Curd Rice Daily: Blog

Elsewhere on this blog, I’ve written about the kind of feelings seniors make me feel. I wrote that post as a first-year at this University, when the then fifth-years were always the people I looked at for inspiration when I felt low, or unhappy [which was rare]. It was comforting to know that there were people who had, at that point, gone through the journey that I was going to undertake, and turned out, quite okay. Everyone’s on their own journey and path in life, but when you’re faced with new surroundings that you feel uncertain in, it’s nice to know that there are people who have become comfortable in these surroundings over time. I loved my seniors. Across all batches, I do think that each batch that exits this University leaves this place with a little more life imparted to it. That isn’t only because of the fact that there are more people who live here in each batch. It’s because experience gets added on the past layers, like the rings in a tree-bark.

It also means there are always more people to reach out to for help. Chances are that someone in a senior batch will relate to what you are feeling at any given point of time. Seniors are that weird bridge between parents & friends. They really do care for you, atleast, my seniors did for me – in a way that is both parent-like, and friend-like; making my closest senior-friends, family to me.

For the last four years, I’ve become a senior student to some junior batch entering the University. I don’t want to comment on what or who I am as a senior: that is far too self-indulgent. What that journey has meant, however, is that I’ve always welcomed my seniors back to campus when they’ve become alumni. This weekend provided another opportunity to do that.

Last night I went out for dinner and spent time after that meal with two alumni. Just me  & one of my friends, and them. On that table, and throughout that period of time, I was the happiest I’ve been in quite some time. Nostalgia is a good friend who keeps you company when you’re around people you feel like you know from a past life, which is what these seniors feel like.

It’s weird to think that I’ll join them as alumni of this University in a couple of months. It’s also liberating in a lot of ways. My life here, on this campus, feels like a life I’ve lived to the fullest – and it’s an appropriate time to move forward. To seek fresher pastures, to open new chapters on that journey. I’m grateful that my University is trying to build an alumni culture, and I’m hopeful that it is a network that begins to become more interconnected as it grows. The value of people who share experiences is that they breed familiarity. Very often, that is enough to make someone feel comfortable in uncertainty.

Life’s always going to be filled with that uncertainty: so I’m always going to hope I have friends who are seniors, who are alumni, who are kind and willing to spend time with as we figure it out.

Naturally, this is a way of saying that seniors give gyaan very often. It all comes from a good place, and it’s often very helpful.

Yes, the title of this post comes from the Eiffel 65 song. Yes, I apologize in advance for getting the song stuck in your head again. No, I do not feel too terrible about it. In fact, because the song is stuck in your head, and before you read the rest of this piece, please watch this video – and the rest of the series explaining how viral songs have been made.

As always, I have a story to tell. However, I’m not fully sure about the shape it will take. You’ve chosen to embark on this journey with me though, so I am hopeful you will read this all the way through.

The first time I heard the word Oxford was actually in Grade 3, because one of the textbooks we used was published by Oxford University. I can recall looking at the typeface that said Oxford and pronouncing it, the word rolling off my tongue. I remember finding the same word in my School Diary, specifically on the pages that outlined the curriculum our school followed. I remember laughing at how odd the string of letters “GCSE” looked, and muddling it up as “GSCE” when I relocated to India and tried to explain to my friends that I too, had studied a foreign board prior to receiving education in India.

When I was in Grade 8, I was introduced to this idea in more concrete terms. I never really understood the connotations of curricula, or Oxford, or Cambridge, or what these boards meant. I do remember that my parents and I spent a long time discussing the value of pursuing an education with the Cambridge International Examinations board. When they took that decision, with a little bit of my own input, I spent a lot of time on different forums on the internet reading about whether I would be missing out on some learning that the Indian boards offered. My Science teachers in high school assured me that wouldn’t be the case, and I’d end up learning the same stuff, but in a different form – a form that meant I would retain and process the information given to me differently as well.

As Grade 9 and Grade 10 passed on, Oxford and Cambridge became a more frequent part of my vocabulary. Those were years I spent indulging myself in my education, but also trying to figure out what to latch on to next. When I decided I wanted to study either Law, or Economics, and I made the decision to pursue my A Levels, my parents and I had a bit of a sit-down, where we discussed what I could do next, and where I could study. Abroad, Oxford and Cambridge stood out in both disciplines. The London School of Economics featured highly as well. My academic ambitions at the end of Grade 10 were basically that I wanted to apply to these Universities, and do my very best to try to become the first person from my high school to go study there.

My high school offered minimal college counselling. In Bangalore, this whole college counselling business is a very serious affair, with high school students spending large sums of money to ensure their applications are prepared in advance, but also meticulously to ensure they get into the University of their choice. Naturally this places individuals who have financial backing at a competitive advantage, but financial backing doesn’t mean everything. Those college counsellors eventually end up telling you the same stuff, academically: the kind of track record you have in high school matters to the University, and thus, in your final two years, keeping up good scores matter. Given that my high school was young, we had few alumni abroad, and we were figuring things out for ourselves. I was particularly fortunate to have a mentor at school who had awareness about education systems in the UK. That, coupled with my own research skills meant that at the end of Grade 11, I had figured out I was going to apply to Oxford to study Law.

