A piece I had written for our hostel batch video. The entire video was shot already and a voice-over had to be added to support the visuals. I'm still not sure if it is worthy of a blog post. The video can be found here
Four years! I can’t believe that four solid years has passed since I laid my foot in Saranga for the first time. Every second of those days pop out of my mind as if it happened yesterday. I walked into the eye-pleasing courtyard of PEC and to the Saranga on Aug 7th of 2007. Saranga had a heady and strange atmosphere, enough to leave a 17 year old lad anxious and worried. The seniors stared at us mercilessly from upstairs. And my batch mates! They were equally oblivious and scared as me. Most of us stayed inside the room all the time. We were more concerned about locking up our things inside the shabby cup boards allotted and going to classes regularly. One bucket and mug, one lock , a bed and a pillow..These were the things that we were supposed to buy on the first day. As my father left me, a panicky sense of insecurity started growing. How would I stay with all these strangers for the next four years?
After the initial hiccup life started falling in order slowly until that night, when I heard loud knocks on my door. I opened it drowsily and then they appeared. First time after coming here, I was scared, scared to the core! My roommates were from different parts of the country. All of us woke up to find the three terrifying figures who were as scary as dementors who sucked every bit of consciousness out of Harry Potter. Well that was a suitable beginning and our first “interaction session” with the seniors started. But those incidents reduced the distance between the batch mates. With broken English and tamil we started talking with each other, and a feeling of amity and togetherness found roots in our hearts. That was the beginning of a great friendship and fraternity. The barrier of languages faded quickly. We were taught proper decorum and code of conduct in the hostel premise and we faithfully followed it. Any sorts of misbehaviour were punished immediately. Days passed with these interactions with seniors and batch mates and then the first hostel function came. We went to the OAT with confusing eyes and completely clueless about what’s going to happen. But that turned out be a delightful affair. We were made to dance to all the beats played in the stage non-stop. That long gig together in the audience area flamed the unprecedented spirit and energy within us. We were being groomed to swing to the rhythm of the life awaited us, a tinge of kindness appeared in the eyes of the seniors, and everything around us felt more endearing. The nature of our relationship with seniors changed eventually. Some of the strict rules were relaxed and interactions were friendlier than ever.
Exams came in couple of months rousing everyone to study with all might and enthusiasm. And the very inevitable “results” followed. Some revelled and some walked out in despair.
“Absolutely mesmerizing” That was the hostel day in first year. And that was the last time cheznous came with its full grandeur. The colourful version of the program never happened again due to the later incidents, and we were the last batch to witness it. The schedule included three day movie fest, stalls, Jam night, cultural fest and late night dinner. It couldn’t have been better. Smitten by the free spirited nature of the seniors we relished every single day of it wearing the t-shirt that read ”Home away from Home”.
Second year was the celebration over the freedom we achieved. There was no fresher tag in our forehead. And the gorgeous Varali welcomed us. Varali captained by the all-in-one Rama, turned out to be a place of overwhelming mirth and rejoicing. Computers arrived at our desk and watching movies became part of the daily routine. Movies took most of the leisure away and sometimes it even encroached the class time. Hardcore serial fans bunked classes to finish all the seasons at one go. The interconnected computers were never bereft of movies as millions of bits were downloaded daily. This definitely had it’s impact on the academic performance. In first year, right after results appeared in the university website, the question asked was “what is your gpa?”.However the question in second year was a bit short and answer came in low tone. “How many macha?”
There is one aspect of hostel life that always amazed me. We had a great tendency to make everything extraordinary. Watching games on TV was no different. We watched and revelled IPL, FIFA world cup and Cricket word cups together. India’s world cup victory and Sachin’s 200 set ablaze the hostel with extravagant celebration and glory. Second year had been a great ride, but one night changed everything to beyond repair. Some very unfortunate things happened and things went out of control. The hostel never really came back from that pathetic back off till now.
We bid adieu to chevaliers, a batch we respected and adored. On that day the wind carried a tinge of melancholy.
We came back to the place where everything had started. But things were never the same again. The atmosphere had changed drastically. The air surrounded no longer carried the free spirit of the hosteller. But we were the same bunch of lads and brought back some of the shine back. Cheznous 10 was in fact a brave attempt, and we gave ourselves over it. And we delivered. In style! The batch name release was a stunner in every manner. It was our turn to pay tribute to the tradition. To find an appellation for us, for everyone who came before and after us to remember. Forget the superficial presentation, conspicuousness of the event and the emblazoned banner the significant thing was that we wanted everyone to call us “Invictos”
Final year came in no time. It was a time we were waiting all through but it wasn’t as exciting as we thought it would be. Huge pressure started building as companies visited our campus. Hostellers once again were far behind in terms of the preparation yet most of them emerged victorious in the end.
Now standing here, vivid memories drown me with an aura of mixed feelings. Is it the unnerving woe or a feeling of self-fulfilment and satisfaction that brought the tears in my eyes? Can’t really say.
