It's strange, isn't it? When you ask pass-outs about their college experiences, a wistful sigh is exhaled and they begin by saying, "It seems just like yesterday that .. "
And here I am, a month-old freshman and thinking how long it has been.
College made me think about school. A lot. I had a continuous schooling experience; my father had a territorially stationary job, so I never went through the process of spasmodically changing schools. I had made a familiar groove for myself, like a long curvy reclining sofa, the kind you see in smoky clubs and lounges. The deep maroon ones. And from all that hot-coffee-on-a-rainy-day warmth I was thrust into a place where unknown faces would scrutinize the way I did every single thing, every single day. I suddenly felt like I was dancing naked in a packed hall with just a violently purple hat with bright orange feathers on. The attention made me giddy with self-consciousness but it was these days that I had my moment of behavioural epiphany - a smile works wonders.
The class-rooms were dizzyingly large and the corridors reminded me of Hogwarts. The stairs, however, refused to comply with my vision. They were narrow, crowded and winded with the sure promise of dangerous anatomical consequences. Of course, this was only till I discovered another flight of stairs which were much wider and thankfully anonymous. They creaked and I loved the fact that now I could truly relate to the thousands of horror stories I'd heard. Creaking stairs .. sigh. They are a beautiful sound.
The professors (goodbye "Miss! Miss!" and "Teacher! Teacher!") strode in with a sense of worldly knowledge perched on their glasses and were swift with their preliminary instructions. I couldn't but help notice a sense of weariness and curious amusement in their sweeping glances. I think that must be a normal reaction when you address a new-pink batch for the first time. Seeing them was another nail on my school coffin. I remember dreading certain teachers during PTA meetings because they seemed to know everything about me. "We will treat you like adults because we think that you are, adults. Don't make us change our minds." This ominous expectation of our college professors made me feel slightly disconcerted. For the nth time I wondered just how being 18 qualified me as an adult. And that being 19, I should well know the business of being an adult. When you reach your eighteenth birthday, "zap!" and you know everything about social etiquette, sex, professionalism, networking, grace under pressure, time and money management. It's like an internal tussle between the sails and the rudder of a ship.
There were two girls to a desk and in cases of excessive friendliness, three. There were quite a lot who were trying to fill up a bench all on their own. You are heightened to instances of loneliness around you when you are alone. I suppose it's our strong anthropological history which precedes us. We've always traveled in packs and lived in cozy groups since we were on our hind-legs. If it's hard to quit smoking, it isn't surprising that being alone is a difficult habit to adopt.
Being alone, however, had its advantages while the solitude lasted. You could sit, unnoticed, like a tiny insect on your collar and observe just why we do a lot of things that we do. I found that it was easy to be objective about humans, but not so easy to put those quaint little things I observed into perspective. Everything did not have a reason. You could see things happening, but you couldn't put them out to dry and find out why. It was all grey clouds to see, but sometimes you got to see rainbows too. Whenever I have found out why the sky is blue, or why sugar tastes sweet there has always been a sense of being cheated out of something. "That's all there was to it?" Maybe that's why the right hemisphere is much smaller than our left. The left is concerned with analyzing and the right, with feeling. Putting situations under a microscope always requires so much more effort than just pure, open-eyed wonderment.
But man isn't as much a social animal physically as he is mentally. I'd prefer to go for a walk alone, but I'd hate to stand alone with my opinion on something. So slowly but surely, the connecting began. Hesitant hellos and covert glances grew into saving seats in a class and sharing food. There isn't a deep maroon sofa yet but there are faint stains of familiarity on the leather. The cognizance is still gentle and unassuming but the whirlwind catches up. A reputation, associations, a history to judge me by.
So while my freshman freshness lasts, it's good to still have to feel my way around college.
And here I am, a month-old freshman and thinking how long it has been.
College made me think about school. A lot. I had a continuous schooling experience; my father had a territorially stationary job, so I never went through the process of spasmodically changing schools. I had made a familiar groove for myself, like a long curvy reclining sofa, the kind you see in smoky clubs and lounges. The deep maroon ones. And from all that hot-coffee-on-a-rainy-day warmth I was thrust into a place where unknown faces would scrutinize the way I did every single thing, every single day. I suddenly felt like I was dancing naked in a packed hall with just a violently purple hat with bright orange feathers on. The attention made me giddy with self-consciousness but it was these days that I had my moment of behavioural epiphany - a smile works wonders.
The class-rooms were dizzyingly large and the corridors reminded me of Hogwarts. The stairs, however, refused to comply with my vision. They were narrow, crowded and winded with the sure promise of dangerous anatomical consequences. Of course, this was only till I discovered another flight of stairs which were much wider and thankfully anonymous. They creaked and I loved the fact that now I could truly relate to the thousands of horror stories I'd heard. Creaking stairs .. sigh. They are a beautiful sound.
The professors (goodbye "Miss! Miss!" and "Teacher! Teacher!") strode in with a sense of worldly knowledge perched on their glasses and were swift with their preliminary instructions. I couldn't but help notice a sense of weariness and curious amusement in their sweeping glances. I think that must be a normal reaction when you address a new-pink batch for the first time. Seeing them was another nail on my school coffin. I remember dreading certain teachers during PTA meetings because they seemed to know everything about me. "We will treat you like adults because we think that you are, adults. Don't make us change our minds." This ominous expectation of our college professors made me feel slightly disconcerted. For the nth time I wondered just how being 18 qualified me as an adult. And that being 19, I should well know the business of being an adult. When you reach your eighteenth birthday, "zap!" and you know everything about social etiquette, sex, professionalism, networking, grace under pressure, time and money management. It's like an internal tussle between the sails and the rudder of a ship.
There were two girls to a desk and in cases of excessive friendliness, three. There were quite a lot who were trying to fill up a bench all on their own. You are heightened to instances of loneliness around you when you are alone. I suppose it's our strong anthropological history which precedes us. We've always traveled in packs and lived in cozy groups since we were on our hind-legs. If it's hard to quit smoking, it isn't surprising that being alone is a difficult habit to adopt.
Being alone, however, had its advantages while the solitude lasted. You could sit, unnoticed, like a tiny insect on your collar and observe just why we do a lot of things that we do. I found that it was easy to be objective about humans, but not so easy to put those quaint little things I observed into perspective. Everything did not have a reason. You could see things happening, but you couldn't put them out to dry and find out why. It was all grey clouds to see, but sometimes you got to see rainbows too. Whenever I have found out why the sky is blue, or why sugar tastes sweet there has always been a sense of being cheated out of something. "That's all there was to it?" Maybe that's why the right hemisphere is much smaller than our left. The left is concerned with analyzing and the right, with feeling. Putting situations under a microscope always requires so much more effort than just pure, open-eyed wonderment.
But man isn't as much a social animal physically as he is mentally. I'd prefer to go for a walk alone, but I'd hate to stand alone with my opinion on something. So slowly but surely, the connecting began. Hesitant hellos and covert glances grew into saving seats in a class and sharing food. There isn't a deep maroon sofa yet but there are faint stains of familiarity on the leather. The cognizance is still gentle and unassuming but the whirlwind catches up. A reputation, associations, a history to judge me by.
So while my freshman freshness lasts, it's good to still have to feel my way around college.
