about the trip, I hesitate a split second before saying ‘good’ because it’s not entirely the truth.

People do a lot for their alma mater, I haven’t, till date, and probably never will, because I’m not the active sort of person. But, as a very personal tribute this is all I have to say about:

The college I hated at first..
The college that taught me so much more than Computer Science & Engineering,
The college that gave me so many invaluable friends,
It’s the place that will remain in my heart as the place where, every moment of the time spent, defined me.

..Meandering Thoughts

It’s been a while since I wrote something; something that I wanted to share, express....
And its been bothering me…to the point where I’ve been driven to write about not being able to write something.

Now what should I write?
Why should this bother me that I’m not writing anything? After all its not like I’m going to lose anything by not writing, its not like my writing is helping anyone in any way. Then why is there a subconscious restlessness within me in times of idleness?

Now that I’ve expressed my restlessness, I wonder how I should continue. I am writing all this, sitting at my office cubicle, happily oblivious to all that is going on around. Someone is playing some Hindi songs a few cubicles beyond – a team member, one of the few north Indian members of this team. Next to my cubicle, 3 team members are discussing their Andamans trip on which they are embarking today, little scraps of conversation are floating around, some other team members might be working intensely, staring at their screens. Our boss’s place is away from the rest of us, so things are slightly relaxed; our boss’s boss is not in his place, so its kind of comfortable (not that he questions anything. Though, I think he observes)

We’ve just come back from a birthday treat and everyone is a tad lazy, the stupor after over-eating makes one sluggish. The mood is holiday-ish, what with Christmas in a few days, and a lot of people taking extended leave in the coming week. Yesterday there was a Christmas celebration in our team. Every year we have it, all organized by the 3-4 Christian members of our team. One feels so warm; I guess that’s the spirit of Christmas. Besides the standard eatables i.e. cake, chips and drinks (soft), we had a treasure hunt game where all of us joined with zest. Our team is seated in a floor where most of the other people are freshers (on bench) and another solemn looking team. It was really fun; when we got the first set of clues, all of us (including boss) started running around in excitement, creating hue and cry. The rest of the floor was bewildered probably thinking that the team had gone mad.

I’ve been in this team for 2 years now - yes it was December last to last year when I joined and I’m surprised I’m still here. When I had joined, how I had been, and now, how I am, when I look back… a lot of things have changed, in me and in the team I am in. Some people left, new people joined, and some people have persisted. Locations have changed, so have entities, takeovers have occurred, promotions have happened, names have changed, and still the feeling of constancy exists. I guess this team’s specialty is that feeling, of permanence. Things look to be changing, for the better or for worse and yet ultimately they don’t really… either way.

When I joined, along with three others, none of us were really happy, it being a Quality Assurance (QA - refined term for testing) project and being located in an office far away from where the rest of our peers (of our batch in our office) were. I was mainly unhappy because of leaving the friends behind; life had finally started to catch up. Career, profession, future were the words to think about. QA seriously wasn't a matter to be worried about; since I was never really inclined towards coding as such, that wouldn’t be a problem. Anyway at that time, I had had other plans; management. MBA, CAT, IIMs after a year or so of experience. What I did for that year, so long it was OK, I was OK. Long back I’d realized that I never really had a turn for technology - why at all I had graduated in engineering, was sometimes beyond comprehension. Lack of courage, laziness and probably lack of talent were the mains reasons I suppose. Hard to accept but true. Anyway, as usual, I’m wavering away from the point.

So we were not happy. Three others from an earlier batch had joined the same team about a month before us, and they were like kindred souls when we reached there. They felt the same way as us, not liking the place. Everyone else and everything else felt unfamiliar and cold. (I think a brief explanation is required: the company that hired us as employees had acquired the software part of another company; we had been sent to become a part of a team in this acquired company, which thought already bought, still not merged completely, hence located elsewhere). Now, in retrospect, I realize why we felt that way; the acquired company had been a small company, and they worked in close harmony, almost like a family. Everyone knew each other, everyone's family was always part of all big occasions, hence everyone was very closely acquainted with everyone else - a far call from the distant relationships one shares in big organizations. So, when we joined, we were basically outsiders (guests if you rather), the feeling was inevitable.

The seven of us complained a lot, lamenting our luck, all the while enjoying the free fresh lunches (unlimited too) in the cafeteria there (yes the lunch was free for us as we were not in the payroll of that acquired company), waiting for the time we could return to more familiar surroundings. I feel, because we were so hung up on our original office that we never gave that office a chance. Also, most of us hardly ever interacted with the rest of the team, the reason being that most of us (of the seven) had no real work, and without work, it's a little difficult to get involved in a team. That's why we remained outsiders for the better part of the time we were there in that office.

After a Team building session, things lightened up a little but it was still far from comfortable. The team members were (are) mostly from down south, prominently Tamil; they converse in Tamil most of the time, which was another point in increasing the gap. Additionally, the seven of us would have lunch/tea/coffee all together, separate from the other pre-defined groups of the team, so the chances of interaction diminished even more so.

