The NIMC Times [Part 4]
Alas the night before exams, and all through campus, never would they pray, for the last minute knowledge would fray. Readying up the miniature crap or the final recap, of the copy in hand and the notes disband. Most were quite sleepy, for one thing that was authentically worshipped, but none touched their beds, as they were for tower heads. Out in the taverns, a few were still drinking, and hopeful that the liquor would loosen up their thinking. In your own lovely block, you had been pacing, and hoping to pull across for all that you would soon be facing.
Sessions in mess and leading brats that bundled for us, the macho image with legs on the table and fags to fiddle with that created the dysfunctional and giddy environment of putting us through of playing a step or land up washing that smile. Whatever it was, till late did one realize the fact that if one’s not in any club, he be a member of the Sport’s club.
And the late night badminton matches, that swerved your reflexes to shot in the nights, and flood lights to shoot in the sexy shot. Or the never-ending TT, not that session time T-TT, that was table-less and racquet-less that you could start off anytime, anywhere backed by a lovely Hindi commentary but the one that went over-night over days and that one ever enjoyed.
Not to mention those train journeys that quite relied on your “Outstanding…Standing Out”, and when you stepped down for an intermediate halt to realize the rush in black. When reservations in hand took care of us unreserved and when you dozed off in turns to get those gossips a break from the conversation so sought after. Only then did you cross over from coaches to convene the others of making it all a small place.
Whether it involved the bashes or any fine moment of your fine inquisitiveness backed by the majority to play the nerve-biting bumpy strikes of awful soreness, and have the PEPSI for you, as you would feel the heat and that feel of becoming extinct, ‘cas as always, you made sure of releasing that sufficient pile up of the Gibbs free energy and play your turn for which others got bitter annoyed and you, bitter satisfied. And when the search was on to find the missing B Boy, you peeped on the terrace, had patrols on the field and in blocks, in every nook when all you knew he would march in from the Command, were he tortured and given that ecstasy dose!!
And the late night creativity confinement towers on bed, whether it involved a dozen or that reverberating thud that would send across a request to Bhatta Sir for a new one. And those technical pranks that gave the anti-G body upliftment [Thanks to Priyavritt Malik], wherein you could sore in your courage to play your turn and get all pasty concoction on you in no time. Lovely Exposures!
Times when Pakistan gave way to our triumph in the most talked about cricket matches with the overcrowded TV room that continued with “Andhere mein nikla bhoot, Pakistan ki……….”
Sessions in mess and leading brats that bundled for us, the macho image with legs on the table and fags to fiddle with that created the dysfunctional and giddy environment of putting us through of playing a step or land up washing that smile. Whatever it was, till late did one realize the fact that if one’s not in any club, he be a member of the Sport’s club.
And the late night badminton matches, that swerved your reflexes to shot in the nights, and flood lights to shoot in the sexy shot. Or the never-ending TT, not that session time T-TT, that was table-less and racquet-less that you could start off anytime, anywhere backed by a lovely Hindi commentary but the one that went over-night over days and that one ever enjoyed.
Not to mention those train journeys that quite relied on your “Outstanding…Standing Out”, and when you stepped down for an intermediate halt to realize the rush in black. When reservations in hand took care of us unreserved and when you dozed off in turns to get those gossips a break from the conversation so sought after. Only then did you cross over from coaches to convene the others of making it all a small place.
Whether it involved the bashes or any fine moment of your fine inquisitiveness backed by the majority to play the nerve-biting bumpy strikes of awful soreness, and have the PEPSI for you, as you would feel the heat and that feel of becoming extinct, ‘cas as always, you made sure of releasing that sufficient pile up of the Gibbs free energy and play your turn for which others got bitter annoyed and you, bitter satisfied. And when the search was on to find the missing B Boy, you peeped on the terrace, had patrols on the field and in blocks, in every nook when all you knew he would march in from the Command, were he tortured and given that ecstasy dose!!
And the late night creativity confinement towers on bed, whether it involved a dozen or that reverberating thud that would send across a request to Bhatta Sir for a new one. And those technical pranks that gave the anti-G body upliftment [Thanks to Priyavritt Malik], wherein you could sore in your courage to play your turn and get all pasty concoction on you in no time. Lovely Exposures!
Times when Pakistan gave way to our triumph in the most talked about cricket matches with the overcrowded TV room that continued with “Andhere mein nikla bhoot, Pakistan ki……….”
posted by Siddharth Kharbanda @ 4/11/2006
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