It's funny how you try to outdo yourself how you attempt to surpass your own previous achievements to break away from the shackles of your past. And yet, at times, you find comfort that History does repeat itself, and quite boldly, (and visibly) at that.
No, I am not a demented personality who plays with maths (I love coding numbers, though), but I know it's been 344 days I've known people at St. Xavier's for. And surely enough, I have come to be a guy who know the secret *little chuckle* passages in some parts of the heritage construction. And my beginning was no different from the greenhorns that came in today for their first day in college.
We've (and 'we' is Sharvari Aai and I primarily) dubbed our juniors (there are only the 11thers who are our juniors and therefore, I don't have to mention which juniors), bacchas. Kids.
And in the true sense of the word, they are. I've been there, Sharvari's been there, too. We've looked at the gargoyles and wondered at how the building has been standing the test of time. I have clicked scores of pictures of college and in college.
And I saw it happening once more. I saw the bacchas looking tiredly at the name-list put up on a huge board, squinting as they tried figuring where their names were. And then there was a girl clicking a picture of the college hall, of all places. And now I realise I've been there, done that too. And I've got scared of the crowd in the trains while travelling, and in the foyer. (I used to walk around. If not for Terry, I might still be searching for a place to sit perhaps.) :P
I'd decided today, that I would surely spot a baccha and be of some help to them, or tell them about how screwed maths is, and how screwed you get if you choose to do maths. (We were told the same thing, it is just more of a formality than anything else) :P.
So, I saw a bevy of girls sitting next to the foyer-boards (for the record, you don't have to sit there. It's just too pitiable a sight if you do.) And the last of my suspicions were driven away when, seeing the foyer, a girl spoke to (apparently) her friend,"Okay, so now, this is freaky."
Love comes in strange packages though. Sometimes in the form of a wonderful friend. Sometimes in the garb of an 'evil' enemy. Sometimes in the talks of a troubled frenemy.
And most importantly, sometimes, History sends you a living album of your past. You can't escape it, and guess what, you don't want to. :)
No, I am not a demented personality who plays with maths (I love coding numbers, though), but I know it's been 344 days I've known people at St. Xavier's for. And surely enough, I have come to be a guy who know the secret *little chuckle* passages in some parts of the heritage construction. And my beginning was no different from the greenhorns that came in today for their first day in college.
We've (and 'we' is Sharvari Aai and I primarily) dubbed our juniors (there are only the 11thers who are our juniors and therefore, I don't have to mention which juniors), bacchas. Kids.
And in the true sense of the word, they are. I've been there, Sharvari's been there, too. We've looked at the gargoyles and wondered at how the building has been standing the test of time. I have clicked scores of pictures of college and in college.
And I saw it happening once more. I saw the bacchas looking tiredly at the name-list put up on a huge board, squinting as they tried figuring where their names were. And then there was a girl clicking a picture of the college hall, of all places. And now I realise I've been there, done that too. And I've got scared of the crowd
I'd decided today, that I would surely spot a baccha and be of some help to them, or tell them about how screwed maths is, and how screwed you get if you choose to do maths. (We were told the same thing, it is just more of a formality than anything else) :P.
So, I saw a bevy of girls sitting next to the foyer-boards (for the record, you don't have to sit there. It's just too pitiable a sight if you do.) And the last of my suspicions were driven away when, seeing the foyer, a girl spoke to (apparently) her friend,"Okay, so now, this is freaky."
Love comes in strange packages though. Sometimes in the form of a wonderful friend. Sometimes in the garb of an 'evil' enemy. Sometimes in the talks of a troubled frenemy.
And most importantly, sometimes, History sends you a living album of your past. You can't escape it, and guess what, you don't want to. :)
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