Things would have remained the same, had it not been for the shift of location. Finally the acquired company employees had to shift to our company premises, as a start to the final merging of its entity with its acquirer. At that time, all the other people in our team felt the same as we had done before (when we'd gone to their location); lost, unfamiliar surroundings, new policies, new practices, new events. Now it was our turn to explain stuff, stuff that we were familiar with, which were new to them. I think that brought us a little closer to the team. All this while I have been saying 'us' because till that time, all of us seven (who had gone there) were still in the same team. There had been no opportunity or time for an ‘I’ in those times. However, after we shifted, that changed. How? Well…

One of us left the team, for another team in the same company,
In a few months, another left the company for better career opportunities,
Our lunches started taking less time….a sense of restlessness had entered most of the seven of us…
Another stopped spending time at his seat,
Another left to another team,
The 3rd last to leave left after about a year,
The 2nd last left a few months ago; she wasn't really looking for a job change but present stringent opportunities in our team forced her to leave.

Fortunately, when just three of us were remaining, our involvement in the team increased, through work. When we started getting proper work, obviously we needed to work with the team to complete reports etc. And I had realized that the best way to reduce accountability was to confirm everything from seniors and ask each time I had a doubt. Any help regarding work, I asked. Perhaps that was the reason my communication with the team increased. I asked about everything, I confirmed everything. So that if at all something would go wrong. I would have someone to fall back on; s/he had confirmed that this was the way to do it.

I realize how cowardly I was, or maybe still am. Perhaps, now it is a little less.

Anyway, slowly, I started talking to the rest of the team. Initially it was a little tough, because almost everyone else in the team is Tamilian; they would usually converse/chat/joke in Tamil. I made a point to interrupt each time they started talking in Tamil. Each time, they would translate or they would revert to talking in English. Gradually, with time, whenever they saw my blank face, they immediately started talking in English.

Now, when I look back, I cant recall exactly how that team metamorphosed from the rigid cold team it was (may be my perception was that way because I didn’t interact and neither did anyone else interact with me) to the warm group it is now…

Maybe when we shifted to a new floor, where we were the only team and the rest were all freshers. That time, the seating was made in such a manner that everyone (of the team) was nearby. So people interacted either sitting at their desk or standing at their cubicle, and turning around.

I as usual, for every little doubt, asked my colleague sitting next to me and he, patient as he is, answered all my doubts, and still does. Three of us, sitting in the same cubicle (of four desks) somehow talked more. We became friendly, shared several stories, thoughts and perceptions, we still do. They noticed I kept on typing sometimes for hours at end, my headphones secured to my ears, not looking here and there. For the first time, I shared my blog with someone from my team. It was nice to hear appreciation. It always is.:)

Changes have occurred: Our team leader became PM (Program/Project Manager), our SPM (Senior Program/Project Manager) resigned, but luckily, the new SPM was also from the same acquired company and everyone was familiar with him. He turned out to be more approachable, more actively involved; he still is. Initially he used to sit in another floor (as he was handling two other projects). Now, he's shifted to our floor. And his cabin door is almost always open, literally. One can walk in at any time and voice out his/her concerns.

Last year our team started celebrating birthdays; going out, combined treats, pooling in, gifts, the works. After one year of this, now, it’s been decided that rather than spending the money on lunches and gifts, we would collect it and give it to charity; a thoughtful initiative, which I really appreciate. Although I’m sympathetic, I never got around to doing anything meaningful for the ones less privileged.

As I write all this, I realize that this team has changed and it has changed me in the process. I have learnt to interact, work as a team member - but these are professional changes. As a person, I have learnt to not take things at face value. You see a group of people, all involved together, you may be somewhat biased against them. You need to give everyone a chance, you might like them too. A friendly colleague has also shown me a new way of looking at things. Initially I used to wonder how all these seemingly technical people were remaining in the same monotonous line of QA, where the work wasn't usually very challenging or different, especially when the team didn't seem to have many opportunities.

When I had gotten around to talking to some of them, I asked them; one of them said, for him, mostly it was a comfort zone. One got into a line of work, got familiar and basically got comfortable with it and hence thought a million times before exchanging the familiarity for something different, something unknown, something challenging. It was not a problem if the challenges were posed in the current job/position, but to make an effort to shift into the unknown out of the comfort zone - that posed a problem and they never got around to doing it. That was dangerous they knew, but they supposed it was going to be really tough to change things - Understandable.

However, my other colleague, who I constantly keep pestering regarding all my doubts, gave me an alternative explanation. By the way, this colleague of mind has gradually become an understanding soul; well I can’t describe it, he’s not what I would call a friend, because we never get personal as friends do. However we get along, and somehow he understands my thought processes. Let’s define him as an understanding friendly soul. Well, what he said was that, for him, work was not the end; it was just the means to an end. The end could be undefined now, but it was definitely not the work he was doing right now, i.e. this technical line.
He said, the time spent in office, doing the work we are, without much stress or workload spares us so much time at hand…to do all the things we want to do; learn new things, travel (unlike many other teams, there is no concept of working on weekends in our team, so weekends are very much your own. Along with a day or two at either end, one can very well travel to places around Bangalore), express, or like me, write. That was why he was persisting working here. Yes it is true to love the work you do, but what if you don't? Do you quit even though it gives you a lot of comfort, perks and free time. Yes maybe that is the challenging way to go – quit and find your way.
However, to give up all the comfort that an IT job gives you to waver in a different direction, unknown as yet… that requires a lot of conviction and courage in yourself, as well as passion for the alternative way.

