Thursday, January 3, 2008

My bedroom Ceiling talks...

I wonder how long can a person keep looking at the ceiling of his bedroom without getting distracted? I presume not more than 30 seconds for a normal person with my level of concentration (yeah you read it right - a normal person!). And I tested my presumption once (involuntarily though) and it brilliantly proved me wrong. I did not realize I was looking at the ceiling for a full 20 minutes, until I heard something.

This is how it all happened:

As I lay in my bed last night, I tried desperately to get some sleep and not to think of anything stupid. But I invariably succeed in the latter every night. And this time, I unknowingly switched on my virtual time machine and went back in my life by 6 years. I still don’t know why I did that. And I was entering my college. I saw the tea-shop at the entrance. People used to rank it 7 on 10 vis-à-vis our college canteen, which scored a pathetic 3. The tea-shop certainly brought back the memories of those worth-less chats I have had with my friends, those special “Bajji” the tea-shop “Achi” makes for us, those of my friends from Mech dept who spend most of their day at this tea shop, and my religious thrice-a-day visit to accompany my smoking friend. There were other benefits in being a passive-smoker in a tea-shop – you get to hear all latest gossips, get to know a lot of seniors (who you can never see in the college campus) and a free chewing gum for accompanying my friend.

I then look at the college buses and it brought back the memories of how I used to deliberately miss the college bus in the morning hours to take my bike to college, how we used to find inexplicable pleasure in speeding up while over-taking the college bus, how some of my friends contemplate before getting into the college bus about bunking college for a newly released English movie (with mallu star-cast) and how our college bus served as the conducive arena for ragging. College bus taking students to college has always appeared to me like a nerve carrying blood to the brain.

I then entered the main block and walked into my class-room. What a sight that was? I saw guys who were completely oblivious of what’s happening around them when they get busy chatting with girls (in spite of the fact that guys and girls had a virtual wagah border in their seating arrangements, some never missed these "before-class" and "after-class" hours to cross the borders and have "intellectual" interactions). I saw those sports guys beyond the last row, who were busy discussing how India lost to Australia last night (they get into the shoes of Geoffrey boycott and harshey bhogle to analyse) and the guy who supports Australia was screaming triumphantly at the top of his voice. I saw those people who were busy completing their 11th hour assignments, those girls chatting pointlessly among their coterie, those guys wondering if they still have a chance to bunk the class and finally those silent-sitters just hoping desperately that the classroom would settle down some-day or the other.

The very thought of my college brings back a lot of memories to me - those victorious inter-college competitions, planned (but still screwed) college tours, tensed semester examinations, startling university exam results, weekend evenings at Besant nagar beach, night-study at friend’s place, hours of silly-cricket at the terrace of my house, birthday celebrations, first day first show movies, Christ ma - Christ child game, paper-presentations, study holidays, incomplete assignments, running short of pocket money and so on.

I just simply would give anything to get those days back in my life.

Years pass by. I am no longer a student. I'm supposed to be matured and responsible. I don’t have time or the company for sarcasm, poor jokes and entitlement to a responsible-free life. I only dream of such happy days - those days of absolute fun and real laughter. Those were what I would call "bustling" days. But life is a roller-coaster, experts say. I try to have fun with that too. I make calculated jokes. I maintain "limits" in my sarcasm. I still enjoy my life. Just that at times, I don’t get sleep and I try to challenge myself on something like looking at the ceiling for prolonged duration. Thats when I heard my celing talking and it said something like that:

"Enjoy every moment of your life

Tend to dream wide-awake

Simply write a blog-post

And it'll bring a smile, which is not fake :) "


Anonymous said...

I too remember the tea shops, 'intellectual' interactions at times. Limiting sarcasm is the toughest part these days :)

vijay said...

hey maan...nice rant....u took me with you....

Arun Sundar said...

I know limiting sarcasm is the toughest. And "sarcasm with the right people" is the best, coz we don't have to limit at all :)


Thanks. So, did u hear the ceiling talk too? ;)