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Well, I have had what you call a writer’s block for a long time now. A disease better known as laziness- for the common licentious soul wishes to sound profound at whatever it does. I have read many blogs during my sabbatical and come to the conclusion that people write just about anything under the sun- well, some say that’s how it should be. Valid.

Now, for some news on my front- I am at a crucial stage of my life- in Bollywood cinemas it is the path-breaking moment of every hero’s life. The point from where his saga of greatness starts, mostly. It is called Berozgaari (unemployed). Since the cinemas fill us with such optimism I refuse to feel let down by the fact that I am still salary-less. I shall await my heroic moment with patience. That day shall come. Sometime. Soon I hope. Period.

Like I said I have seen people write about anything they feel like with strange titles that I am yet to fathom. Math and integration seemed simpler. Not that I was ever good at it, but still no harm in praising oneself about something one will never indulge in for the rest of her life, sincerely hoping so. (my heart goes out to my younger brother)

Its going to be two months since I bid farewell to a place that took away a part of my soul for keepsake. 355, third floor, IV wing. I remember writing a post as soon as I had joined the place; complaining about how it was full of opinionated people who were intimidating from the word go. Hmmm, can’t believe I am saying this but I think I miss being intimidated upon. There was something in that air that you loved to breathe it (no, I am not referring to the non-polluted purity of oxygen). I miss the canteen, for obvious reasons of being a glutton. The cheap food. The cheap talk over the cheap food. Oh the sheer cheap-ness altogether. I met eleven heads there that put together with mine were close to the most explosive material ever made. We made noise, a hell lot. We laughed, heads off. We cried. We argued. We did everything that a Malory Towers book described. We put the Addams family to shame with our wackiness.

I had certain topics in my head that I thought I’d write about:

1. Ghulam Ji’s (in)famous comments.

2. Delhi Police’s claim of Delhi as a ‘safe’ city.

3. My brilliant driving lessons.

4. The new ice-cream flavor in my life.

Etc.

But now that I have a gush of memories flowing in my head I shall try and pen them down. What are the memories about?--- Koyna Hostel Life and my Phamily.

I am a list-making person, hence if you put your head through the pensieve you’ll get a description of my memories in points.

1. One thing I miss terribly is getting up to see a horde of love messages on my phone—‘Meera darling, my love, wake me up at 8:00. I have a class at 9:00 that I must attend. Thanks so much sweetie. Big hug and kiss.’

‘Eeyore love wake me up at 11:00. I have to go to CP to meet…… Love you. Slap on your forehead.’

You get the picture. I miss my mornings running from room to room waking people up- some gently with love, some-I wish I had a bazooka in my hand. I miss being the human alarm.

2. I miss my ever-green breakfast of bread and butter with my breakfast partners (one was constant but some others gave guest-appearances if I had succeeded in waking them up). And yes, when I say ever-green I do mean it literally as well; for there were days when we had colourful bread- patches of green, pink and blue. It was wonder bread.

3. I miss my marathon to classes with my ghetto. I miss sitting in class and looking at blank faces, sleepy faces, faces that winked at you out of sheer boredom or at the crack of a shady inside-joke. I miss raising my hand and questioning or arguing in class.

4. Jaundice kadi, Koyna lawns-paneer, Toxic bengan… obviously these aren’t things I miss eating, but I do miss talking about them. I miss sitting in the mess for hours supervising people’s eating; forbidding them from playing with their food or wasting food, on most occasions. Let me be clear that my services were restricted to my Addams family and that not everyone was party to my pravachans.

5. I miss being a floor doctor. There weren’t any fatal mishaps so I think I managed well.

6. Now that I just gave a banana to my grandma I realized that I miss my Tuesday banana breakfast. Its another thing that when I packed 5-6 bananas the mess-wala thought I was a total nut. Clarification: they weren’t for my consumption. I had several sleepy mouths to feed.

7. I miss washing clothes with music my ears and loud across-the-wall talks with my fellow dhobi-ghat members. We did curse the winters- it was unbearable to wash clothes then. The water would prick the hands and post rigourous scrubbing they would be white and pink. Fair and Lovely users if you wish to have a fair face I have a cheaper full-proof method- please keep face submerged in the tap’s water in December/January for half an hour. Guaranteed fairness with pink blushes.

8. I miss tea-parties- the consumption of hot tea with high-calorie munchies over gossip and general non-sense.

9. I miss the outlandish activities of the ‘Twelve Mindless Women’ which includes the outrageous shopping sprees, the movie madness, the late night maggies, the super-late night ‘disturbing content’ talks, the dramatization of scenes and songs from the time-less Bollywood mobhies, the in-the-middle-of-the-road choreographed dance sessions, the PSR antaksharis. Etc. The utter filmi-ness of our life.

10. I miss the bus rides, the auto rides (which includes the fight sequences with the auto-wallahs), the walks… actually every form of transportation we used; for we made a joke out of everything.

11. I miss our family dinners. The prolonged eating-talking-laughing till the mess workers shooed us away with their horrendous weapons (brooms which you might think are harmless but I dare not say what all they swept).

12. I miss being ragged- Boo, Autistic Octopus, Eeyore, Grandma… Some of my several avatars.

For my 11- I miss being a 4 year old with you. I miss being an 80 year old with you. I miss you. I love you.

P.S- I am going to keep the post untitled. Meaning I mean, I can’t think of an appropriate title.