What I Learnt in My First Month in University

Four days ago was one month since I moved out of my house to the hostel in my university. Here are my observations on how it has been:

1. Some teachers won’t give a damn if you won’t. They won’t bother if you are listening, if you’re napping, if you’re on your cell phones. Your education is in your hands. It is up to you to pay attention.

2. On the other hand, the teachers who do actually teach will not spoonfeed you. They will give you stepping stones, they will tell you what you want, in a manner that’ll make you want to rip off your hair. But at the end, you’ll get an idea of what they were talking about. You’ll be grateful that they didn’t tell you. You’ll be happy that you were able to arrive at what you did without anyone putting thoughts in your head.

3. There are no fixed schedules. Your sleeping pattern revolves around the work you have. You may have a class at 9 in the morning and the paper due the same morning. You will have to work till dawn, you will have to sleep for 3 hours and you’ll have to attend the class. 

4. Which is why, don’t procrastinate. If you do, you’ll have not have the satisfaction of having submitted a paper that you actually like. For the two papers that I’ve submitted so far, I have  worked and I enjoyed the process. Even though it kept me awake till 4, the feeling that I had before going to sleep was unparalleled.

5. You’ll have a lot of free time at hand. For people like me who have classes I only 2 days a week and who are literally the most shy and laziest people in the planet, it’s very easy to fall into the trap of sleep. It’ll beckon you, call you, force you in subordination so much that you’ll sleep 15 hours a day. You’ll have to resist that. I fell into that pattern and believe me, that week, I didn’t have more than 10-12 meals of the 21 meals I should have been having. 

6. Which is why, get involved. One of the best ways you can make friends is by getting involved. Find your interest and go for it. You’ll find your kind of people if you venture out of your comfort zone. Even if you can’t, sit on the quad, go to the library, sit in the café; you’ll find someone to talk to.

7. Saying that, there will come a time when you’ll lose your appetite. The mess food will taste like sand, each meal of each day and you will literally feel your appetite fading. And you would be able to go one for days on just water. At that time, eat. Go to tuck shops, make popcorn, buy a sandwich but eat. Nourishment is important.

8. Have a night out with friends. Just go to the park, and sit there. Walk around, let the dew kiss your feet, play music, wait for the stars to recede. Talk about yourselves, know each other, your pasts, presents, futures. Witness the sunrise, I swear, you’ll feel like you were meant for that day only. (Not to mention, sleep at six and miss the first class of the day!)

9. There will be times when you’ll feel homesick, you’ll feel alone, and miserable. You’ll miss your home, your family, your friends, your school. You’ll feel like crying all the things that you’ve felt since you left home. Cry. Cry your heart out, in the pillow, on a shoulder, in the afternoon, at night after everyone’s asleep. You’ll feel a lot better, you’ll feel lighter, you’ll feel more settled.
10. You are here to learn but you’re here to make memories too. Many of the people you meet will probably end up becoming your closest friends for the rest of your life. Which is why, choose them carefully. I’m not saying don’t talk to anyone. Rather, talk, but make sure that the people you pour your heart out to deserve you. Don’t settle for less. You’re worth a lot more than a toxic relationship. Never demerit yourself. 

These are the few things that I learnt, rather experienced, in the first month. Do they match your college life, or are they not what you experiences? I’d love to hear from you!

Until the next month, then!

How The Rain Makes Me Feel

I wish I could feel like how rain feels,
On a warm, steadfast night
and the way it makes the world feel,
at rest, in motion, just quite right.
I wish for the patter of the rain,
and the silence that it casts around,
that peace of mind for an infinitesimal moment
That is lost, and at moments like these, found.
I wish the world unites as it does
when drops fall from high above us,
Makes me feel so wanted, gives a reason to stay,
For me, rain is belonging and it is trust.
It is how the things that leave us
have their own way of returning to us,
even when the blackest clouds block their way
It’ll make its way, it always does.
It made me feel like magic and stardust,
and my beating heart once stood still,
it folded in my hands and was lost,
leaving me with memories and goodwill.
It went through my soggy chest,
and left me feeling cold and lost,
and then as soon as I dried my breast,
it left me free and contained and breathless.
So maybe, the rain does wonders to us, the world
it leaves us free and tired and guarded and loved.

Children Of War

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I wish I could pack my bags and leave;
to hug every sobbing child out there,
the thousands of Omrans’ who sit in rescue cars and ambulances
too shocked to know from where the blood
gushes down their face, too terrified, stunned
to even cry; , two, five, seven, nine year olds,
rescued from under the rubble
of five storied buildings, silently
wiping their hands on the seat of the vehicles.

I wish I could reassure them all
that there are people who love them,
that there is a world in which buildings don’t
topple like house of cards, and where
the sounds of winds and clouds are heard,
more often that the sounds of bombs and bullets;
that trees are not always coated with dust and dirt;
that you can watch  movie, you can take a walk
and return, return to your house, not vanish on the way.

I wish I could tell them that the skies,
they are blue, not black from the smoke
the bombs create; that sometimes,
the earth moves and you can see the sunrise;
that at night, it’s not always light
from the rescue operations; and no, not
everyone who looks at you will point a gun at you;
that sometimes, the house will shake
because the earth shakes and not because
something is going up in flames, yet again.

