I am so bored that it is no longer the usual ‘I am so bored’ that does the rounds in everyone’s life periodically. It is boredom in its unfashionable truest self. I graduated six months back and did not have any unrealistic dreams about work life and the attached benefits. I knew life was never going to be the same again. But I was passionate. Passionate about doing some good work. It may not necessarily have to be earth shattering or ground breaking, but yes – work that satisfies me and is a result of dedicated service and hard work. I am not a genius, in fact not even brilliant or decently equipped with god gifted skills. The output that I deliver is a reflection of nothing but painstaking effort and patience. Six months down the professional lane, I am plainly bored. Terribly bored. I always knew that the big bad world exists but at least until of late, there was some excitement about discovering it. More than anything else, what bores me most is the lack of enthusiasm in people’s voices, the lack of willingness to experiment and the monotonous schedule. It is almost stupid to think that I would bring about any change or even attempt to rebel against the current system, especially in places where I think I am already a misfit. I always find it convenient to go with the flow. Something that has caught my attention more than ever before in the past few months is – food. Food is the only indulgence I do not find boring in the company of even the most boring people in this world. However, now that I have put on 4kgs in less than 5months, I should probably quit eating as well. What is more astonishing is that I meet people from very interesting professions and still cannot find anything exciting about them or their professions. I fail to see even the basic of all admirable values and emotions in them and they don’t seem to inspire me in the least bit.
I used to be a chalta firta bundle of joy. My laughter and screams of excitement would resonate in Anna university campus. I used to laugh so much that I am sure a couple of women definitely wanted to come and slap me in the hostel. I was the hostel rep but was known for jumping fences with my gang at odd hours. I was anything but boring or bored and, ‘I am bored’ in those days used to be a phenomenon which would recur during every class test and university exams. My folks would send me 5000rs every month, which I am positive is way above what majority of the Anna university kids got. But finally, it would be those extra 1500rs from my folks towards the end of the month with which I would pay off my mess bill, phone top up, buy new clothes, slippers, everything. The utility that I derived from those 1500rs was bloody high. The end of every class test would be the beginning of merry making time – daaru sessions were crazy. Some men in campus drank every bloody day and smoked up like never before – flunked in a few papers, accumulated many arrears, discussed many times about quitting the course even till the last sem – and finally managed to graduate and even found ‘respectable’ jobs. I remember Shishir and Mohit wanting to change their subjects desperately before every class test. Their desperation used to be so extreme that they would not leave any stone unturned (including talking to the director about not being able to grasp the basics of the subjects they chose) to make the switch possible. They would ramp walk up and down the campus with worried faces and agonized minds, trying to find ways to ‘kalesh khatam’. If unsuccessful, they would eventually calm down after the exam, only to return with a stronger sense of desperation before the next class test. Then I remember Merin who before exams used to purchase a zillion pens so that she could go into her den for days and nights, writing out pages and pages of notes. Not only did she benefit from them, but so did the entire college. She would have these premonitions of failing the exam which she was kind enough to share with all of us so that any student who went to her room would almost immediately run back to her own room to continue studying or probably open the book for the first time. Then there was Gaja who is getting married in two weeks. She was the last minute queen. Literally the last minute. To the extent that she even changed her dissertation topic the day before it was to be submitted. Before every test, Gaja would run around like a wild goose in search of solace. For people to tell her that even they hadn’t started preparing. There used to be a women’s cell for her. All the women would sit in a circle with Gaja in the middle, everyone trying to pacify her. Everything was done and discussed except exam prep.
My roommate, Kamaleshwari. Really man, what to say about her. She had this head banging habit. Every time she would sit down to study, her eyes would rotate and head would swing violently from left to right, left to right, left to right, so that you knew exactly which line or para or which side of the book she was reading. Initially I was pretty spooked but soon I got used to it, considering that I could have never found a better roommate than her. For her everything was ‘sadharanam’ in life, she was simplicity personified. We never talked that much except for night long conversations a day before the exam about practically everything from love, lust, greed to family, friends and career. And not to forget, Kirthi’s post 10pm fits. She would blabber and laugh and do all those things that you couldn’t have imagined her to do when you meet her during daytime. Her shiny sleeping pyjamas just added to the entertainment that she provided me and Becky with for two years in the hostel. Hannah. Hannah had this innate ability to look at the simplest of all concepts in a complex, reverse way. If given the proof of a theorem, she would try to first understand the corollary. Unni. The man with a mission. In the very first of those introductory classes during the first sem, Unni proclaimed that he liked politics. And not only liked politics but enjoyed making politics as well. Bas. Two years, he went around in campus campaigning about this stuff and that stuff but somehow at the end of those two years, he was a much more sober and subdued version. Dhriti. Who walked in at least 1 hour late to many of the lectures but still frowned at the professor as if he was responsible for her being late. One of the unforgettable memories that I have of campus life is that of holi and the bhang that Aashim had made for all of us. Bloody hell. Only he knows how he made it but holi evening was crazy. A few passed out, many could not stop laughing or crying, and I couldn’t stop eating. Two maggis down, chetta’s dinner, 2 glasses of lemon juice, omelette, chowmein and I was still hungry. I just went on and on eating and laughing. No one was really normal that day.
While there are too many memories to discuss here, the point I am trying to reiterate is – I am bored. Bloody bored.
I was on a house arrest as the clouds roared loud,
somyasethuraman