You see, the UCAS undergraduate system forces you to “pick” between Oxford and Cambridge (at least, it did at the time I applied). You are not allowed to apply to both Universities in the same admissions cycle. I subsequently did a ton of research, and after sitting with my parents, felt like I wanted to study at Oxford a little more than I wanted to study at Cambridge – hence the decision. Nothing personal. I honestly wish I could have applied to both Universities. I loved the opportunities they represented equally. However, having elected to apply to Oxford, and a set of 4 other institutions, I began to tailor my application – my statements, my reference, toward the requirements of that University. At the end of Grade 11, I felt like I was in with a shout. My high school support structure felt that way too. Everyone was incredibly encouraging and supportive of my application endeavours, and I felt really privileged to have that support around me at the time. I look back now with fond memories of that time – and not without reason. My teachers got my predicted grades ready on time, my administration was super efficient in helping me figure out documentation. It was all very, very lovely.

Now the A Level system my school followed made us take board examinations in 11th and 12th Grades. This was where I hit my first snafu. I had scored really well in Grade 10, but come Grade 11, my Physics grades began to plummet. While my results were great elsewhere, my Physics grade was a “C”, and I received this result in August 2014, when my Oxford application was due in October 2014. It was nerve-wracking. I broke down tremendously on the day I received that result. I was really upset with myself: because the grade sucked, but also because I felt I had screwed up all my chances at Oxford. By this point, I had become obsessed with the University. I spent ages on forums finding out details about the University and its constituent colleges. I went to sleep dreaming about waking up in one of the locations the Harry Potter movies were filmed, and I daydreamed about attending bops.  I was super excited to potentially study there, something I felt I had lost all hopes of.

I applied nonetheless. I secured an interview, which I attended via Skype. Then I got rejected by Oxford. The day I got rejected is vivid in my memory. I had seen on an undergraduate forum that applications had been sent out, so I was quite certain I had not gotten in as yet. The delay sucked. I couldn’t take it anymore so I called up the admissions officer for my particular college and asked him about the status of my application. He asked me to wait for 30 minutes as he was e-mailing out decisions as we spoke. I asked him “does that mean I didn’t get in?”, and he responded with “please wait for your e-mail”. I was certain I hadn’t made it. I got confirmation of this within 5 minutes of putting the phone down – when I was downstairs with my mother. I read the decision on my phone, and then I went and bawled my eyes out for about 20 minutes. I cried into my beanbag. I was distraught. It was very messy. My mom tried consoling me but she couldn’t, really.

About 20 minutes later I decided I’d apply to do my postgraduate studies at Oxford, when the time came. I also decided I would apply to become a Rhodes Scholar – another prestigious award I had been introduced to through my research. All of this happened on January 10th, 2015.

I had received some offers of admission by that time, but having been declined a place by Oxford, I was more convinced of pursuing legal education in India. I was preparing for the Common Law Admissions Test, and I poured in all my energy into that and my board exams – to ensure I met my conditional offer from other Universities. That entire period, I watched the Oxvlog project, discovered SimonOxfPhys, and religiously watched Jake Wright’s videos – all with the sole intention of becoming more determined to get into these Universities in the future.

That determination, at that age, came from a place of anger. I was upset that I did not get a seat at Oxford, and I felt deprived of a learning opportunity I felt I merited.

This year, 2020, is the year I apply for postgraduate education. I am older now than I was then, but my dreams remain quite similar. I want to learn at these institutions: this Oxford, this Cambridge, these venerable institutions that have rich histories and legacies. I want the opportunity to learn what it is about them that makes them special. I don’t want to merely look at them from the outside, or hear from others how being educated there is an experience unlike any other. I wish to go there, to for example, spend an evening walking past the Radcliffe Camera, or in the halls of the Lauterpacht Center.

I want to eat at the Spoon’s in Cambridge one day, and visit all of these places I’ve seen in Jake’s vlogs.

I fulfilled my childhood dream of applying for the Rhodes Scholarship this year. I didn’t get it, which made me sad for a few minutes again. One of my University batchmates did, which made me incredibly pleased for him, as did one of juniors from high school – and I was so happy she did. They are both, as I am sure the other Scholars are too – worthy recipients.

Today, I submitted an application to the University of Oxford. Thankfully, postgraduate applications do not require you to sit and select between Oxford and Cambridge. I clicked submit, and I felt lighter in my heart. I fulfilled another childhood promise I had made to myself. My anger, my disgust, from when I was 16 – I had fuelled and channeled into being determined to give the application another shot later in my life, and I was pleased that I had not let any of that go.