I would be lying if I didn't accept that I don't have that much conviction. More so because, I haven't found the end yet, for which this work is a mean. I realize I don't have overwhelming passion for anything; passion that would awaken in me the guts to break from this trodden path. My colleague says, you have to search within to find that end - think, untiringly until you find your true way. I have searched, somewhat half heartedly, but haven’t really found the answer yet. Maybe some day, it will dawn on me. Until then, well, I’m here. Working, writing, enjoying… I don't hate my job… I can't blame the job.

Anyway to summarize my point (‘useless’ you say? Or laugh at the word ‘summarize’?), I realize I have also become that way, accepting the work here, and yet somewhere, my mind is searching, restless in its endeavour, trying to find the passion..

Coming back from my meandering thoughts…

A few people in the team are now kind of my friends (I say ‘kind of’ because again, we never really get personal), we share our stories, of things that have struck us, some past incidents that made an impression. Without getting into too much personal stuff, we have so much to talk about. Sometimes, a few of us start discussing something, and someone else comments, and soon there is a full blown discussion (non-technical always), many members standing in their places and our SPM, opening the door of his cubicle, and emerging out, as if not wanting to miss out any fun. In fact nowadays he doesn't even close his cubicle door. Leaves it all open; open to discussion, open to suggestions…

Now since I’m writing this piece in a space of about a month, things have changed a little, so lets forward to now, i.e. the ‘now’ when I’m writing this part of this post.

Today is Pongal also known as Sankranti, also known as Makar Sankranti also known as Bihu; same day, same occasion (of the season of harvest), and yet different names in different parts of the country.

And for our team (Tamilian mostly), Pongal is one of the big festivals. So, as usual, a proactive member of the team had the idea of bringing in lungis or dhotis (a length of cloth draped by men, traditionally in the south, I’m not too sure..). Three or four people, including the SPM, draped themselves in the garment and remained clad in traditional garb the entire day. Three people brought in the sweet dish ‘Pongal’ for the entire team, one intellectual innovator collected all information about the festival and forwarded it to the team. When I reached office, about 10:30AM, almost the whole team (i.e. the members who had not taken leave) was standing in a cluster of cubicles. I glanced at them, surprised and rather curious and saw the containers containing home cooked Pongal – delicious, sweet and dripping with ghee. What made me feel a glow of gladness was that with a team of twenty-five members, people still brought in eatables for the entire team; happy to share… happy to celebrate together.
Besides my sub-team who had a report to submit, no one seemed to have much work. Good for them, since no one was in a mood to work, and nobody was, including my sub- team. Some sat at their cubicles, while our SPM, PM and some team members sat in a circle within a cubicle, chit-chatting – generally, about stuff, half the time in Tamil, half the time in English. All seemed so relaxed…

Who I was most surprised to see in the carefree mood was our SPM, because, although he always comes and participates in all conversations, he never loiters around, like our PM. Its not his fault really; he sits in a cubicle which is slightly far away from the rest of the team and hence, gets bored, and so comes to the entire team’s cubicles which are all close by, and chats with almost everyone. However, today, it was more our SPM who was restless, not going into his cabin for more than fifteen to twenty minutes, before coming out again, with some conversation in mind.

So these people were all sitting in an open for all discussion about nothing in particular. Then some guys broke the tête-à-tête to go to the cafeteria for a cup of tea and what came into the mind of the PM, but to call the entire team for a group tea. Haha…doesn’t make sense right? Well, he was generally calling everyone with ‘lets all go for tea… lets call in team tea etc. etc’. Thus, we all went up. Some took tea, some didn’t. It was about noon - time for lunch; preparations were going on but our celebrating team had come for tea. Silly really; there was no one else there except the staff. We all sat in a circle, again, chitchatting, again – nothing special or huge, and yet nothing more unusual and memorable.

So that is the story of my team and its evolution, from its fledgling state of unknowns to a coordinated set of people, very much aware of each person’s personality; where all work and fun was choreographed into seemingly effortless harmony, where work was the priority but all other parameters too mattered.

Anyway maybe I’m getting a little too caught up in the team’s dynamics. It is not all that rosy. Professionally, the team has minimum growth opportunities, with no scope in the near future for improvement (since I’ve made up my mind to stay, that doesn’t really affect me), there are a lot of negative undercurrents in the team – between team members, between team and PM, etcetera, politics of leadership, unwillingness to accept faults, non-acceptance of responsibility; all of these pebbles create more than occasional ripples in the peaceful placidity of the team.

