(Part 1 of 6: Back to the Past)
Luggage – check; tickets – check; keys – check; wallet – check; ID, phone, charger, power bank, laptop – CHECK!
“MASK?” my mom shrieks. I hurry back and put it on. Another checklist follows. Sanitizer, gloves, masks, and strict instructions, “Stay 6 feet away, don’t eat at roadside stalls, don’t touch railings, walls, benches, posts… ”
I board the train, which is a juxtaposition of two different times. While some masked passengers sanitize their hands after every breath of air caresses their fingers, the mass crowd sways to the rhythm of the tracks with the nonchalance that I used to have a year ago.
I take my place on the upper berth, and as the train begins to set pace, a little gurgle boils in my stomach. A gurgle quite similar to that I had when I was taking this train for the first time two and a half years ago. The sensation back then was riddled with excitement, anxiety and a sense of unfamiliarity and adventure. Now my excitement, familiarity and eagerness are all dominated by uncertainty. Everything is uncertain. I try to drown it in music.
It has been ages since I left my hostel room. The jars of pickles and jams that I had carefully stored must have rotten, my ceiling will be drooping with cobwebs, my mattress and curtains will cough dust for months, and my laundry basket must have become a reactive dump, emanating toxic fumes. I shudder at the thought of the horrifying booby trap that awaits me.
Of-course I will have my roommate to help me clean up. He was always a clean freak. I don’t think I could ever be the guy with a neat and clean room if he hadn’t glared at me each time I left trash on the table. As I take a sip of water, I remember the times he would forget my bottle on top of the cooler, and I would kick him out in the 1am cold to make him fetch it. I hope he has been doing well over lockdown. We faltered on keeping in touch after a couple of months, so it is going to be a big change seeing him again after so long. But I’m sure we will be all caught up with each other’s lives over a classic game of Bluff!
Ah that game. I can trace my poor semester results back to that game, with the countless pre and post exam hours that we spent scrutinizing each other’s tell and deceptions. We’d complain about exams at the Banyan tree, plotting another game for the night over a cup of chai. LA, SAC, Golden Jubilee – the echoing voices within these walls have been the only company I have had in the desertion of quarantine. Complaining through sputtering network on a group video call is not the same as giggling around a crackling fire on cold January nights.
These very places bring back memories of someone else too. I’ve not seen her in ages. The ever-mounting tests, internship applications and the un-happenings of lockdown made our texts infrequent. And calls ceased too. Perhaps we could still reignite the old flame when we do finally see each other.
Just as the overwhelming memories and emotions begin knotting my insides in a bunch, the train rumbles into Hatia station. I hop off, and all around me are familiar, worn-out faces. Masked faces squint back at me, trying to recognise a known pair of eyes. I get in a rickshaw and teeter about Ring Road, around the Sector 2 cross-road, take the right at the purple dildo round-about, and up ahead loom the inviting, orange gates of campus.
With the COVID-19 test cross-checked and the register signed at the main gate, I step into the campus. Yearning whispers from Academic Road, the Scholar’s Avenue, back-post, side-post, and from every leaf and blade of grass on campus soil greet me like an old friend. I sigh, and set off towards my room.
Content by Prithu
Design by Swagat