Its official - I haven't made it to St. Stephens. Although the waiting list shows off my misspelt name proudly in all its given up glory. I might've been fool enough to hope to be one those 46 people, but not fool enough to anticipate it again.
I won't even get into the blame game, for I think I relied too much on my extra-curricular. But then again, what good are achievements in the field of computers for any college? Especially if there is no computer society even, so as to talk of?
And I really couldn't be much of a sportsperson standing at less than five feet in height. So, it would really be dumb for them to accept me purely based on my crappy views on Kashmir, right?
So now I am in Hindu, in a course I don't care for (B.A. Pass), when I've always had the aptitude for Commerce. And after the board result shock, I can digest anything, it seems. And burp it all out as well...

Delhi has its fair share of entertainment forms. Of all its offerings, the one remembered most, not for its success in entertainment but for its monopoly in its field, is Appu Ghar.
In those days, when it used to be the ideal day out, the ticket was not affordable for the lower middle classes even. Only few lucky ones got to go and come back exhausted but every nerve satisfied. I have very few memories of those days, let alone Appu Ghar itself, but there is one incident that often evokes in my aimless head.
I was probably about ten and the day was at its near-end. Appu Ghar in those days hosted one of the first (and quite popular) 'Rain Dances'. I was by myself on the last ride of the day and just seconds before it started with its mad round-about excitement, some guy from behind called out 'Excuse me, miss?'.
I didn't respond, for a kid of ten is never a 'miss' and mom's warnings of not talking to strangers knock strong in any kid's head. 'Eh, Excuse me, Miss?'.
I turned around.
The chap sitting few feet away from me retorted, 'Would you want to go to the Rain Dance with me?'
'No'
The first time when I was actually 'asked out', I ran out of sweat in my body. Not knowing what to do (for me, it was worse than a criminal running after me with a blade to cut my neck with), I stood up cautiously. I made my way out of the safety preparations. While the ride manager tried to pacify me into sitting down again (the ride was just about to begin), I ran the fastest I can recall I ever have.
Making my way over the heads of astounded people, I fell right in the middle of my perplexed family.
Never since, have I been asked to a rain dance...

The golden days for Bollywood Music industry have arrived. While I must do my sincere duty to remind you of its environment-friendly nature, considering how often the lyrics are recycled, I must get to the point fast enough.
Suddenly, on their way to re-mixing old songs (not just once, but twice!) - latest examples being 'kabhi aar kabhi paar' and 'leke pehla pehla pyaar' - the realization hit that there are just not enough hindi songs to keep up with the pace. And they kind of ran out of scantily clad babes too.
So Voila - they come up with a brilliant idea. Lets re-do english songs! But no, they're not going to be caught in the trap of copyright issues, so now an even better idea of 'collaborations' have hit them.
The brilliant entrant in this field has been Vijay Mallya's Rakht - where Abhishek Bachchan dons lime-colored glasses while dancing to the tunes of 'One Love' by Blue - with absolutely unmatched hindi lyrics on serve.
And yes, its the same movie with the chick of all chicks Yana Gupta calls Sanjay Dutt 'Oh, whatta babe!'
For a fair-skinned, Lakme girl, Yana sure doesn't have much of a taste in men... eh!

Scene: Its 9:00 a.m. and I am fast asleep. My dreams are occupied by giant birds and crying cousins.
Tring Tring.
Tring Tring.
Tring Tr-
I am aware of the phone ringing, and more aware of someone attending.
The birds hazily return to view and the cousins are now a bit pacified.
Minutes Later, the key turns to the door of my room and mom steps in dramatically. Pouncing on me, the news hits me.

I have made it through St. Stephens.

Surfing through my archives, I realized that in the same days last year I was learning how to drive.
Today, I can proudly say that I can drive in a 10 kilometre radius without an escort. Maybe not something to be very proud of, but I haven't banged the car even once or had a fine imposed.
Technically, that statement might not be entirely so true. The other day I took my friend out for ice-cream (and springrolls, on her request - although the combination baffles me!). Parking is a universal problem and with the sudden generosity of rising heat, a lot of people come up with the brilliant idea of having ice-cream (preferably without springrolls).
God had to be on the kinder side that day for out of all the cars standing in the late evening, there was just adequate space for my car to fit in. I signalled my friend to keep a look out on the left side, lest the car should bang with the next. As I secured my side of the car, I suddenly heard a meek thud from the other.
"I told you to keep a lookout, what are you doing!"
She looked at me, half-embarassed, half-sorry...
"I am not wearing my spectacles".

So technically, I haven't banged the car yet, right?

The biggest issue one faces to prepare oneself for the first day at college is not the worry of faculty or the difficulty of syllabus, but it is indeed the question of what to wear.
Jeans happen to be the favorite choice but thats exactly why they reek of boredom and lack of experimentation. Too much color on the other hand may send signals of being frivolous and bold. Suits may fit easily into conservative and narrow mindedness.
So surely, when one settles for the ultimate choice - it has to be with mixed feelings. Only it goes down the drain when you find everyone else wearing plain jeans with a variety of solid colored shirts to match.
The day of orientation was bittersweet. The college in itself promises a good faculty with strict rules. The peers promise good ideas to beat the strict rules. And life begins with all new twists and turns...

These days may go down in the pages of a famous writer's book whose whimsical ideas may instigate him into doing my biography. He would talk of me walking down the hallway looking aimlessly at absorbed peers or clogged offices. Of sitting in one of the chairs in the lecture room letting each word in the air pass me by leaving behind its impressions on my mind.
Of cribbing about the obvious attraction of a girlfriend towards a guy in the same class, or teasing the other for her unobvious moves towards another. Of cokes, coffees and non-existant water in the water cooler. Of the brilliance of the sun or the sudden ten-second spell of rain. Of fearless endeavours with the ragging of seniors, yet fearful escapes when they look away.
Of believing in oneself's ability to excel but hating to wake up in the morning to dress. Of the oddest of combinations of clothes to wear and the overdoze of denims to digest. Of life and its propositions. Of roads and buildings. Of culture and modernization. Of me and myself.
Of the life and times of Gursimran, of her teddy-bear cellphone cover which she never used and of her Escada bag which fails to showcase its brandname.
And of a long blogpost dedicated to the same...

My friend told me this incident that I found particularly amusing. At the PVR Saket parking lot, the parking attendant asked him to pay ten bucks in advance for the parking space. He promptly did so.
"What if when I come back my car's no longer here?", he asked the attendant out of good humor.
The guy thought hard, smiled and retorted, "You can have your ten bucks back".

Why did she do it?
For me, it was the most unexpected tragedy to hit the masala news channels. One of the most gorgeous, intellegent and down to earth people in the business, worth mentioning her no-nonsense attitude and the self-respect to cover her body with decent quantity of cloth material, she could be perhaps one of the last people to be expectant of committing suicide. Indeed, not one person can say that she had it coming.
Why she decided on marrying a man who could not produce his divorce papers at the first place is perplexing, but whats worse is that she would get into the heat of the moment and hang herself from a ceiling fan. Was her living that worthless?
Its really going to take a lot of time to sink in...