On a personal level, as of now, sometimes I start to hate the way the team members tease around, especially me. The history is, when our team had become very friendly, initially I’d also joined in with gusto - talking, opining, and the perception that had been created of me had been…well… I guess that of a young graduate, new to work, cool-minded, who was (is) outgoing, opinionated, somewhat talented (I think so), but mostly a girl who wasn’t very sensitive to small jokes. I.e. she wasn’t one of those girls who minded getting teased and got angry very easily. All this is mostly true, but what resulted from that perception is that everyone started teasing me… endlessly.
I was the chief target; I guess because the only other girl of my batch was a quiet kind, who would take umbrage if some teasing comment was told to her, and would reply back. However, myself, due to my permanent dislike of confrontation, I never did that, and they took that as not minding, and so it continued. After some time, I realized I was getting upset, although I was not expressing it to anyone, and that was affecting me. I decided to cut down on interaction and I consciously did, in a way which wouldn’t make people think that some tragedy had occurred, just that I wasn’t talking much. Slowly the teasing reduced.
However, that was some months ago. As of now, it has started all over again, and I’m not happy. Despite the good team camaraderie, this cloud in my mind mars my positive outlook. And frankly I don’t know how to handle it. Guess this post has unintentionally and unexpectedly turned into my personalized list of grievances.

Anyway before this post becomes another lengthy treatise about me, myself and my team, I’ll just stop here. Just to be clear, despite all the annoyance, I’m glad I’m still here, because being in this easy-going team allows me to have several comforts, which I wouldn’t have been able to afford anywhere else…; the tangible ones being, coming late (2PM), leaving early (2PM) if required, just so long as the work assigned is done or assigned to someone else.:)

After reading the entire piece, I’ve realized that the basic reason why I was writing this, i.e. because I wasn’t writing anything else, did bring out some thoughts; some thoughts that I would have liked to share, along with thoughts that I never would have shared. But then, since I have penned them down, I might as well post it. I guess such unexpected things happen when you start some journey without knowing the destination.

Comfortably Drunk..

As we entered, one was instantly in a different world, indifferent to the rest of the world, of chaos, traffic, crowds. The lighting was a combination of blue dim lights as well as bulbs. Initially, one can’t really see anything else, except the assorted couches, tables and seats…

The atmosphere was….. well, cloudy, mostly because of the ‘n’ number of lighted cigarettes all around. I, a non-smoker instantly felt the strong sense of smoke and non-existent fresh air…
Wondering where I was? Well first time in a pub, in the two and a half years of residence in Bangalore (unless one counts the one hour I spent with friends at ‘Spinn’ before rushing home, about one and a half years back). I was at Legends of Rock, 80ft Road, Koramangala, sitting with a group of friends, all there to celebrate a birthday. It was just about 7:30 pm on a Sunday evening, and the place was hardly full - not empty; a few tables/seats occupied here and there…and some loners sitting at the bar’s table (I don’t think that’s what they call that), on elevated stools.

My friends had been there before, and supposedly the music was great here. For me, who has a somewhat a limited knowledge of English rock, that supposed fact didn’t really make a difference.
At the start of the evening, there were eight of us, out of which two (including myself) didn’t drink, while the others could gut down gallons if the occasion arose. One lady left very shortly, so basically ninety percent of the time there were seven of us. We (again, for all subsequent reading, ‘we’ basically means myself and my teetotaler friend) didn’t mind, so long as our mocktails were being served, along with starters of course. While all of this was being ordered, along with the expected list of alcoholic beverages, I looked around trying to understand what was so great about pubs that they were so popular…

Well, this particular pub was dedicated to Rock, as of course the name suggests. There was an electric guitar (figuratively), hung on the wall where the bar was, i.e. a guitar shaped frame with electric lights was pinned to the wall, there were several large size photographs of rock-stars on several walls, some posters of upcoming live shows in the same place and small fancy bulbs hung over the bar table. And as I said before, there were also several inconspicuously placed blue lights. Since there were virtually no other lights except these and the bulbs, the scene was kind of dark, dimly lit, as if not wanting to disturb the visitors. There were also two large size flat screen TVs – one on the wall next to the guitar, and another on wall next to the door, such that on entering the place, you are facing the bar with one TV, and there’s another on your left. Initially, they were not turned on, and only music was playing.

Except for a very few songs being played, most were unknown. Some songs I did know (selected songs of Metallica, Eagles, Nirvana, etc. etc.), that too mostly courtesy my brother, one of whose sudden passions would be to make me listen to some songs, convinced that I’d like them and most of the time, I did. The rest were all a cacophony of voices, guitars, and drums. However, one thing I’ve realized, one can get used to rock music; you listen to the songs a number of times, you automatically start liking them. It doesn’t matter that the voice of the singer sounds like he has a throat rash, and that he’s got no clue what he’s screaming. There’s something different in that genre of music.
And so, although the songs were all loud as hell with meaningless (to me) lyrics, the tiny thread of melody caught a hold of me and the rhythm finally got to me. With time, I also nodded my head, my feet start thumping slightly with the beats and I started liking the feel of the music…my mind became thoughtless, except for the music.

