So finally my third year in college (Engineering ! Phewwww
You know what I mean) is officially about to come to an end. Three different
hostels, loads of fun, hand shifting responsibilities, breaks ups, make ups,
exams , marks, gethu, arrears and what not. I could describe my three years not
better than this. Somehow I know, it's not over. But back then in my first year
where we stayed in a hostel with terrace, overlooking nothing but wild plants
and , God's grace we were allowed to there, without getting any piece of paper signed :P . Every Sunday or
Saturday mornings I used to sneak out of my bed, stealthily not to wake the person
sleeping next and used to sit terrace watching, wondering and hearing sounds.
Continuous purring of my roommates sleeping, Peacock's swish, birds chirping,
saroja ka's cooking downstairs, continuous pace of people walking up and down,
mam's never ending scoldings, tap water running incessantly in the bathrooms,
sleepy good mornings, random cinema number running in some room, tumble drying
of cloths in the cord, cracking of clips, swotting up FCP or chemistry with
exams effect in the air, unruffled badminton games outside the doors, few
friends walking hand in hand, becoming best friends and hushed up plans of
outing in the day were all few things I remember about my first year hostel
"Bharathi Illam". After that
20 to 30 minutes, I will drift to another round of tranquil sleep. You know
something all, these would happen BEFORE "8:00 am". "Before
8:00", now, is like an adrifted distant dream and it's not literally
possible for anyone to sleep at 4 and wake up before 8:00. So no giving me awkward
stares !
What is so unusual about these sounds, you ask? Nothing,
really. But as a someone staying away from home for the first time or maybe
after a real long time, these were sounds of comfort. I will say Sounds of
familiarity. Saranya's cooking sound, Amma's scoldings, Hushed tones of me and
suga's make believe learning scam, Radio sounds from from siddhu's home and
badminton matches on the street.
I have just finished
eating yet another MESS meal of puli-sadham (which was like yellow, yes,
definitely good yellow. But that tamarind/puli, they always went missing.
Gaaawd ! ) but was at least edible.
I have never regretted leaving home. In fact, I was one of
the few girls who didn’t even cry when our parents were leaving after settling
us down in the hostel. In fact I was pushing my mother to go home literally and
figuratively. I was excited. I was scared, of course, but I was enthused too. I
was about to embark upon an adventure, the very first REAL-ME adventure of my
life. All away from the sheltered life that I had grown accustomed to. Away
from the city that knew me so well. No more hot home-made food waiting when I
get back from classes famished. No more clean clothes that get magically washed
and dried and ironed without me having to do anything at all. No more of
knowing that no matter how late I get, Amma would come, wait and pick me up.
Those Sunday morning sounds were the one thing that I held
on to. They helped me get through the rest of the week. Because I knew that no
matter what changed, no matter what disaster had happened during the week,
Sunday morning would bring me back that familiar optimism in people and would restore faith in me that all is
right with the world. Every time the pressure of assignments and studies got to
me, those moments on that terrace brought me back to reality. They were like my
ticket to sanity.
But gradually, the Sunday morning sound sounds waned. I
stopped going there. The regular cloth dryings and fights there happened, of
course. But not the Sunday morning ones. Or rather, it stopped mattering to me.
Even if I did go there on Sunday mornings, which I almost always did, for
drying or picking up from previous day's wash, I never bothered to listen to
them. I never paid attention to them. Why is that? Was it because I had grown
up and grown out of it? Did I not need my Sunday morning sounds anymore? Did I
not need that comfort and familiarity anymore? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because
I got so wrapped up in "fending myself", that I didn’t feel the need
to hear the familiar sounds. It was not a conscious decision. It’s something
that happened without me even realizing it had.
I didn't realize this had happened, until today morning,
back, when, the waking up at 6 for my roommates alarm triggered off the memory
in my mind. The memory of Sunday morning sounds. And just like that, a hand
clenched around my sheets, hands searching for my compeer. I had this sudden
urge to go up, covertly and hear those sounds. But I couldn't. For there is no
terrace in my present hostel :( . And It wasn't a Sunday, of course. You can’t
hear Sunday morning sounds on a Thursday morning, can you, silly? So I waited.
And this morning, I kept alarm, woke up, freshened bit and
took a stroll. And there they were. The peacocks swishing ,Swotting sounds of different
subjects with the same exam effect, Sleepy good mornings, Tap water running
incessantly, And my juniors playing badminton outside their hostel.
And all is right with the world again. :D :D
Do you have any such ritual, anything that you do just to
reassure yourself that some things never change? Come on, there’s gotta
be something.
P.S 1: I was in a mood to ramble today. To be honest, this
post reflects my earliest kind of writing, when I used to write just for the
heck of writing, not to be read. I wonder why I'm not able to write like that
anymore. Hours of nonsense writing. I hope I didn't bore you.
P.S 2: P.S's can be really annoying nah? :P