Being rejected by Oxford at the time was the bluest I had been. I didn’t go to school for two days after my rejection letter came, choosing instead to spend time at a friend’s house playing FIFA. He was bunking school too, and we played FIFA the entire day. It felt like it was the end of everything at the time. Remarkably, in a lot of ways, that was just the start.

I hold all these educational institutions in high regard. All of them, every single one. Not just the Oxfords and the Cambridges – which have an air of elitism to them today, but Open Universities too. They perform a vital public function of imparting education to individuals interested in learning, and making people feel enthusiastic about learning things. While I’ve applied to all of these institutions today, at the core of my application, and at the core of everything I want at this point in my life, is the opportunity to learn more. To read more. To get access to knowledge that I feel I will get access to if I attend these institutions. To gain exposure to a network that will give me that access. To unlock my own intellectual capacity, because I know that being in a new academic environment will challenge me – for I have spent 5 years in one academic environment now.

I do not have a preference among these institutions. I know that I will be happy to be given the opportunity to learn if any of the institutions I have applied to deem that my application matches what they are looking for. Completing the Oxford application gave me a ton of closure though. It enabled me to let go of some residual anger and sadness from when I was younger. To look at that entire experience as being so formative, and kick-starting this entire sequence of events that led me to where I am today.

When admission decisions come this time, I will not be letting myself feel too blue. After all, I still have oxygenated blood pumping through my system (this was a bad joke, excuse me).

I’ll just be looking out for more opportunities to learn new things – things I’m interested in learning.

And learn them I shall.

The art of sampling music has fascinated me for a very long time. It makes music feel like an art form that builds upon its own history, and samples help to track the evolution of the art form in more concrete terms, so to speak. I remember first hearing the word when I began learning how to use FL Studio to make music, and downloaded a ton of these freely available sample packs and sounds to listen to the kind of nuances in sound that helped produce a song. Eventually, I learned how to use tools within that software that helped me create my own samples. One of the nicest things I remember doing was taking a sample from Myon & Shane 54’s Summer of Love remix of Lana Del Rey’s “Young and Beautiful” and saving it for repurposing in one of the piano tracks I recorded. But those are tales for another day.

Music samples split people into camps quite frequently: one camp who believe that sampling should not be permitted because it takes away originality and discredits effort very frequently, because the creator of the original sample never gets due credit for inspiring another song. The flipside to this is the argument that sampling should be permitted, because once music is out there, it belongs to the creative commons.

Mark Ronson has an excellent TED talk on this that I’d urge you check out. Quite frequently, most songs that you end up enjoying on the radio on most days, or that become chart-toppers, contain samples or pieces of inspiration from prior music.

I was listening to the Vampire Weekend album, Father of the Bride on repeat yesterday. It’s an album that I took to quite quickly and absolutely fell in love with. There’s this song on the album called “Hold You Now”, which I adore – because it introduced me to Haim, but also because it begins the narrative arc of the entire album. In a lot of ways, Father of the Bride, as an album, reminds me of Green Day’s 21st Century Breakdown. However, I digress.

That song, “Hold You Now”, contains this crazy sequence that sounds like gospel choir music in the middle. I wanted to figure out what that sequence was, and found out it was indeed a sample of gospel music called God Yu Tekkem Laef Blong Mi. That confused me: I couldn’t recognize the words, although I was quite certain I knew their meaning. Turns out this is a language called Pidgin English. What made things even crazier is that this sample they used is a Hans Zimmer sample.

I’m on the side that samples should enable creative growth. It’s weird if a sample is used to make a note-for-note version of another song. Sometimes, however, the result can be beautiful, as it was here.

I’ve always lived in an era with telecast and televised matches. My stories of cricket commentary coming on the radio, and tuning in to hear people’s voices as they called ball-by-ball are therefore limited by the experience of my parents and my grandparents. What excellent stories they are, though. Television provides the visual experience: of actually being on the ground while a match takes place, and new technology, including the spider-cam, enables you to see the size of the ground, pitch conditions, and everything in between. Thanks to excellent audio mixing, the atmosphere from the stadium isn’t lost on you either. You’ll always hear the crowd’s chants, cheers, and jeers in the background. It makes for lovely viewing. To think, therefore, that some individuals in the pre-telecast era had the burden to ensure that all of this got through to the tuned-in audience just through their vocabulary and the power of their voice – and that they succeeded (because cricket didn’t just become popular overnight) is wonderful.

Yesterday I listened to an episode of the 22 Yarns podcast with Harsha Bhogle. First, I have to commend Gaurav Kapur for a couple of things. The man really knows how to diversify his personal brand, and go crossplatform. His YouTube show Breakfast with Champions is excellent – although it’s inspired a bunch of copycats, it’s ability to retain originality in format and unstructured conversation is delightful. Now, this podcast? Even better.