The people sitting around, all had some kind of liquor placed in front of them, but it didn’t seem that that was the only reason they were there; they seemed to be there for the music too. There were two groups (if you could call two people a group - I called them so just so I didn’t have to call them a couple. Well, they were guys and they COULD have been a couple, but well, 99 % chances are they weren’t; they were maybe just two friends out to have a good time) sitting nearby us. In one of the groups, the two were really enjoying the music; they were almost swaying with the beats, every now and then lighting a cigarette, and sipping the stuff in front of them… sometimes saying a word or two to each other.
As for the other group, well as far as we had observed, they hadn’t spoken a word to each other; they merely sat there, listening to the music, smoking (yes I think almost everyone there was a human chimney) and occasionally singing. They all looked to have come just to relax. I have no idea how much they imbibed, but they sure looked relaxed and comfortable and they didn’t seem to be going anywhere, (throughout the time we were there (some 3-4 hours), the place did fill up, but hardly anybody seemed to be leaving. The place seemed like a sponge, absorbing people into it, without letting them out…

When we had come into the place, we were not really sure as to how we’d spend our time there, seeing as we didn’t drink, and not really fond of rock music, and there basically wasn’t anything else to do. We were just friendly bystanders to a drinking lot. And of course how much could you have of ‘Safe sex in the beach’ (Haha that’s a mocktail), lime juice and chicken tikka. But as it turned out, we had a very entertaining evening, all thanks to our dear frends with whom we’d come and way too much beer on the table…

As we sat there, listening to music, and waiting for the food/liquids to come, we continued with our chitchat (I say continue because with us, there’s no stop to talk, only pauses). Our friends were alcohol-lovers all the way from college, so several embarrassing/revolting moments came up. We had several occasions to see them drunk but this was the first time we were actually there to witness the entire process and it was one funny ride. Some of their antics were comically stupid…. And I think I need to elaborate on those…

Because of the risk of getting sued, I’m not naming names, but since we need some pseudonym for each, here’s a brief description of the characters of this real-life comedy..:

Out of the seven of us, one was kind of an outsider as in he was a junior from college - lets call him Junior. We knew (know) him, but not that well. (All grammar tenses are going haywire). He’d just come to Bangalore and believes weekends are all for partying and of course drinking. He knows almost all of us…

Another guy – well he WAS an outsider, until he entered our lives and the residence of #232 (privileged information) about a year ago. Cousin of a common friend, he got a ready-to-serve friend’s circle when he joined his company in Bangalore; kind of cute, nobody gets enough of pulling his leg – whether it is because of the ‘n’ girls he talks to on Orkut/phone, or the seniors he keeps on visiting, or the one girl he believes himself to be in love with. We all love teasing him… and most times, he’ll seriously explain why this girl calls and that girl gets irritated if he doesn’t call her everyday. We have a great time around him - lets call him the Involuntary Casanova --- Mr. InvoCasa.

Mr. Bottom’s Up – well the name itself is self descriptive, and on which there will be more later. Besides that, well, I used to think him taciturn back in college; we hadn’t had much interaction back then. Now when I meet him, he’s much more talkative. He’s the one who makes the most fun of Mr. InvoCasa and yet advises him sensibly regarding some issues. We both have somewhat similar tastes in music, and share (I feel) a common feeling of being dispassionate.

We two (the two girls a.k.a the two teetotalers) are roomies as well as college mates; from the same college as the remaining three are. We’ll remain ‘we’ through this entire piece.

Another guy/classmate - he’d ordered Rum (as opposed to others who were all inclined towards ‘non-alcoholic’ beer); well what can be said about him? In the past, whenever he’s been drunk, if ever he calls in that state, well he speaks a whole lot of emotional stuff – stuff which he’d never say in his senses. Always maintains, during those times, that he’s NOT drunk…we also agree each time. Also each time, he’d repeat this sentence ‘Main acha insaan hun’ (I’m a good guy/human being (to be exact)). Let’s call him the Mr. AchaInsaan.

And lastly, the Birthday Boy – well let’s call him that only. He’s also from college, and he’d come all the way from another city up north to spend it here, with us in Bangalore. For him, that evening, almost every story started or ended with something to do with drinking. He’s got a truckload full of disgusting imagination, revolting thoughts and dirty (in the literal sense of the term) memories. (Ughhh!)

Now that the scene has been carefully described, and you almost feel that you’re sitting there with us….lets divide the time period we were there (3.5 hrs) in small pockets of easily distinguishable phases… in terms of consciousness…

1st Phase – 7:15 – 8: 15: The Preparation.
This period, I’ve already described partially; we were chitchatting. Except Junior, the rest of us were all pretty good friends, spending a whole lot of Timepass time together (except poor Birthday boy who is stuck in another city). Put us anywhere, at home, on the road, on the way to someplace, in a pub, we’d go on talking - about the past, about the present, and rarely about the future. It would never be deep routed philosophy or something inspiring... just memories; teasing, old jokes, old incidents.
After a round of photographs, the food and the beverages (or atleast the first round thereof) arrived. As we dove into the starters like we’d never eaten before, the rest of my friends prepared to start drinking their respective beverages (yes all alcohol). I say preparing because, one of them (Mr. Bottom’s Up to be precise) didn’t like the glasses in which the beer was being poured, so he asked the waiter to change them. According to him, the glasses should be proper beer mugs. The subsequent mugs on which they drank were huge; one would easily accommodate one litre in each. The guy having rum (Mr. AchaInsaan) didn’t ask for any such early changes, he just shook the glass, and kept it down, as if savouring it till the moment to drink.

