Pilani Blues

The first thing I remember when I think about my alma mater is the peacocks screaming hoarsely and dancing gracefully on the meera bhawan terrace and for some reason these two happenings always gave me a very warm feeling in my heart because of the things that followed.

Thank you pavlov

Usually this was the time I got back to the hostel after having a nice little munch at the redi, my mouth waters as I type this even after experiencing all sorts of cuisine all over the world I still miss the malai masala sandwich from RP Redi, talk about positive reinforcement.
Dinner at the mess was mostly a ritual which involved very little eating and a lot of lacha about the cullinary skills of the Pilani cuisine and the expert chefs. There was a fundamental bond that made even the worst of foes at the hostel to remind each other about “cowmin day”

“it is cowmin today yuck”

Then we mostly talk about quintessential  Pilani Cuisine like rasam that had onions, Cowmin( renamed it so we save grace for the world that eats real chow mien) or the white pebbles that seldom resemble Idlis or some other Pilanian dish that is a duplicate of a continental or a Mediterranean cuisine

We got corn flakes for breakfast along with bread butter and jilabi ?!?!

after dinner, is mostly winding down time, although there is no point calling it that when winding down is all I did the entire day. While a ghotu starts thinking about visiting the library for getting question papers, for someone like me who did not know who my registered profs were until the profs mailed me asking to collect my exam papers or reminded me about my make up test, It is Gate call time and we cant move anywhere away from the hostel premises, since we belonged to the era of technologically challenged Pilani. There were no mobiles or wireless communication devices and the only communication device for the other gender to contact us when we are in hostel is either through GTALK or through the PA system  through which the linguistically different chowki yells our possibly mutilated

Suu-VAAR-NAAAA –130 (screams 3 times and I am still munching my Kurkure
after a few mins realizing it is my name)

If no one from the other gender was looking for me, My friends and I used to walk to c-not and climb on one of those typical little walls where road-side romeos sat on in the normal world and set the gossip wheel spinning while having a milkshake from Bluemoon.

Ever heard of “Bad Donkey Small wall” (google translate to Tamil)

Worst, sexist thing about BITS, Curfew at 11  and only for girls and it would already be 10:55 .

Run find your cycles .

I never used to remember where I leave it almost every time ,  so I grab the wrong cycle, which looks similar to mine, then after wheeling it out , I would realize it is not mine, because this one does not make that screechy noise mine makes when wheeled, and then figure out I had parked it on the opposite side of the road, (oh Yeah, that is how long we gossip at the c’not! long enough to forget where your stuff went) rush to take it out and in the process, push some 15 cycles parked on the side of each other down, feel sorry for the owners for a few seconds, contemplate whether to set it right, then look at the watch!!

Gosh it is 11 PM already!!!

Tour de Pilani from C’Not to Meera Bhawan in less than 1 minute and ….

Gate Crash

get yelled at by the differently- linguistic chowki and feel happy that he can never pronounce your name, sign in a celebrity name (pick the most controversial celebrity) in the late register and get back to my room.

This used to be a one of the typical days after classes . (never mind if you don’t go to classes, rinse-repeat.) there were hundreds of such typical days. Each of them different. Each of them more meaningful, simpler and happier and sometimes makes me think, The only thing that makes these days special is that you can never live them again, not even in your dreams. Life has to go on and a living has to be made, or so they say 🙂 !