All said and done, I am aware that it is my problem that I have found it easier to be the misfit. Like I said, I have had "good times" but I'm always hell bent on elaborating on the ridiculous things that don't make sense to me and happen around me all the time (as is true for all of us). I also know that it's more sensible and equally daunting to make peace with whatever you have. And there's no doubt that I have. But then again, I don't see why I have succumbed to pointless drama and unnecessary atrocities in a lot of situations. Relax, I'm not disturbed or anything. The post below is similar to the kind of fun we now have watching Border or CID or youtube-ing songs from Patiala House at least once a day (you should really try doing that). Read. And I know it's going to be difficult to not be judgmental (because that's a common dance floor we all land up on, on every party) so I'm not going to make wasted requests.

As a matter of fact

It’s happening again. After three years of sitting tight on one seat which ten others (to say the least) must have competed for, I am being asked to vacate to let other (un)fortunate women enjoy it (if they’re lucky and stupid) or detest it (which will obviously stereotype them as ME!). Yet again everyone’s curiosity is liberatingly moulded in that question they asked me in the past and that will haunt me many a time in the future. “So, what next/now/after this?” And following a tradition that most of “my kind” endorses, I won’t pretend being confused because “I (actually) don’t know.”

Last week was officially the last in college. All Girls’ College to be more specific. Convent and All Girls’ College to provide maximum detail. And there’s only one of the kind in Delhi University. So yes you can gloat about your guess being right.

Now I’m not sure if I’m feeling any extraordinary emotion at college getting over. Hopefully, it’s a passive feeling and is consoling me by not occupying primary space in my head.

In retrospect, I think I have “learnt a lot” from college life. Without a doubt, it has taught me to adjust with all kinds of human beings and the very cosmopolitan setup has left enough room to explore into different psyches and settle with the best and the worst (and all that). But in grave practicality (and I feel so sad about stating this) I’m going to be learning this at multiple/several/various junctures in my life. So how about exposure and bettering your “talents” and meeting like-minded people? All this without having to worry about administrative hiccups and constant running around to get your shit sorted. Now that’s what I really wish I’d experienced.

Please don’t mark my exaggeration when I tell you that there have been days when I’ve sat under trees (which, at most times provided, much needed solace) and just observed women walking around in college. Some were dressed most obscurely, others inadequately, most well-groomed and the rest trying to keep up with the latest fashion in Sarojini. I’ve sat on the steps of the library (because for some really strange reason you couldn’t take your own books inside the library to read. If you have a justification for that, please don’t bring it up because I am not going to be convinced) and heard women discuss vacations they took abroad, and conclusively remarked on how Dubai was much better than England “kyunki wahaan ghaas phoos kam thi aur malls zaada the.” The next second you would see them shout out for James (?) bhaiya, our college’s official photographer who comes to the rescue of a ton of women who like dropping their heads back, making their hair fly and getting their profile clicked. “College iz funnn” and “My College” and “Memoriez” are the albums you should be concentrating on, on Facebook. There have also been the kinds who like being “in charge”. They’d always have a Notepad and a fancy zip up folder in their hands, holding important documents and “getting work done”. (There’s no harm in all this, really. I’m just describing the “types” and the “kinds”). There’re also diligent hardworking women, who manage to get a 5/5 on attendance (yes, Delhi University does have its own way of ensuring that its students attend college. All in the name of competition for five “free” marks). Then there’ve been the “nice” people around, who would help you, share essential information and tell you which Professor could be your potential friend because well, they’re friends with most of the Department.