When everyone was finally satisfied with their respective beverages, there was a moment of cheers, even though some had already sipped, and then began the marathon. The liquor started flowing while we continued our chitchat. As usual, some hilarious incidents came up (like how the other time one of them got drunk and what happened, etc. etc.); nobody seemed to be in a hurry, occasionally sipping, more frequently smoking. By now, I’d forgotten that exquisite feeling of fresh air. Sometimes talking, sometimes silent, listening to the songs (which were gradually progressing to louder, harder and noisier stuff), we got used to screaming and conversing with each other - such was the sound system of the place as well as the songs. As soon as a song started, someone would say, ’awesome song’ and then some bit of rock trivia would be mentioned, then some would head-bang slightly, and finally fall silent, just listening.

Then Birthday Boy ordered ‘Sheesha’ - flavoured smoke, which I was assured did not contain tobacco (or any such substance). He ordered the apple flavour; I tried inhaling deeply, but each time, I coughed up - it hurt my throat. I finally gave up. Everyone else took turns, with some inhaling with practiced grace, while others (like my teetotaler friend) coughed just like me. The ‘hukkah’, (in which the flavoured stuff was burning) was very royal in appearance - Silver exterior with a long pipe for inhaling.

In the midst of all this, we too sipped our mocktails, and had lots and lots of starters. The waiter who was serving us was so unobtrusive that when he brought the second pitcher of beer, we didn’t really notice. We had not seen anyone calling for the next round and yet the mugs were never empty. It was later that we realized that an almost imperceptible nod to the waiter by anyone present in the group meant another pitcher/peg/round. And then, the mood of the evening was decided by Mr. Bottom’s Up who uttered the most significant of the evening, ‘Aaj peeke out hone ka man hai’ (I’m in the mood to get drunk senseless). So you can guess were the evening was heading…

2nd Phase – 8:15 to 9:15: Mixed Reactions.
Well, our Birthday Boy had been drinking almost continuously; he’d become rather silent, occasionally he’d speak one or two sentences to us (mostly to myself and to Junior who were sitting on either side of him). None of realized how much he’d imbibed, until we noticed that he wasn’t really talking much. Neither was he smoking - Sheesha or cigarettes. After some time, he was completely silent; he looked sleepy – red eyes and rather drowsy. When we talked to him, he’d try his best to respond suitably, and open his eyes, then in seconds, they’d again go back to almost closed. Soon, they closed completely – he dozed off in his own party, sitting, head inclined front-wards. We all had real fun shocking him out of his drowsy existence - suddenly shaking him ‘get up get up’; he‘d wake up, look around, realize nothing had changed and go right back to sleep, all the while – not a single word; Hilarious.
Mr. AchaInsaan commented, that even back in college, sometimes Birthday Boy would be very verbose on such occasions, otherwise, oftener he’d be this way… some things don’t change. Mr. AchaInsaan had not drunk much. He seemed to be conscious of the fact that we were observing everyone, saving comments for future use; he was still at his first drink. Mr. InvoCasa was also at his first mug; he seemed to be in deep thought, also looking around in amusement – a tiny bemused smile permanently on his face, a cigarette a fixture in his fingers. All the while Mr. Bottom’s Up and Junior were busy drinking. While Junior was almost totally inactive in terms of conversation (now that his adjoining companion was in dreamland, he didn’t seem really in the mood to make small talk), Mr. Bottom’s Up seemed to remember all kinds of topics he wanted to talk about; nothing boring or fantastic, merely stuff... which could be interesting. We listened, sometimes genuinely listening and responding, sometimes, wondering why and how that particular topic had come up. But wait - just want to clarify; he wasn’t drunk (as yet), he was just talkative. It was in this historic phase that he spoke the words which became his namesake, ‘Bottom’s Up!’, holding in his hand an almost full mug of beer – Birthday Boy was out of the match, Mr. InvoCasa wasn’t interested, Mr. AchaInsaan was deeply involved in the videos playing on the TV (yes the TV got started sometime in this phase), so it was only Junior who responded, but in the negative; with folded hands as a sign of regret and apology he said, he wasn’t up to it. However, at Mr. Bottom’s Up’s behest, he did try - a defeated attempt; he paused even before halfway through his mug, while Mr. Bottom’s Up, true to his word drank up his whole mug.
More beer was on the way. As for us, well, we were really busy, listening to everybody’s stories, occasionally leaning to hear atleast excerpts of the tales so that we could conjecture the rest of it (it wasn’t possible to hear all of it – there was too much ‘music’ around), watching the videos playing, (some of them were bordering on vulgar, some morbid, while some weird..) and sipping occasionally….
Now, the music had gotten louder, if that was possible, and most of the songs were unknown, and even if they were known, the version would be different (I would have heard the unplugged hence soft version). It was truly difficult to believe that the song being played was just a different version of the same song - there were so much of additional percussion and other instruments added.
The crowd had hardly, if at all, changed; the two non-speakers were still there (I think), and so was the other couple - one was now constantly singing along. The waiters were busier, and place seemed full…

