As I listen to Punjabi MC, a memory plagues me and makes me deeply nostalgic and dearly wish for those good ol’ days. Damn, why didn’t I appreciate / treasure them more?

– To the coolest bunch of girls I’ve ever met, to white shirts, black jeans, ties, ropes in hair and red tikkas (The red coloured powder applied on one’s forehead during religious ceremonies), to I’ve Got the Power on full volume and to the formation at the end of the performance, damn, I miss you women.

It increasingly seems that whoever I meet and have met, in my peer group and especially in the age group above mine, everyone seems mature and smart with actual lives ahead sans all the triviality which haunts most of us. It is like smart, intelligent and beautiful women who held their own individually and among a group, who inspired other girls (mostly the juniors), had a huge fan following and made themselves admired. The whole clique was made of the same stuff. I had the opportunity to meet a few of them recently and surprisingly they remembered me. They looked the same, talked the same, behaved the same, inspired the same awe and were once again in the same group. It is like they never left school. Whereas, I, as I watched them, felt that I had left school a long time ago but somehow was stuck – stuck on those days, hung over the memories (no matter how awful) and still could sing the same songs. I didn’t need a hymn book to sing and remember the words, I just knew it.

On days when I look out the window of the vast vacuous classroom where I would have lost track of the comings and goings and particularly made it a point to lose sight of Professors and people, I stare out and remember that at that time, if I were in school, I’d be having lunch in that one corridor I used to with my friends. If it was this hour, I’d be wishing that the teacher didn’t come so that I could chat with friends. If it was this hour, it would be Drill. If it was this hour, I’d be ambling in the school canteen without the slightest care in the world that possibly I looked fat, round and too chubby. If it was that hour, I’d be riding my bike back home. I never realised I’d be making so many memories back then, good, bad and ugly.

I shouldn’t be so presumptuous about my belief that Law School wouldn’t leave me with memories but somehow, I know, I wouldn’t want to look back at this mess and mass of people. Of the inanimate, I’d remember this, my room, my bed, things that are dear to me, my neatly arranged cupboard, my laptop and this – staying awake, blogging and hearing other women go about the usual chores of chatting, bitching, yelling. laughing and just being themselves.

I can’t quite remember the exact quote but to tweak it to what I want to express and well this is MY blog space,

There is peace even in tumult which women know not of. 😉

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2 thoughts on “

  1. You know.. says:

    I miss wearing a pink skirt. I don’t think I’d ever wear a pink skirt at any other time in my life. I miss assembly. I miss rubbing chalk all over my dirty shoes. I miss carrying lunch bags. I miss everything, even that Chemistry test Mrs.Karunakaran held in tenth standard and I got 1/10.

    Most of all, I miss welcoming each day without a care in the world.

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