He walked down Gandhi Marg, the default chillness of the night barely negating the searing heat of the day that had just passed. He liked walking alone in the night, a denizen of the dark. He was a shadow, black, stark in contrast to the white that gleamed the road, painted so by pigeon droppings. His destination was near. His weary feet that had been complaining of the claustrophobia that usually accompanies upper-side berths in an uneventful 2000 km long journey by rail and an even more nauseating drive down from civilization to well, 'civilization', trudged along, silently plotting rebellion.
He was a sophomore now, as he loved to call himself. It made him feel, 'senior'. The past academic year had imbibed in him certain changes, some for the better, some for the very worst. To his achievements, he proudly remembered going to the temple at least once a week, every single week. Whether it was just to get away from Ghatam practice or screwed up acads or general flotsam and jetsam floating around meaninglessly in his wandering mind. He did pray, but not as much as he did just sitting there, watching the multitudes of pigeons flying round and round the temple's towering structure, having his twenty minutes of blankness every man supposedly has.
The night was fresh. The end was near. He approached Shankar Bhawan, just beyond Patel circle. He smiled.
The steps which lead to the upper T-wing were suddenly easier to climb as the mind was prowling on some other chain of thought, one that involved knocking on the poor junior who had just been assigned the room he had stayed in, the past year. His 'room-son' must be sleeping now, his bio-clock hardly accustomed to what it was in for in the next couple of years. Kid was just a day old in college.
263, Shankar Bhawan, Raj-333031. The day he discovered he had got a single room.The incessant banging when he slept in the afternoons. His own door mat. Empty packets of chips and coke bottles on the floor. The mound of sand and dirt when he decided to clean it. "Siddartha", which he never finished reading. The torn Physics I quiz paper. The "ANNA" written with Duct tape on his door. It later became his hostel nick name.
He approached his old room, his head pounding. The light was on. Good.
He heard voices. Parent voices. Damn. Tonight is not the night.
Suddenly, the kid's dad came out and examined the door. The "ANNA" sticker shone in all glory in the white corridor light. The newly admit's dad swore. "We have to complain to the chowki. Otherwise they'll slap a fine on you for scribbling on the door instead of the idiot who actually did this", he said to his son inside.
Blood rushing in his ears, the protagonist tried to walk past coolly. He didn't know nothing about this. He almost reached the end of the corridor, ready to break into a run. How the hell had the they not seen the damn thing when they had entered the room for the first time?
"ANNA! My favorite south Indian!", boomed a familiar voice. The protagonist froze. Shit. The dad turned, first towards the silhouette at the other end of the corridor and then at him, his face a mixture of surprise, confusion and increasing anger.
Apparently 257, Shankar Bhawan had decided to visit his old room too.
He was a sophomore now, as he loved to call himself. It made him feel, 'senior'. The past academic year had imbibed in him certain changes, some for the better, some for the very worst. To his achievements, he proudly remembered going to the temple at least once a week, every single week. Whether it was just to get away from Ghatam practice or screwed up acads or general flotsam and jetsam floating around meaninglessly in his wandering mind. He did pray, but not as much as he did just sitting there, watching the multitudes of pigeons flying round and round the temple's towering structure, having his twenty minutes of blankness every man supposedly has.
The night was fresh. The end was near. He approached Shankar Bhawan, just beyond Patel circle. He smiled.
The steps which lead to the upper T-wing were suddenly easier to climb as the mind was prowling on some other chain of thought, one that involved knocking on the poor junior who had just been assigned the room he had stayed in, the past year. His 'room-son' must be sleeping now, his bio-clock hardly accustomed to what it was in for in the next couple of years. Kid was just a day old in college.
263, Shankar Bhawan, Raj-333031. The day he discovered he had got a single room.The incessant banging when he slept in the afternoons. His own door mat. Empty packets of chips and coke bottles on the floor. The mound of sand and dirt when he decided to clean it. "Siddartha", which he never finished reading. The torn Physics I quiz paper. The "ANNA" written with Duct tape on his door. It later became his hostel nick name.
He approached his old room, his head pounding. The light was on. Good.
He heard voices. Parent voices. Damn. Tonight is not the night.
Suddenly, the kid's dad came out and examined the door. The "ANNA" sticker shone in all glory in the white corridor light. The newly admit's dad swore. "We have to complain to the chowki. Otherwise they'll slap a fine on you for scribbling on the door instead of the idiot who actually did this", he said to his son inside.
Blood rushing in his ears, the protagonist tried to walk past coolly. He didn't know nothing about this. He almost reached the end of the corridor, ready to break into a run. How the hell had the they not seen the damn thing when they had entered the room for the first time?
"ANNA! My favorite south Indian!", boomed a familiar voice. The protagonist froze. Shit. The dad turned, first towards the silhouette at the other end of the corridor and then at him, his face a mixture of surprise, confusion and increasing anger.
Apparently 257, Shankar Bhawan had decided to visit his old room too.
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