(Part 3 of 6: Back to the Past)
The alarm buzzes for the umpteenth time as I wake up with lazy eyes, clearly in want of more rest. I find myself amidst the dusty mess on my side while the other side of the room looks sparkling clean. The memories from the journey last night show up like a panorama in front of me as I try to process the new “normal”. My roommate comes, equally lethargic, before we finish our morning chores and head to the mess for breakfast. Excitedly catching up over breakfast, we talk about our plans for the evening and head to the cycle stand. I feel alienated when I see my cycle in ruins, dusty and lifeless. I wash it thoroughly, oil the chain and send it to the mechanic for tyre repair.
I resort back to cleaning the room, a task that might take forever. Sweeping away the booby traps and doing the mammoth amount of laundry seems like a Herculean task. The room also generates enormous quantities of trash, something that would put Twitteratis to shame. The dusting almost breaks my back. As I flick the dust off my books, my mind spirals back to the neglected online lectures throughout the quarantine. Online classes were all about logging in, muting the mic rituals, and spending the rest of the time in comfy beds, scrolling through memes. It will now become a thing of the past. Yet the lectures won’t remain ‘normal’ now. With social distancing in place, last-minute submissions, viva and surprise tests are sure to be doomed. The LA lawns, which once buzzed with multifarious activities, have suddenly gone all quiet. RITVIC members shouting at high pitched voices, late-night club meetings, groups cribbing incessantly about the buttload of assignments given, deafening pandemonium at the Nescafe booth, whoa, what a sight that was! I finish cleaning my room, get ready and set out on my revamped cycle to the looming red building, something that washed a wave of bittersweet memories over me whenever I looked at it.
The building smells more like hospitals now, with masked people marching on in lines after getting thermally screened as if syncing to drumbeats of the warzone. The classrooms look spacious than before with sanitizers at every corner and students sitting at an adequate distance. Finally, the most anticipated lectures begin. The professors’ threats and taunts go on, about the way we have bombed our semesters, impending practicals and deadly exams. Immersed in the epiphany that there won’t be any passing notes or whispered answers anymore, I suppress my urge to press a real-time mute button and shut off the professor’s hoarse baritone between the crowd chatter. Nervous whispers cloud the classroom atmosphere, and it all feels real now. Paying more attention in class, bagging prestigious internships and desperate letters of recommendation, merely listening to all these makes me feel a lump in my throat. ”Welcome to adulting, buddy.”, the devil in my mind shrieks out. I move to the lab, shuddering with the thought of facing the practicals and viva without any friend nearby to prompt me with the answers or observations. All thanks to the reigning pandemic. The practical classes are finished without much trouble. The sun is done for the day, and so are my lectures. The coders code on the stairs at lightning speed, couples move to the lawns for some much-needed quality time, and hence all my neural frameworks divert back to her.
The only good thing that kept me going during online classes was her random texts and inquiring voice. My eyes eagerly scan the majestic grounds for her sight. “Ah! There she is.”, my heart screams with joy. Isn’t it strange how love that was supposed to cross boundaries had now reduced to just smiling with eyes and concealing emotions behind the mask? I push warm caffeine shots down my throat, enough to skyrocket my courage levels and mouth a confident “Hi” to her. I often fantasize of proposing to her in an opulent manner, probably on the terrace of the Golden Jubilee building, surrounded by night lights, soft breeze and close friends. Weird flex but okay. Yet time and again, the insecurities of getting friend-zoned or heartbroken keep pulling me back from venting out my feelings. Maybe I should keep it subtle and say it out during a typical dinner at Moksha. The pressure concerning the grand proposal is just too much. She snaps me out of my reverie with her bickering about stressful deadlines and apathetic placement coordinators. We part ways after a casual chat over coffee, and I hope to catch a glimpse of her tomorrow again.
All of us friends ride back to our rooms, planning Backpost meetings and group studies. Pending birthday treats are scheduled and movie nights are confirmed on the way. A sudden realization dawns upon me about how much I missed my friends. Putting proxy in class and organizing a mass bunk over a video call wasn’t fun. Reclaiming each other’s bed might not be possible given the current situation, but it can’t hinder the endless bullshit we talk about post classes. Making notes, discussing doubts and bonding over a game of PUBG; all of this makes group studies a lot more fun. Suddenly, our WhatsApp groups flood with messages in irritating pings. EXAMS IN FIFTEEN DAYS! The nightmare we have never been waiting for is here. For the billionth time, our amazing weekend plans stand cancelled. Coffee and all-nighters are here to stay. Confessing to her will have to wait for now. Another fruitful day ends with a pinch of anxiety, sleeplessness and scattered thoughts, of her.
Content by Jasmin
Design by Satyaprakash Karsharma