Author: Tejas Rao

Let me state this at the outset, to avoid hate speech from those who believe that my loyalties have shifted. There is nothing that can ever come close to the divinity of eating Curd Rice. There’s something magical about every bowl you eat, and a story behind every tadka added to the dish. Personally, I prefer eating my Curd Rice plain. No additives, please.

As a child I used to enjoy the dish with Pickle. Although I oft enquired why banana leaf caterers (I really don’t know how to phrase it) put pomegranate in the totem of my South Indian heritage, I developed a soft corner for it. Crunchy, sweet & salty, it became something to look forward to at the end of a tedious wait in the line at weddings & receptions. (to interact with the bride & groom for 2 minutes, of course).

Anyway. Tracing my affection for this food (or any food) would necessitate the writing of a novel. Something I don’t have the time for, so I’ll keep this short. I discovered Aloo Parantha. (don’t say Ayyo, read the first line again).

If I had to sum up my last semester in 3 words, they would be: Excitement, Meals & Milkshakes. My journey in Khakhraland began with some excellent dal, and took an intermission with the finest aloo parantha I have eaten on campus. Naturally, I was excited last night, when I read the menu board with “Alu Paratha” scrawled across it in black marker.

To prepare myself, I evaded snack. Maggi, they said. The mess was too far, I retorted, keeping my intentions hidden. I worked hard, reading multiple articles on Space Law, taking a break to watch Sunita Williams’ video on eating in space, and returning to the CoCoSL. Fun times, these were.

And then it happened. The hunger pangs struck, my belly churned, rumbled & craved, clearly forgetting it had to go through pain to experience paradise. I could taste the Amul butter on my lips, the soft texture made me salivate. I looked at my watch. 7:40, it read.Dinner time, I said.

I saw some friends walking toward the mess and joined them in earnest, my brain painting space with images of the delicacy, instantly. We reached the edifice and at my first glance, I knew I had arrived too early.

I pressed the caterer, longingly, “Bhaiyya, kabhi aayega?”, I asked. He replied, “Aat baje”, to my disdain. I was vehemently cross. I thought my training at home prepared me better, what with meals being served at any time I wanted them. I was wrong. So wrong.

The feeling of longingness was worsened by the marvelous smell wafting in from the kitchen area. They were being readied. I could hardly contain myself.

Like a gladiator, I steadied myself for battle. 1 stainless steel plate, 1 stainless steel spoon, 2 stainless steel bowls. I filled my Curd, smacked my lips once more. I had been waiting for this since lunch.

Bhaiyya Number 2 arrived. I looked at him as he laid down the container. He looked at me, a broad smile across his face. The Gods had been kind. The plate was full. The plate was heavy.

I walked to my bench.

And then it happened.

I re-discovered Aloo Parantha.

 

 

I’ve barely been back for a week, but college has given me so much already. Pardon me for attempting to sound busy (I mean, I’m free enough to write a blog post, so eh), but there’s a lot to do on campus. Even though the Internet is being mean. Our connection seems to fluctuate as much as I vacillate between the Cavin’s and the Danone chocolate milkshakes available from the vendors at mess and the MPS, both of whom know me now. Strange times these are. Just a couple of months ago, I was an unfamiliar face to everybody here – my roommate, the seniors on my floor, the laundry guys. And now they remember me. Or so I think.

I digress. There’s a bunch to do. When you’re not in classes (which now start at 9 AM, fitting perfectly well with my sleep cycle), or loafing around, you’ll find yourself in the Library. Not because you want to study, but because you need, desperately, the choice of 4 Wi-Fi connections – Awing_Admin, BWing, C_Wing and Library_DWing. All of which are pathetically slow at the moment. Although, I must say – the names of these connections (for techgeeks, SSID) make our campus sound incredibly fancy. It is. So are we, the inhabitants of said campus. No jokes.

The Library will make you want to work. There’s nothing to read pertaining to the subjects you have, because let’s face it, you won’t understand it anyway, so you’ll begin to surf the web. Till about 5 pm. That’s when there will be a mad influx of people. Mostly seniors, which will intimidate you, but not so much (because you have a little aukat now, being a semester old & whatnot). They will begin to work, with their fancy, fat, voluminous books. You will then call your moot partner, who is fast asleep, and grab a fancy, fat, voluminous book for yourself (which you will not understand), and begin to work on the intras.

This is of course, assuming you don’t have a moot. Congratulations to you, if you do. If you have one, you’ll be surrounded by fat, fancy books. These fancy books will be colourful if you’re doing an international moot. Publication houses seem to care a lot for appearance – most covers have a fun blend of colours. My CoCoSL is an indigo/light blue combination. It looks good, I must admit. This won’t change the fact that you don’t understand anything inside. However, you’ll be motivated and hence will read in the attempt to understand everything. If you don’t, you’ll read again. And then take a break to go get Danone milkshakes from the MPS because you’ve been promising bhai you’ll give him the normal profit of Rs. 25 (Eco students, see what I did there?)