I think it’s very essential to engage in routine viewing of shows like Roadies, largely rubbished by your parents and by the better part of your own brain, because it’s more about getting to know about the kind of clumsy and graceless people who constitute this society, which also happens to be your own. Now if you’ve caught an episode of the latest season, then I’d like to typify one of the “contestants” (It’s a shame even calling them that because they’re contesting for one thing and one thing alone, they’re contesting to be forgotten) named Prachi. She’s been upset for most of the show broadcasted till date because people think she’s “dumb” but she knows she’s not. I am hardly anyone to decide whether she is living in denial or not. But I’m not going to remain blind to my absolutely correct reading of the woman being really hollow, with a really peculiar emotional package and not being able to render declared intellect, when tested. Now I wasn’t digressing by indulging in this personality analysis, because hers is a kind intrinsic to most people I’ve seen wandering around my college campus. Opinions that don’t count but still have to be made vocal and the same voice, never articulated in during a lecture. Yet, they’re seen cribbing about the system, the way they’ve been condescended, the way the entire education system has let them down and the way are being punished for no constructive fault of theirs. This is the kind which has caused the most resentment in me and left this annoying acerbic taste in my mouth, because there has really been nothing that they have learnt or helped me learn.

There are various cultural societies across colleges in Delhi University, fondly called “Socs”. Now I don’t know if most of us have consciously engaged in knowing the names of most members of this society. Fact remains, that we do. And that makes them celebrities? It’s odd but, when most of them are on stage to display some talent or the other, a significant part of the audience will be noticing Aastha, Kshitija, Mallika or Pallavi.

“Xyz, woh choreo wali, she’s so hot man.”

“Hindi dramsoc mein hai na who Abc, usko maine GK mein dekha.”

The Fests have been the most memorable owing to weird idiosyncrasies. They would usually start in the morning and end way after sunset. But women would still come dressed up because the latter half of the day they had to go clubbing in the college lawns since it was DJ Night. Jobless for one, I don’t know how most of them managed to rope in their friends for all the “fun” that the fest promised. I’ve also looked forward to it all three years to be a part of some mindless dancing because any attempt to loosen up only has a positive consequence. But it’s been nothing grand, certainly nothing worth getting your hair straightened for.

On those two days of “cultural extravaganza”, some randomly picked up NSS Volunteers have witnessed high points in their lives in telling people “Entry band ho gayi hai.” and “No, you can’t enter from this gate.” They’ve giggled and let the boys enter the Auditorium and unnecessarily shrieked at Thirdies because “Entry was only allowed for participants (boyfriend)”. Kya trip lete hain log.

This college is a part of an undefined and self -proclaimed cult that more than half of the students have readily accepted as “best time evaa!”

I beg to differ. And even though I’ve had my multiple maddening moments of ecstatic joy in the company of some of the coolest people that the institution thankfully chose to admit, I still stand by the college and its sly ways of pushing students into some kind of really dangerous disillusionment.

Oh and my type? I’ve been the silent observer (to help produce this blog post maybe?).

PS-Subsequent posts will describe the more pleasant and polite experiences. Yes, there are many.

Kya Din Tha, Kya Raat Thi.

Date: 2nd April 2011

Location: Bhai's Bedroom

Time: Didn't give a fuck

Event: India Vs. Sri Lanka, Cricket World Cup Final 2011

Special thanks to the company of six ecstatic fans, Beer, Green Wale Lays, Sprite, McDonald's, Curse words, Twitter, Tata Sky and the all essential Stress Ball.

If you remember Kajol screaming "Hummmm Jeet Gayee" in similar cricket-orial contexts, that was my shriek. If you add some deranged male voices and a lot of Woohoo-ing to that, you'll know exactly what echoed in that small space with the heavenly 32" Samsung Television.

I'm sure a lot of blogs are going to read alike and you, me and them have experienced the same mania, but that night was about the collective joy that made people strip, dance, scream, roar, bruuaaahh, balle balle, hoye hoye and be overcome by complete derangement.