The entire Harsha Bhogle episode was devoted to understanding cricket commentary better. It provided some lovely insight into how commentary partnerships are cultivated, how feeds are so-well curated and ready-to-go, and what goes on behind the madness of the entire production. There were nuggets of nostalgia, where Bhogle speaks about his start in commentary: after IIM, commentating on a Ranji Trophy game in Hyderabad. It got me thinking about how much of my life has been shaped by some brilliant cricket commentary.

The earliest cricket I remember watching, in vivid detail, is the 2003/04 India-Pakistan series. Shoaib Akhtar was at his peak, being the Rawalpindi Express that he was, the entire series was being telecast on Ten Sports, and Cyrus Broacha hosted the show during the innings break providing for comic relief and grand prizes, including a car. I can’t remember specific phrases, but I remember being introduced to successful Pakistani cricketers through the commentary rotations: these include individuals like Ramiz Raja. Very soon, I picked up on cricketing history purely because I heard people’s voices in the commentary box, or saw their career statistics being pulled up on screen in order to reference their personality. Quite often when this happened, you could see how they tried to deflect attention away from these statistics. When doing live commentary, especially on a Test match day, it almost appeared that the Days played, gone by, they didn’t matter anymore, and all that mattered was the Days of cricket that lay ahead – session after session.

Cut to the creation of the IPL, and the entire frenzy of Twenty20 cricket leading to innovation in commentary generally: the capitalistic and entrepreneurial attitude that has invaded the sport has led to sponsored segments for everything, including Sixes and Fours. Always begs the question: how do commentators remember which sponsor to call out when? Do they make mistakes? How are these rectified? Bhogle provides answers to all of these, and you realize, only then, that so much more happens behind-the-scenes in order to ensure that your cricketing experience at home retains the appearance of glitch-free seamlessness.

Since I’ve joined University, I’ve been following more matches on ESPNCricinfo than watching them live. There’s no voice there, but the commentary retains liveliness. I wonder how they do it: the reporters and scorers ensuring updates ball-by-ball, staying ahead of all of their competitors. What keeps them going?

It’s clear pretty quickly that it’s their love for the game. Nothing will ever come close to sitting and watching a day of cricket – aside from perhaps playing the sport for an entire day. I remember thinking in high school that we needed to open up commentary as an inter-house competition: to allow students from each house to do commentary on the games that were taking place on that day. Even if people didn’t enjoy it, and the commentators weren’t top-notch (none of us would ever have been on our first try), it would provide a record of games gone by. An archive of every moment.

Commentators breathe live into that archive with their words: capturing what everyone observes, but nobody really notices. That’s the essence of their job, and it’s people like Harsha Bhogle who have done that for several moments in the cricket I’ve watched and enjoyed.

For most of the last four years, I sat on the same desk, with the same two friends next to me at University. I didn’t speak much; I’m not really much of a class conversation-person because it’s difficult for me to speak in hushed tones and have a meaningful conversation. In my first year I paid attention to classes, in my second year, I slowly moved toward reading, in my third, I slept, and in my fourth year, I began reading. Last semester I ended up moving desks to sitting on a different corner of the classroom. This semester, I’ve been away from those friends and that desk as a result of a split in divisions. It’s weird what that does to you. Now my roommate and I say bye to each other in the morning and don’t see each other till we get back post-classes; when earlier, we said “I’ll see you in class”, and he ensured I attended the classes necessary to keep attendance in order.  It’s not that my surroundings are unfamiliar to me: the new section consists of half the population from my old class, but it is a change – a change I’m not entirely convinced we needed in our final semester.

In any case, it means I now sit with different people. Like I said earlier, I didn’t speak too much in class. I did speak with my deskmates from time to time, and have been called out for speaking too much by one professor in particular, but other than I that, I mostly kept to myself while class was underway.

Today, however, presented the chance to catch up with a friend I’ve been trying to catch up with since I got back – but whose schedule is so distinct from mine that we’ve not found a slot to meet. So we sat and caught up on our winters, on the things we read, the things we did, the things we saw. I’ve become close to this friend because his background is so different from mine that I love the perspective he brings to my life. He was the first person from University to ever visit my home – despite not being from Bangalore, the first friend from campus that my mother got to properly meet. In catching up, the one thing that became apparent to me really quickly is that we had very, very different winters.

Both of us stayed with family, but he stayed without the internet. The impact of the internet on our everyday lives is something I’ve been acutely aware of for a while now, but it is only interacting with individuals whose internet supply is cut-off by the State that you recognize the kind of liberty the internet allows you to exercise. I’m not entirely sure what you can do in rebellion, but there are organizations working to figure out that internet access in this country goes unrestricted, and they deserve all the support they can get.

