Campus notes

I went to a fairly large college compared to Bombay standards. The campus was quite widespread and had thousands of youngsters in motion at any given time. In motion because, as far as the commerce section was concerned, in a class of 70 to 80, there would be about 5 attending. Rest would be walking in and out or having plonked themselves somewhere around, enjoying the view.  I was not any different, my friend and me we boarded the morning train, whatever time pleased us that particular day, talked our way to the college straight into the common room. I enjoyed watching girls in their fancy dresses, some deeply engrossed in gossip, some taking a shot at table tennis,  some quietly buried inside a mills and boon.  Some days I took to the world of eternal romance too. The dark groovy hero and the coy heroine. Heroine me, hero awaited.

No guys noticed us. We were two invisible beings from Enid blytons books. We would pick out a good looking specimen once in a while and discuss possibilities and then heave a huge sigh knowing that  nothing would ever become of us.   Time to time we would hear whispers about cultural acitivities in the Arts and Science sections, considering our interest they were just dandelions in the air that drifted away without leaving any impression in our non-existent campus  life.  Another horror was that our college did not entertain or encourage picnics, neither long distance nor the local, one day ones. What a dreadful existence. I did get to go for one with a group, of which, a friend of mine was an active member. No sorority of any kind this, just like minded, lazy to study, time pass making people. That was one picnic that put an end to all my picnic dreams from college.

We managed to miss the last bus from the island beach, had to cart ourselves in bullock carts and buggies, then a bus and then a train, finally when it was time for the rickshaws turn, it was nearing midnight. I was like this skinny mushu (lizard dragon from the movie 'mulan') like creature, shivering from head to toe, numb to my surroundings going through robotic motions. By the time I got home, my  mom was in mourning mode, almost certain some calamity had befallen me and my uncle was convinced I'd probably run off with some one. Oh if only he knew our state of affair. Forget eloping, if someone even looked at me my life would have been saved.. Wasted youth and end of picnic aspirations. I didnt know then that there was yet to be another picnic in my college life.

In the final year, a couple of us friends joined coaching classes for Accounts. Our teacher was a family man with three tiny kids and lived and conducted his classes from a flat in the suburb close by. Sundays he would leave the door  to the hall open for us while he slumbered inside. Sometime we had to resort  to singing hindi wake up songs " jaago Mohan pyare", shortly Mohan would arrive bathed and eaten and ready to drill short cut methods of balancing a sheet into our moderately intelligent heads. From time to time his nicely fed wife would appear with a cup of tea or some snack for her husband. A year passed in great frolick and joy.

Towards the end of the year all  us hardly working students got together and decided  to go for a picnic to commemorate this year of early mornings and  class room dozings.My excitement was boundless, after that debacle of the group picnic this was my only chance to have a great time and reap some good memories to carry for the rest of my days.  Matheran it was to be, a trek up the mountain would do us all good. All of us youngsters in our jeans and shoes. Trousers were rarely used by the likes of me and my immediate friends, so that was another reason for celebration. We were all raring to march up the rugged landscape.

  It was only at the railway station where we boarded the last train. we with great misgivings, noticed that Sir too had come along with his wife, three little kids and rows of bags.

The rest of the story is us lumbering to carry  our own bags and our teachers  bags, taking turns dragging the sleepy kids. One of the boys were terrified that after the bags and the kids he would be asked to carry the big rotund wife!  After five hours of laborious climb, trying out various permutations and combinations of carrying all that luggage, my toes curled up inside my shoes hurting like hell, we reached the top of the hill.  All we wanted was to sit down somewhere and rest our feet.  A few hours of monkey watching and eating,  it was time to return.  No more healthy trekking for us, we took the quaint mini train back which incidentally wasn't incident free. Was I glad it was all over and I could go back to my adventurous life of discussing boy possibilities with my dear friend.