It's all coming to an end...

So ACJ is finally coming to an end. And I am not sure that I like it. Much as I wanted earlier, bored of the same routine and journalism in general. And now when it is actually ending, I want it to go on and on. These ten months of my life. Not exactly carefree like LSR. But fun and frolic in a different manner. Never doing assignments on time. Devising ways and plots to push the deadlines and prevent the group from turning in their work on time. Nonsensical banter and chatter that filled up the room when we would be discussing the first term "key issues" presentation. A handful of people in the group who would end up doing all the work. I am looking at Mahima, Mayuri, Nallu,and Meher here. While bummers like Mehran and me just stayed in the background, cracking jokes, pulling their leg, and generally creating a light-hearted atmosphere of merriment amidst all the tension and the panic.

First term was the presentation. It was the countless key issues lectures that we ('we' here denotes me, Twat and some other people) dozed and slept through. It was Twat and me trying our utmost to crack The Guardian crossword in the Metroplus (with occassional help from Jayashree and Sumit). It was us discussing the ins and outs of various football matches, dissing Manchester United and its glory-hunting fans. It was me and Twat moaning and criticising our respective clubs, and yet clinging onto the faint hope that another match would give us a chance to celebrate and hold our heads high. It was having lunch in the stupid canteen on the fourth floor - the usual rice, dal, sabzi, or lemon rice, or something like that. Later lunching at Vasantha Bhavan, oily dosas, spicy chilly parotta, all the while complaining about the scarcity of good food in this useless city. It was whiling away our time, all the while being aware that there were deadlines waiting to be met and projects waiting to be done. It was Steve Ross' amazing lectures and his boisterous and booming "Ha ha ha!"s.

Second term was the stream work. The new groups and hating or loving them at the start. Making new friends and acquaintances. It was coming to college early every morning, sitting on my throne (Computer no. 9) in lab 2 and starting with the colourful puzzles on Nat Geo. It was jogging every morning. It was time-wasting over numerous cups of coffee and tea and "funky cakes" and cookies from anna's shop nearby. It was Michael Cobden and his brilliant lectures. Maybe the first time I actually did not sleep through three-hour classes. It was the start of the electives - cinema and sports. It was rushing to college on a rainy day to attend Hariharan Sir's interesting lecture on Indian films, not to forget the different movie screenings. It was long shots and mid-shots and extreme close-ups and tropes and low angles. It was me and Vanshika decoding every possible movie in the newly-learned film language of shots and techniques. It was running to Mylapore every evening to watch Mr. Bean and Takeshi's Castle. It was another sequence of terrible food and mindless whining about it. It was walking through knee-high puddles of water in cyclonic rains with howling gusts of wind, the gray-black waters of the Marina visible at a distance. It was trying extremely hard to start work on the dissertation, failing miserably in the process. It was the excitement and happiness and delight of going home after six months of self-confessed joblessness and bad food and even worse weather. It was anticipating the luxury and joy of relaxing at home for two short weeks.

Third (and final) term was the deprivation trip. Sundarbans and Jogeshgunge and Damakhali. Those endless boat rides and the launch ride. The sheer excitement of spotting a Royal Bengal Tiger (which unfortunately never happened!) The feeling of contentment and satisfaction after gobbling up a simple home-prepared meal of daal-bhaat-maach-torkari, heightened all the more by the tiring journey to the destination. Sleeping in an old-but-charming bungalow - high ceilings, wooden rafters, straw matting and all. The long and wonderful train journey in the Coromandel Express. The brief meeting with the eunuchs and how one of them twisted Ashfaque's nose (and very nearly ended up grabbing him some where else!) It was making pages and designing them. It was photoshop-ing and quark-ing. It was visiting Twat's place to watch matches and races. It was numerous trips to the Marina and Elliott's Beach. Trying to wind up the dissertations before the schedule. Final term was yawning through Robin's lectures, the deadline drills. It was watching Robin tear off bits of paper from our assignment sheets and chew them up. It was gorging on mint sticks and soda and chocolate cookies and cake and chips when she threw the end-of-the-cycle party. It was trying to find an adventure story when there was none. It was the thrill of travelling in a police vehicle during the "police ride story", only to have the excitement dampened by riding around in a rickety and dilapidated jeep, similar to Archie's jalopy. It was breakfast every morning at Tiffin Ready - the warm and golden vadas, the light and fluffy appams, the deliciously hot and piping poori and aloo-sabzi. Final term was the mounting pressure and dread of placements looming ahead. Biting nails and crying in corners. Waiting in nervous anticipation of what lay ahead. Shouting with joy, feeling war-like victorious, when HT offered us a job. But then deflating in an instant when realisation dawned of all that I would end up missing and leaving behind. A college, a way of life, my new-found friends, my "minions and underlings", the twats and vandals and gargoyles and aunties - they shall all be missed.