Naturally this meant two professors (of three) called us out for talking. In one period I was asked to switch spots, so as to not disturb the professor at all. I would, in my first year, have been scared about the repercussions of this – the kind of impression this incident leaves on the professor, etc. Today, however, I’m glad I took the opportunity to catch up with my friend. This professor won’t remember my face tomorrow anyway. Desk conversations are worth having when you can have them. They’re a quiet rebellion. Like the paquetas in Cuba which ensure the internet reaches every individual through an informal market.

I hadn’t eaten Subway cookies prior to University. I do believe they have always been on the menu, but I know I never dared to try them. I didn’t actually eat out at Subway too much either. There was no Subway close to home, and I think even when it did open, I only went there because a friend of mine thought it was the only place we could hang out on our side of town. Plus, it was the only thing near our house at the time that qualified as “fast food”. With a Sub of the Day option that cost only Rs. 100 for a 6 inches Sub, I didn’t think you could really go wrong with it.

I had heard a lot about Subway generally. My aunt had told me how when she went to America and the UK for the first time, it was one of the only affordable, consistently-good, Western, vegetarian meals available. Given my recent visit to America, and looking at portion sizes over there – the number of vegetables they put in your order means that you can save up your lunch Sub and have the rest for dinner as well, making it even more economical.

So naturally, I come to University and I find out that Subway is one of the closest fast food outlets we have to campus. In my first semester though, I didn’t have a card (I was a minor then, and we weren’t fully informed of how minor debit cards worked). So for the duration of that entire semester, my mother had given me cash – and I kept accounts and track of that cash to manage through. I made one trip home that semester, and my mother generously gave me more cash, but the fact that it was all liquid money and I wasn’t sure when an emergency may arise, meant that I spent very little.

I came back in my second semester wielding a debit card, but because of an overload of work, I didn’t really go out too much that semester. In fact, my mother visited me just after my mid-semester exams that year, just before I had a moot memorial submission. We stayed next door to the Subway, and while my mum revelled in eating from all the other restaurants in the vicinity, I asked her to treat me to a Sub in the room one day.

My third semester was when I actually began going out. I visited Subway more frequently, and developed a bit of a rapport with the owner of the Subway franchise near campus (he’s still there). I eventually rounded up on my standard order of a footlong per meal (one I’ve cut down this semester to a six inch Sub), but stumbled upon the cookies because of his sales technique. He had literally baked a fresh batch when I walked in and the chocolate chunks smelled delightful wafting through the air.

I’ve fallen in love ever since. It is now physically impossible for me to eat at Subway without ordering cookies. Even one cookie (although I have been known to eat three). They are delightful. They’re quite large, so there’s value for money, there are a lot of chocolate chips in every bite, and man, they heat it in front of you so the chips/chunks melt to gooey perfection. This one time I remember I ordered everything for takeaway and consumed 3 cookies on a 10-minute autoride from the Subway back to my campus because I couldn’t control myself.

In all honesty, they are extremely unhealthy when consumed in such amounts and frequency, which is why I have had to cut back on my consumption of them. However, they are remarkably consistent. I ate Subway in Switzerland, and in the Netherlands, and in Dubai: ordering the same cookies in all three Subways. They tasted exactly the same (the Swiss ones were better because they had a “dark” chocolate chip cookie), but my oh my. Wow.

I have forged friendships based on a mutual love for the cookie. One of my close friends in third year had accompanied me on a rainy day to collect laundry from infocity (where the Subway is located), and I remember making a pact with her that we’d take a trip to the Subway every semester. Unfortunately, circumstances have meant that neither of us have lived up to the pact, although for a while we ensured we bought each other cookies from Subway whenever we visited. Circumstances now mean that that pact will require a lot of resurrection.

Thankfully though, there is no shortage of individuals on my campus who revel in Subway cookies as much as I do. Today, I was able to make one of my friends’ afternoons, by gifting them, as a surprise, some fresh maal (if you will). His joy is not something you can put into words easily. The true test was yet to come though, and upon a physical inspection of the cookie, he accessed the microwave in the hostel, heating the cookie up to gooey perfection before consuming it in front of my own eyes.

I’m not a strong proponent of having strong brand preferences, or becoming a brand salesman. It’s why I avoid buying t-shirts that have company graphics on them (like Supreme, or Levi’s). Truth be told though, it’s impossible for me not to advocate that everybody consumes a Subway cookie today.

The chocolate in the cookie is not too sweet, yet sweet enough to tingle your tastebuds into desiring the chocolate chip. The chocolate chips are heavenly. The cookie’s texture when at room temperature is crumbly perfection. When warm, you will be transported to another land.

Try one today.

The word routine always reminds me of the French-Canadian dish Poutine. I’ve read so much about it and watched so many incredible videos about its origins, that I’m really keen to experience eating vegetarian poutine one day. I love fries, so I’m fairly certain that I will enjoy the dish, but what I couldn’t relate to in all of this information is the kind of warmth the dish is said to exude and spread across your body. I’d really like that, especially on a cold day like today where my broken window is giving me particular troubles.