30 runs of 30 balls. I was sitting in one corner of the room, saying the Gayatri Mantra continuously. My friend was sitting on a chair, shaking her legs, stamping her feet, prancing across the room and acting like she wanted to pee, but couldn't locate a toilet miles from where she was. There was another scared Indian in the room saying the Yaar-Bas-Jeet-Jaye-Ab chant. There was yet another who kept telling her to "Shutup, don't jinx it." And the three people in the room who had followed cricket more than the rest (and were what I'd call "ardent" fans), were sitting quiet, scrutinizing strategies and enjoying Dhoni's brilliance in silent gusto. We were all hoping for the same thing to happen, as were infinite number of Indian fans across the globe. I have never felt that kind of tension spearing through my body. Not even fifteen minutes before an exam, ten minutes before my bronchoscopy or a second before my Board Result got uploaded. Never felt before man, never felt before.

Aur jab Dhoni ne woh chhake maara, humne cheekhein maari. I remember climbing on the bed and screaming and looking at my brother and saying What The Fuck We Won. Now I'm not sure whether I made it sound like a question or was it the declaration of a legendary victory that everyone had already witnessed. Needless to say, I was both in disbelief and severely excited. I kept swaying my arms in the air, allowing them to enjoy the frenzy that we had magnificently managed to create. We all chugged a glass of beer each and yes, that was our toast to the Best Men In The World. The Men In Blue were bathing in oceanic glory and we were adding to the shower. Kya feel thi yaar.

Bas fir kya tha. Like the uncountable Dilliwalas who headed to India Gate and the adjoining areas that night, hum bhi nikal padhe. Every round-about in Lutyen's Delhi was the hub of overjoyed fanatics who were there for a common cause. Nobody was a Begaani Shaadi mein Abdullah Deewana. Delhi was one big party. And for the first time, people were not dressed up. They were shabby, they were savage, they were wrapped in the tri colour, they were appropriately brusque and they were all so cool. We, were all so cool.

The car first slowed down at the Chanakya Puri round-about where my drunk friend was Congratulating the occupants of all adjoining vehicles. "28 years and we've done it," said he repetitively till my other high-on-victory friend had to tell him to quit reminding people of the obvious. "Chilla yaar, tu bas chilla." And then flew in a couple of Ferrero Rochers. Kuch meetha ho jaye.

We travelled the distance till Vigyan Bhawan (or Maulana Azad Road if you're screaming for specificity) flashing the worthy Victory sign out of the windows with the incessant wooooooooooooooooooo. Oh, special thanks to the Fore and the Middle Finger. Then we parked on one side and danced to Saadi Galli tur ke vi, Aaya Karo ni Kaddi Saadi Galli tur ke vi... There were also some really killer Punjabi Mundas playing Panga.

As we walked into the happy riot, we were dying one moment and resurrecting the very next kyunki Dhoni Bhagwaan hai aur hum uske darshan kar rahe the. For every Delhi-ite who has lived in the fear of that Breath Analyser, that night saw Bacchus trip with the Janta on the streets. Everyone was fucking smiling. On Delhi's fucked up roads. Aisa kabhi nahi hua.

The cop who was enjoying all the insane jiggy wiggy-ing was also made to do jive. Noone would have ever said, "Thulle sahi hote hain yaar". But that night made them sahi. Such is cricket. Such is India. Such is Victory.

Everyone was willingly stuck in jams, they was absolutely no apprehension about being out past midnight in the acceptedly unsafe Delhi, noone showed any apparent qualms in hugging, shaking hands or dancing with the Ajnabees. Ajnabee bhi Apne the. As Bieber played on loop in the adjoining car, I sung along with the dudes. Uncle chose to play Aivayin Aivayin and I asked him to raise the volume and we did the signature step together.

I was drenched in the tri-colour that night and WE HAD WON. We had been an audience to a spectacular win, an epic night, an unfathomable gathering and the most grand party that the Capital City of India had ever organised.

If cricket were a person, I'd sing in honour. I would sing, Tera jaadooooo chal gaya!

Team India, Shukriya, Dhanyawaad and Vadhayian. Tum sab humare papa ho.

Reminder- In Class 7, I shook hands with Yuvraj.