3rd Phase: 9:15- 10:30: Comfortably Settled.
This was the phase where the fun just got better. Birthday Boy was still asleep; after a lot of nudges and shakes when he could not be woken, we let him be - after all he was the Birthday Boy and if he wanted to sleep while he was drinking at his own treat, he could very well do so. The ambience was livelier… when familiar popular songs were played, almost everyone in the house sang along, some head banging, some playing air guitar, while some doing both at the same time. Mr. InvoCasa was rather quiet; now that I think of it, he had been rather quiet all evening. He would have been contemplating the ongoing problems with his current dame, all the way long distance in the faraway land seven seas apart, which had been discussed at length on and on and on, with no perceptible solution. Mr. InvoCasa was not really with us; he was lost in the obscure world of chat, internet, Orkut and Infosys… may his wishes be fulfilled.
Junior was also lost in the world of music, beer and silence - he just continuously sipped, occasionally getting up to relieve himself in the restroom, or attending a phone call outside (of course it was impossible to do so inside).
Mr. Bottom’s Up was at his loquacious best, talking about the past, the present and the future - college days, some senior who had had some issues and who had subsequently been part of a heart-to-heart discussion with Mr. Bottom’s Up, etc. etc. Although he had imbibed a lot of beer, he didn’t seem drunk, and each time his mug was full, he called out ‘Bottom’s Up’. Nobody joined him, but he sure finished his mug at one go. He also frequently went to the restroom, (each time somebody got up to go to the restroom, Mr. AchaInsaan giggled, and whispered to us as we leaned forward ‘beer peene se bahut bathroom jana padta hai..’ and some other disgusting fact about the same which is not worth mentioning here.
As soon as Mr. Bottom’s Up returned, he continued with his conversation with us because the rest of them were either too far to hear, or asleep, or disinterested. We listened, trying hard to ignore the fact that he was repeating himself pretty frequently. Then again, he’d get up for a visit to the restroom. At the late end of this phase, according to our trusted sources (Mr. InvoCasa and Mr. AchaInsaan - who were the only ones who didn’t look or talk drunk) he presumably threw up in the restroom (twice).
We had a sudden overwhelming feeling of pity for the waiters/cleaners at the pub – what a job; serve them, see them get drunk, ensure that they do, and clean up their mess, and then again get them drunk…
God forbid someone got sick within the seating area.
However, we tried to find something positive in their job – maybe they would be entertained by the endless stories, gestures, ‘nautanki’ of some of the customers when they were in the self-created world of ‘alcoholdom’. Who knows? Maybe… Maybe not.

We realized that we would be leaving soon, and we’d be hungry as soon as we left - the starters having been ingested a long time ago. So after asking everyone present, we perused the menu and ordered some sandwiches; everybody else vehemently refused, ‘no…we’re not hungry.’ But well, one should have seen how almost all of them repealed that statement and went straight ahead with the sandwiches (not that we had any problem). We had ordered one plate which had four pieces; well we managed to get a piece each I think. As I put my hand on the plate to get the second, it was seized by Mr. Bottom’s Up who didn’t realize I was about to take it. (Come to think of it, I don’t think he even realized that he was taking it). Considerate Mr. InvoCasa (its no wonder really that all the girls want to be married to him, he’s pretty sweet) asked us if we wanted the fourth remaining slice which he had in his hand. We declined, but seeing the ‘not-hungry’ appetites of all present, another plate was ordered.
It was when this second plate of sandwiches arrived that we realized that Mr. Bottom’s Up was totally and absolutely wasted - gone case, drunk, in another world. When the waiter set the plate down, opened a ketchup sachet, poured a little and left, Mr. Bottom’s Up started eating, now not talking much; he was slowly following the footsteps of Birthday Boy. When the ketchup finished, and his sandwich remained, he tried to pour some more from the almost empty sachet. Boy! His hands were shaking constantly; it was with an effort that he held up the sachet and tried to press it - he wasn’t able to even press the sachet; he had no grip. Somehow, after one whole minute of shaking it, one-two drops of ketchup very generously descended onto the plate. It wasn’t enough even for one bite, but Mr. Bottom’s Up was apparently satisfied. With one wave of his hand, he mopped the sauce with his remaining sandwich and ate it, as if that was all the ketchup he had needed. After his adventure with food was over, the arduous task of getting a tissue started. There was a tissue dispenser on the table, to his left, and there was a Special’s stand (where a piece of paper announcing the day’s special or something such is inserted on a small stand) to his right. For about 5 minutes (maybe I’m exaggerating a wee bit), he kept on taking out the Special’s sheet, assuming it to be tissue, then putting it back after realizing that it wasn’t. Then again, the whole process started. He kept at it for quite some time; I think it was only after we had realized what he was doing and had laughed our full, he became aware of his mistake and somehow pulled out a tissue and wiped his hand.

Except us nobody else had noticed; as we looked around, everyone else was in a haze. Of course Birthday Boy was still out, Junior didn’t seem to care about anything at all, except cigarettes and beer, Mr. Bottom’s Up was looking drowsy, Mr. InvoCasa still had that lingering smile on his face and a mug in front of him (he hadn’t drunk much but he was rather quiet) and Mr. AchaInsaan was on his 3rd glass (peg?) of rum, just staring at the TV, occasionally interspersing comments regarding the songs or videos or us. He looked to be sober and sensible, which was really surprising, considering his past record. Once or twice, he did ask us, ’You two must be having a blast making fun of us.‘ or ‘you must be thinking what a set of drunk friends you have..‘. We gleefully agreed.
He asked if anybody wanted anything else, preparing to ask for the bill (it was about 10:25). At that time, dear Mr. Bottom’s Up was in the restroom, relieving himself and wasn’t there, and so the bill was called for. When the bill came, and Mr. AchaInsaan took out his credit card on behalf of his buddy, Birthday Boy, Mr. Bottom’s Up decided he wanted another pitcher of beer. Looking towards Junior for agreement, (who very thoughtfully didn’t disappoint him) although how they were going to drink that was a mystery of cosmic proportions. Mr. AchaInsaan, disbelieving, and somewhat hesitating, again confirmed. ‘Yes’ came the reply. The now grinning waiter, who had a total look of disbelief and amazement on his face, (as if he was wondering where ALL that beer went and why had we ordered yet another pitcher) nodded and went to get that last pitcher.