Considering you’ve picked up a new Gujarati line courtesy that Gujju kid from Bangalore, bhai will be impressed too. Your stomach will rumble, and you’ll consider going for snacks, but the 500-meter walk to the mess will piss you off, so you’ll mentally put off food till dinner & head back to the library. Work will then proceed at a snail’s pace and as you come around to a couple of arguments that seem plausible, the Internet will fail you. At least the effort of opening Chrome (if you’re feeling fancy, Edge) will be rewarded by the opportunity to play the Dinosaur game.

Once you fail at beating that high score your friend has set, you’ll look at the clock and feel hungry. Dinner will follow. Dinner will be amazing and satisfy every North Indian food craving you didn’t ever have. You will feel like dancing in a fountain of the boondi raitha. Till you remember you don’t dance.

Coming back to your room, you’ll remember you had bronchitis during the end-semesters and you have your “repeat” (even though they’re not repeats) exams. You will then stop loafing and begin to study. Largely because you realize it is a massive opportunity to pull up a decent percentage to a good percentage. Even if you don’t believe in the numbers, you’re here for 10 semesters. They’ll haunt you for a while, so you might as well do well, right? At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself.

You will then call your family and tell them how awesome college is. And professors are. And how enthusiastic you are. Because you are. Overly enthu. You’re an enthu cutlet coated with Amul butter. That’s the only way to describe you, you Bengaluru lad in Gujarat. Your seniors will look at you and feel all nostalgic because they were once as enthu as you. You’ll look at them and take a mental note to remain enthu till 5^th year. You will also remember to do little jugaad for books. And succeed. Partially. At least you have books now. Be content.

And then you’ll blog. To tell the world about your life. Which you think is sophisticated & busy, but it really isn’t. Fun times.

As you sleep, you’ll think about the trials tomorrow will bring. Will I get a stall that looks clean to take a dump in? Will my bucket-bath (not shower) stall have hot water? What’s for lunch? Can I go to Infocity?

 

You are a dreamer. Some of us, we come to law school with an idea. An idea that we believe is wholly ours. An idea, our family might say, is unique solely to us. They tell us how ambitious we are, in straying away from so-called societal norms, in taking up a course that is yet, deemed unexplored and uncertain. We get this notion that we are special. In 12^th, our parents support and promote our subject choice to the world. At that, one might argue, they are more convincing than any advertisement. However, I digress. We come to law school being nurtured by our parents and family. They tell us that this idea is novel, and that achieving it would be something to be proud of.

You are a giant. The rest of us are encouraged by these words, but dissuaded by society. We end up believing that we are rebels, with the ability to change public mindset. We end up challenging ourselves to prove that Anu Aunty character wrong, by doing everything we can to fulfill our objective. We come into law school determined that our idea is genial, and that society will be amazed when we eventually bring it to fruition.

You are goal-oriented. This is true for majority of students coming into law school for the first time. You feel this way through your journey here.

You are certain. And then you get here.

You are complacent. In a flash, you’re surrounded by individuals who have the same thought processes are you. People respond to stimuli in the same manner that you do. People speak with an air of confidence, imposing their ideas on you. Society has developed in such a way that people seem to have lost creativity. Naturally, there are other people who have the same ideas as you.

You feel small. Everyone here seems to have traced the same path to get here. All academically gifted, all witty, all with great talents. Your aspiration seems to be the aspiration of half of your class. The aspiration seems to be that of your seniors, and your super-seniors. You hear stories of how only a few actually end up doing what they aspire.

You feel lost. Your hobbies are hobbies of everyone around you. You read? So does everybody else. You debate? So does everyone else. You do Model UN? Again, not unique. You’re a public speaker? Bah, what’s new?

You begin to feel ashamed. Everything seems to be quantified. There’s this idea that everything you have experienced can be expressed in numbers. Number of debates, number of wins, number of Model UNs. So much so, that it boils down to your CLAT Rank and your 12^th grade marks. It eventually ends up being the number of pages on your moot memorial, or the number of citations.

You are in shambles. Your purpose, gone. Your perceptions, changed. Your desire to change the world, thrown out the window. In a matter of hours, your world is turned upside down.

You cannot quit. You tell yourself this because you wish to remain sane. Your insides chew on your brain to figure out how to become unique again.

You think about lying. What’ll people say? How’ll they react to a small number?

You become a member of the crowd. One amongst everyone around you.

You are unique. It hits you that it’s just a number. Rational thought returns to your brain. Quantitative analysis leaves your system.

You are certain. You realize that lying is for the weak and shameless. People around you are ones you will be spending time with. Lying would be futile, as they seem to catch up to you eventually. Slowly, your idea seems to creep back into your system.

You are goal-oriented. You understand that in a mass mentality, it is your character, and your ideals that will set you apart. It is your ethic, your morals, your commitment to your goal. You come to appreciate that acting upon your determination is what will enable you to bring your idea to life. You ascertain that sticking to principles is what will make you stand out. While society seems to have gotten rid of creativity, it has shaped morals in such a manner that no two individuals are alike.

You are a giant. You begin to practice everything you set out for yourself. You begin to rely on peers and family for motivation. Those numbers evaporate, and sense of purpose sets in.

You are a dreamer.