“It’s a new world. It’s a new start.
It’s alive with the beating of young hearts.”
— Bryan Adams in “Here I Am”
Two point five months marked by lengthy, indeterminate periods of inactivity, brief periods of activity (centered around Facebook and WhatsApp, or lying like a corpse holding a novel) are over. And so is school.
Had this been another scholastic year at St. Joseph’s, I would have mummified myself in my sheets. (Because for some closeted rationale, I’m never going back. The past is in the past. Thank you Elsa.)
This morning felt different. After a decade and two years of habituating myself to the routine of smallclothes followed by camisole followed by pants followed by top followed by waistcoat and then socks, shoes and then plait and fold, it felt rather strange to have to mix and match apparel and accessories for my debut. (I never even bothered to flaunt a pair of earrings at school.)
For the first time in a long time, I felt voguish with my ethnic black, white and yellow kurti, my black jeggings, my black and tan pumps, my dangling faux pearl earrings, oversized yellow bangles and my long nails (that my grandmother censures as “claws”).
Eccentric as I am, I matched my maiden outfit with a yellow bag, a yellow pencil case and a yellow water bottle.
Now it is no unknown fact that Year Twelves spend the part of their vacation that they do not spend in sloth on college research. And we are duly informed (or should I say misinformed?) about the polity of tertiary educational institutions. (“They will not worry about you like we do.” “They’ll just do their jobs – walk in and walk out.”)
There’s this vibe in the college atmosphere and it’s like static. Everyone can feel it. We’re all skimming one another’s outfits, watching someone with our peripheral vision, trying to keep the excitation levels in check and registering the remarkable aesthetics and architecture.
Post the very informative assembly, I remarked to my pal, “There’s something below my back and it hurts like hell.”
The self-proclaimed Friendly Seniors escorted us to our classrooms where we were given the run-up of college life. The FS attempted to engage us by means of a simulation game and the result was comic relief with a few 18+ innuendos dropped hither and thither.
We traded the brick and stone classroom for a guided (and not to mention, free) tour of the sprawling sylvan, verdant environs.
After guesstimating how much toil and trouble and fun and frolic the next trio of years are going to be, I made some mental notes:
- Stay away from anything/anyone that even remotely resembles trouble.
- Let your faculty of speech take leave of you during lectures.
- Don’t be pushy, but don’t let yourself get pushed around.
- Don’t let anyone try to make you stand in their shadow just because they think they can.
- Be polite, prudent and professional.
- You’re doing what you love. So do it well.
So, that was Day 1 of 90 of Semester I of VI in a nutshell. (It goes without saying that I suck at Précis Writing.)