This past week was my first actual week back at University. It’s been good, I’ve mostly been running errands everyday after classes and trying to get stuff done so I can go back to living normally here, but it’s been particularly difficult to get back into a routine of some kind. I end up having random things to do and as much as I try to plan things around a geographical location I’m at at any given point of the day, something seems to pop up. Or I get distracted, mindlessly, on YouTube. I love that website a lot, but I am telling you, it is the worst rabbit hole in the world. I was watching interviews with the cast of The Office, and somehow found myself watching clips of how you could loop Alexa, Siri and Google Home in an infinite loop of asking each other to do tasks till their battery ran out. That is not particularly interesting, or of interest to me, nor is it entertaining. Yet here I am watching it. How we got here, I am not entirely sure. Yet here we are.

Naturally, therefore, I wanted to use my weekend to get things in order. My roommate’s gone for a trip to Gir Forest with his friends, which is pretty awesome for him, so I’ve got the entire room to myself for the weekend. I organized my stuff and ran room-wide errands on Saturday, and today, I’ve just been trying to figure out what I want to spend my time doing over the course of this semester, each day.

Somehow I’ve ended up with more things to do than hours I can find, which means a rearrangement of somethings to accommodate my new sleep schedule of 8 hours (which I have religiously followed every single day since I’ve been back). Tomorrow will actually be my first test. Although only time will tell if I’m able to adhere to any schedule of any kind at all, it’s interesting to think about how to slot in stuff into my day.

This last semester of University is beginning to become a fascinating concept to me. The last couple of months of high school, before I moved out of my house, I spent on preparing my mother for the fact that I’d be leaving soon. I took breaks from chores on occasion. A little bit of this was me being a sloth and wanting to get pampered for a couple of months longer before I had to do all my chores. It wasn’t all very bleak though, I overcompensated a fair amount by spending as much time with my mom as I could, and she did likewise, taking time off work to be at home when I was on my study holidays for two months. It was awesome. We watched loads of TV and movies together, hung out a lot, spoke about our various concerns, and genuinely, bonded to the extent that we became friends. It was that time in my life where I was certain that some of the best friends in my world were my parents – it really changed the dynamic between us. I spent a lot of time also mentally preparing for University. There was a lot of uncertainty about what my next steps were: where exactly I’d be studying, and such, and I hated that so much, I spent time reading and thinking about all the stuff University would bring.

This last semester feels a little bit like that. The uncertainty is real. I’m just a little less insecure about it because I’ve been through this entire rigmarole before so it’s a little less scary to me this time around. The world outside of this University is going to be super different – and I know I’ve been protected inside this campus and on this University space. I also know that the things I’ve seen and done here are things that I’ve thought about and have shaped everything about who I want to be when I leave here.

I really want to use this last semester to ensure I prepare myself for a life outside this campus. Where, I don’t really need to stay awake late to get things done, or there aren’t actually commitments to keep very often. Where often, the only company you will have is yourself – and you’re likely to have to make the most of it. I want to get back to pursuing things I did when I was in high school that I enjoyed: things that I claimed I had no time for at University. This is, like a friend quipped: the most unstructured time I have – and I honestly plan to make the most of it.

Unfortunately that involves some amount of structuring in itself.

I’m a sucker for cheap, high-quality items. I love a good deal, and I’m happy to wait for longer on an investment in any item if I’m going to get it for less. It’s fun knowing that I’ve saved some money – and it’s particularly enjoyable when it is something that I need and will use on a daily basis.

Such as my spectacles.

I last purchased spectacles (after years of my mother trying to convince me I needed new ones) in the summer of 2017. I was back home with my parents for a couple of weeks, interning in what was then my home city, and I decided that would be an opportune time to get things like glasses and licenses done. Lenskart had just launched in India around that time, so one evening after dinner, my mother and I devoted ourselves to the task of trying out all the various frames that lenskart had to offer on my face (because they have cool technology) and then pick 2 pairs to buy. This was also because they ran a buy one get one free offer at the time – something I was absolutely crazy about.

Those spectacles are spectacles I still wear today, 3 years later. I know that isn’t a crazy long period of time or anything, but in terms of how frequently I used to get glasses made (because I played basketball and have an oddly shaped head), it’s a fair amount of time. In fact, I didn’t visit an ophthalmologist between 2017 and 2019 end, all out of sheer laziness, and the strong sense that my power would change, necessitating a change in my spectacles in some shape or form.

I was right. Visiting the ophthalmologist now, we found out my power had definitely increased. Back on campus I started experiencing headaches, so after my dad reminded me that I needed to get spectacles done, I decided to go to the optician store.

Now, you see: I was faced with a choice. I could buy a new pair of spectacles, or I could just replace the lenses on one of my old Lenskart pairs.