But who am I to say that to them-
to the children of war- who’ve-not trained-
but rather, learnt to shake like a leaf when the skies rumble
day and night, and not a single drop of rain falls;
who’ve learnt that death will always be accompanied
by a broken limb, and  blowed-out brains, and
coated in red, the color of the sun at a sunset
they’ve never seen? Who am I to break their
perfect view of the world in which cancer is
unheard of and AIDS does not exist?

Who am I to tell them that they can dream of a world
without war, a world like one in which I live, where the
problem is the rise in the price of potatoes and not
that my father won’t return for the potato curry dinner,
where the problem is the termite in my house
or the lack of drinking water and not that my house
might get bombarded, and my loved ones killed,
where the problem is the in living and not in surviving-
but who am I to tell them that, to the children of war-
when I was the one who created it?

Soothe Sundays #18

Yesterday, I was talking to my roommate about some really good Hollywood movies that she has watched because she isn’t very comfortable with Hindi, and talking back and forth, my memory called upon a jewel of a movie series, that I absolutely love and adore with all my heart, the Before trilogy: Before Sunrise, Before Sunset and Before Midnight, and then I just had to watch it! According to me, anyone who’s not seen it is losing out on an experience.

So, in honor of the brilliance of the movies and in honor of love, today’s quote is:

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I’d love to hear about whether you’ve watched the movie or not, were you planning to, did you like it, do you love it. Tell me how this movie affected you. Tell me why you love/hate this movie. Till then, have a happy weekend!

Turning To Caffeine

I get that warm gushy, mushy feeling
as the last of the coffee swirls in my mouth,
crashing against the pink walls
it is controlled in, all the juices
from the body, blending perfectly
with the milk, and coffee, and water
and sugar from the pantry below the rooms.

I nestle comfortable in my chair,
my spine jutting with ease with the
Styrofoam under the red, cheap cloth
my knee perched up, ankle left loose
on the steel hand rest of the chair;
my ponytail playing chase with the
the slight air that the fan sends in my way.

Arms across the chest, my eyelids flutter,
just as they do when I feel droopy, the head
reminding me of the paper that I have due
and my heart, of the feather-like mattress
that crushes under me each night; as the eyes
shut close, the world starts to breathe and stops
as the smell of coffee warms my nostrils, yet again.

An Ode To My Blog

An ode to my blog, that turns five today, that has grown with me, always, through the thick and thin, never ending in its support.

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This was the day,
about five years ago,
on a whim, pressed enter;
I’ve grown, grown. 
Along the A, 
made some virtual friends
some old and young,
hope mends, mends.
Words come to life,
worlds come to life,
in endless pursuits,
endless strives. 
Furious binaries,
some ink and pen,
everything displayed,
in my little, worldly den.
A thirteen year old,
when hesitation stalled,
now eighteen years old,
I go on and on.

And yes this blog
that grew with her,
turns five today;
motherly love stirs. 
This love affair,
sometimes broken, 
may seem unusual,
but it always repairs. 
So, I write on and on,
and on and on,
and on and on, 
and on and on.

So I Sit Down To Write An Honest Poem

Another one of my poem’s from the poetry workshop by The Climber.

So I sit down to write an honest poem,
with bitterness running through me like blood
and it bothers me that my work
is not as good as the others.
Still I try to write and topics
course through my head- terrorism
and beauty and life and anxiety and
obesity and confidence and college-
and yet a single thought nags my mind
that I will never be as good as others,
my poetry (my pride) will never equal others
and that perhaps the
only thing I thought I was good at,
is just not enough.

All the time I thought that my inability
to talk and make friends
and dress to impress
and carry myself with ease and grace
and paint or sing or dance
or even make me worth remembering
was somehow compromised
by my ability (and a rather good one)
to write and impress upon, by my words.

All the late nights (and days and evenings and afternoons)
spent drowning in tears
and surviving on coffee,
the lofty pen saying things that the
mouth never dared to,
about betrayal and loyalty,
about depression and sadness,
about lies and truth
about sex and love,
about politics and drama,
about every damn thing that happened in life-
all those nights mount to nothing,
they were futile,
as useless as the nights I dreamt
of writing the most beautiful things in the world
(and the days at the park and evenings at the pub
and afternoons in classes).

And thus, with a feeling of self loathe
and desperation to create something
(hopefully memorable), I vent out
what is inside me, words slipping through
the tips of my fingers
into the keys, turning to binaries,
in zeroes and ones, appearing as I type
on the screen; the bitterness
diluting with every word that flows out
until all that is left is a somewhat emotionally
numb shell that hopes
this is perhaps enough to be
just enough, that perhaps
the naked, vulnerable front that has
been put forth is enough to be just good.

 

Nights At Uni.

The night was still young,
when the world started to stir;
Drowsy heads emerge
from under the cold blanket
called life, for life.
Groups flock to the courts
and to libraries and to
canopies and to the grounds,
celebrating the cool night
under the burning embers
in the distant sky. The trees
sway to the music
of the wind and grass
awaits the naked feet
caress it passionately.
The chirping of the crickets
is a lullaby to each and every
still deep in the slumber
and music to the others.
The turf inhales and exhales
with each breath everyone
takes and the gentle,
feel good movement
brings everyone alive
and makes everyone laugh
as life begins, begins, begins.