4th Phase: 10:30 -10:45: Curtain Act, and Totally Drunk.
By now, our neighbours, the couples, had left, and had been replaced by other people who didn’t seem quite as interesting as the ones before. The place wasn’t emptying, but it was less crowded; it was time to leave.
Before the last pitcher arrived, Mr. Bottom’s Up had joined Birthday Boy in dreamland; he sat there, leaning back, but his head kept falling downwards. As his eyes closed, not even the flash of a camera could wake him. When the last mug from the last pitcher of beer (that HE ordered) was poured in front of him, he took just about a sip and then promptly went back to sleep. To help in finishing the beer, (of course it had to be finished - it was sacrilegious to just leave it there un-drunk) Mr. AchaInsaan gave himself to the cause, smoking a cigarette and asking the waiter to pour him a glass. Mr. InvoCasa had hardly drunk all evening; one of his unfinished mugs had even been finished by Mr. Bottom’s Up and obviously now too, he wasn’t interested in helping in such a charitable cause.

Unflinchingly Junior took a generous mug, he didn’t seem out of his senses; he was aware and yet he was drunk. As Junior and Mr. AchaInsaan worked hard at finishing the last remnants of beer, the bill was brought again. After a frantic search for a reasonable tip in cash for the waiter (supposedly if the tip was included into the bill of the card, that didn’t reach the correct person, and so Mr. AchaInsaan, true to his name always preferred giving cash), and retrieval of the credit card (paid very considerately by Mr. AchaInsaan as Birthday Boy didn’t seem to be in the state of signing anything), Birthday Boy was also rudely woken up from his dreams. This time when he woke, he was almost instantly wide awake; he refused the beer, and now sat straight, refreshed from his two hours of un-interrupt-able sleep (there’s no such word as un-interrupt-able, it basically means sleep that cannot and will not be interrupted even if Earth was smattered by asteroids and God himself screamed at the sleeper). He recalled his duty and asked for the bill, ‘it has been taken care of’, Mr. AchaInsaan giggled and informed him. Satisfied, Birthday Boy relaxed and laid back, now very much awake.

Finally we got up; the waiter was smiling ear to ear, Mr. Bottom’s Up had been shaken out from his drunken reverie, and informed that we were leaving. He got up, walked to the door, stumbled at several places, and started his descent to the ground floor (luckily it was just one flight of steps). As he held on to the stairs’ railing, we followed, pretty sure he’d fall. Amazingly he didn’t. As we assembled below, we decided to walk back home; our place was just 5 minutes away and most of the others didn’t seem to be in the state to drive their bikes). Mr. AchaInsaan and refreshed Birthday Boy, very chivalrously offered to accompany us back.
Hardly drunk Mr. InvoCasa escorted Mr. Bottom’s Up to the bike, an expression of worry on his face (I think the thought running paramount in his mind was what if Mr. Bottom’s Up vomited while on the bike?). Well just to keep you in the loop, Mr. Bottom’s Up did throw up, fortunately not while on the bike, but only after reaching the comfort of their home, on a chair, according to a harried Mr. InvoCasa who later called up Mr. AchaInsaan to give him the latest news.
Mr. AchaInsaan had told Mr. InvoCasa to warn Mr. Bottom’s Up that ‘usko bol dena agar vomit karega to khud saaf karega’ (tell him that if he vomits he has to clean it up himself’). I don’t have any confirmation on that happening.
Junior seemed to be in his senses; we shook hands. I just said ‘drive safe’, sincerely hoping he did, he said he hoped so too. (Again, to keep you informed, he did drive safe, fortunately.)
Our knights dropped us back home, sat for a while, socialized with our amused room-mates and then left home. They also reached safely.
And there ended the four phases of alcohol, amusement, and a lot of music.

By the end of it all, they didn’t seem very drunk (Birthday Boy was all sober while Mr. AchaInsaan would have reached the drunken stage had he had another round). During this entire comedy, we did repeatedly tell all our drinking buddies that’s they should NOT drink so much and then NOT drive. But well, who listens?

Our room-mates asked, ‘but why didn’t you drink, what did you do the whole time? You would have gotten bored.’ In the midst of unadulterated giggles, guffaws and laughter, we replied, ‘you have no idea how much fun it is to be sober when you’re with a group of drunken friends; we had a very entertaining time…’, and proceeded to give them a detailed description of the antics of our friends.

They believed, but didn’t look very convinced… maybe you aren’t too…
Ah well. You had to be there…:)