Of course, I chose to replace the lenses on the Lenskart pair. I was so happy with the decision because it meant that I could wear this pair of glasses that has genuinely seen so many of the happiest and saddest times I’ve spent on this campus till I leave. I was also happy that I did not have to take any decisions on the kind of frame that suited my face. I do not have the sharpest sense of fashion or trends, so any opportunity to delay independent decision-making in that regard is something that I will always, always seize.

To give him credit where credit is due, the optician did not make this decision quick, easy, or painless for me. He brought out a whole chart, an Excel sheet almost, showing me exactly what the cost points were. I didn’t even know so many types of lenses existed for glasses. The choices scared me, more than anything else. I just want to be able to see things clearly – nothing too fancy.

Of course, I tried making the best decision I could with all the information he provided with me.

And now my lenses have a blue tint on them sometimes because of some blue-light filter.

It almost makes me feel like I’m wearing some special sunglasses. What a joy.

I’m in love with technology. I love new devices and upgrades to existing technology, and reading and watching reviews of technology. I don’t purchase technology often: it’s always after a rigorous research process – it’s always been that way. The idea is to essentially ensure that any piece of technology I invest in is something that’ll give me returns for a couple of years, or atleast stay stable for as long as possible. This is something I’ve developed over the course of time: I would rather spend my money in something that’s durable and longlasting rather than something that’ll go kaput in a few months.

My Acer Laptop is a Nitro V Aspire. It’s a gaming laptop. I purchased it before I came to University, and it was the second-ever laptop my parents bought for me, after a Toshiba I had for 5 years. We bought it because the Toshiba began to slow down, and University definitely demanded a laptop of adequate speed, one that could handle multiple processes at the same time. Naturally, I thought we’d be doing a lot of research for it, but it took lesser time than anticipated to settle on the Acer. We got a really good deal and the laptop had everything I was looking for at the time.

3 years into University, however, the laptop began to act up, and slow down. That wasn’t too much of trouble, but then it began crashing – and losing files, which I found frustrating, but my dad found frustrating too. That led to the purchase of a different laptop, and then when that began acting up, we exchanged it for what I currently use. The Acer, therefore, has been on standby as a back-up laptop that crashes frequently for quite a while.

It’s actually been in a really comfortable bag in storage for the past year and a half, inside my cupboard on campus. I’ve taken it out a couple of times to use when my old laptop acted up, but it failed me then. I even loaned it out for a bit to a junior when their laptop was acting up. It’s seen a lot, clearly. But it’s old, and rusty, and as with old things, it’s got its fair share of issues.

I’ve seen a lot. On this campus, I’m a dinosaur. I’m old, and rusty. I’ve got my fair share of issues. Given, however, that this laptop is a gaming laptop, and that I’m in my last semester – with some free time and a desire to unwind, I thought it would be fair to try extracting as much as I could out of it – entertainment-wise. So I’ve dropped it off to the hardware technician, paid for a full servicing, and I am incredibly hopeful that when it returns, I’ll be able to game atleast for about 30 minutes to 1 hour everyday.

Gaming actually became a bit of a hobby only in the last semester. When I used the Acer laptop as my daily laptop, I didn’t really use it for gaming per se. I’m keen to see what it ends up functioning like, but most of all, I’m keen to relive the nostalgia of this massive machine I used to carry with me everywhere on campus when everyone had sleek, smaller machines.

If all goes well, this is going to be an exciting semester (as if it already wasn’t).

I feel like my reading productivity has slowed down. I’m not entirely sure why it’s happened, but it has – ever since I came back to campus. The next couple of days are likely to be devoted to getting my reading productivity back up.

It’s tricky to be at odds with yourself for not reading continuously, or as vociferously as you usually do – after all, reading is a hobby for me. It isn’t stressful or anything of the sort, and it isn’t something I log-in time for. I’m usually just pleased reading how much ever I can read at any given point of time – which, given the fact that the hobby has become a sustained habit, is a fair amount. I think, however, that when the habit disappears, perhaps the only way to bring it back, and revive the hobby – even if it’s been on the slowdown just for a few days, is to push yourself to go ahead and actually do it. Read.

That’s what the weekend’s going to be about. Hopefully next week is a lot better reading-wise.

I haven’t experienced an attendance requirement till I came to University. My school obviously had attendance rules, and the board I took obviously had an attendance requirement. However, roll call was not one of those things that happened at my school. We were all regular attendees. It was very rare that someone skipped/missed a day at school, and even rarer for somebody to be absent from classes for a prolonged period of time. I think roll call was common in Grade 8, but then just evolved into our Class Teacher looking around and enquiring about our attendances. Once in a while a register would come out, and we’d end up reminding them which days we missed. I always missed one week of school for HMUN, and then missed like one or two days if I was unwell, at most. I remember missing a few days in Grade 11 and Grade 12: where our class size was small, and we’d end up missing school to study. Most of us took board exams in January, so our teachers would encourage us to stay at home when we needed to get stuff done. It was swell.

Cut to University, where there was a stringent attendance requirement and a penalty to boot in the case of non-compliance. When I heard we had the concept of roll call/attendance on campus, I was spooked. This was majorly a result of the fact that I hated being “called on” in front of a crowd I didn’t know – because in the first weeks of college everybody is just getting to know each other and nobody really knows anybody’s name properly: which means everybody is looking around when attendance is happening trying to figure out whose face associates with what name. But also because I was super scared I’d answer with the incorrect salutation. Saying “Yes, Sir” instead of “Yes, Ma’am”, or “Yes, Ma’am” where the response was supposed to be articulated as “Present, Ma’am” was something that genuinely frightened me. As such I was late to campus. I really did not want this to become one of the things I became known for.

Alas, none of that transpired. In my first semester, I attended all but 4 days of University lessons. I missed 2 of those for a debate, and 2 of those when I stayed at home after the debate. That was it. I was regular to class, with the zeal and enthusiasm of a first-year. The day that attendance was declared for the semester, I was carefree. I literally slept-in, fully aware that it was impossible for me to get called out for not having enough attendance. To my surprise, I received a phone call from a concerned friend. I had “backs” [a shortage of attendance] in every single subject. I was outraged. I legitimately ran to the exam department in pyjamas, freaking out about what came next. How could I explain this to my parents? How could I have gotten my Math so wrong?

When my turn came, I went to this massive Excel sheet, filled with everyone’s attendance details, and found out that they had conveniently forgotten the fact that I had started a month late, making my physical attendance on this campus for a month, physically impossible. That added about 45% to my attendance, marking me safe for semesters to come.

Iconically, the first-semester was my most well attended.

In second semester, I tracked my attendance on an Excel sheet. I wasn’t skipping classes too much, but I needed to keep track. Moot work caught up to me. As did my general laziness. Plus I fell really sick in second semester and had a back issue I needed to take bedrest for, for quite a while.

This continued on to my third and my fourth semesters. Unscathed by that attendance back monster.

In my fifth semester, I ended up in a position where I had to help out with exemptions and figuring out people’s attendance situation as best I could. Which led to more trips to the exam department. This happened in my sixth semester too. By this point, I had switched over to tracking attendance on an application on my phone – which allowed me to mark all the exemptions I claimed from committees. The saving grace for me was always those exemptions. Invariably I skipped class for committee work or other internship related work. Or sometimes to sleep. This, despite the fact that I could see the classroom from my bed. If I didn’t wake up on time for the first hour of class, chances are that I didn’t go to class that day at all. It was crazy. Each time though, the fact that most of my bunks were on the back of some genuine committee work saved me. I used to be pretty scared on attendance declaration day though. My dad used to be a little worried too – we exchanged text messages each time the e-mail came about declarations, and once I remember him calling me to find out if I was in the clear, because I was unresponsive on text for quite the while.

Last semester I was a little worried about my attendance.

This semester, I am not. Not as of yet.

I’m tracking my attendance on an application again. On my phone. It’s up to date, but it’s only actually been 3 weeks of class. It’s only been 1 week for me. However, I must confess. I’m not entirely sure about which subject (the full form of the paper) which professor is taking – especially when it comes to my clinicals. As a result, for the first time in my life, I’m tracking my attendance by the Professor’s name.

[I know. I need to correct that. One day I will.]

In January 2016, when I first decided that one of the things I wanted to seriously devote time to was blogging, I remember sitting on the third floor of the library surrounded by my moot books on the eve of Pongal. I was without much company, as some of friends had gone out for the evening, but I was extremely warm and cozy on the third floor. That night, there was aloo parantha for dinner, which prompted one of the earliest posts I wrote about a food item. I was using my mother’s phone as a substitute for some time – an entire semester if I recall correctly, because my own phone failed me. One of the things I remember most vividly about that evening is messaging a friend about how we need to get our hands on some pongal. I messaged home asking to be sent some yellu-bella, and my mom, bless her, actually couriered me an entire big box of the stuff [which was then consumed by ants].

I was missing pongal that evening. One of my uncles makes deadly khara pongal. Sweet pongal is a dish I enjoy because it’s got a texture that’s distinct to sajjige, but is marvelously delicious. In my first year, on my first pongal/sankranthi away from home, I just missed the fact that you associated festivals with food. I remember wondering how many years would go by without that association in my brain, or on my tongue.

This is my last set of festivals away from home [in the same country]. Very little has changed. I’m still thinking about yellu-bella, something I opted-out of getting back to campus because of my fear that the ants would consume it all. I’m still thinking about some pongal and if I can get my hands on that today. However, in addition, I’m thinking about the glorious undhiyun my mess is going to serve. I’m thinking about hot jalebis, and fafda.

College has definitely impacted me in more ways than I can recount, but my palette is definitely one of them.