And in a circular universe such as this one, one inevitably comes back across The White Stripes. Even if you 'skip the light fandango', which one constantly promises oneself to do. Last night was grad d - no pictures yet... I didn't take mine, and everyone else, in the spirit of tradition, nostalgia and all ye anciente artifacts, seemed to have brought out their old load-film-and-develop-roll shebang articles. So ... we wait. But experience is untranslatable. Who was it said ‘poetry is what is lost in translation’? After the usual dallying and dillying till about eleven o’clock my classmates and I finally decided we weren’t after all ‘too cool to attend conti’. Especially since it was at a place called Climax. Yes, imagine the endless possibilities that opened up for a whole college-full of smart-asses who had been waiting all their lives for just such a moment: “Are you going to climax tonight?” “No we’re all watching Brokeback Mountain in Muk East we’re definitely not coming tonight.” Riots nearly broke out in the frantic scramble to claim copyright on that little line of jokes (I must admit to cracking my fair share of them)… especially since the usual mobbing energy reserved for the dessert stall needed to be diverted considering the all-time low quality fare on offer. Something being touted as soufflé, which came in colors yellow, brown and pink (go figure), and was (we heave a sigh of relief) accompanied by the saving grace - a miracle of nature (culture?) even they could not manage to ruin – VANILLA ICE-CREAM!! Anyways to get back – it was the usual boring affair, though perhaps being our Grad D it held more topical interest for some of us. Kartik got an award he was not too embarrassed to accept; can’t say the same of Gautam who (predictably) beat some girls from the choreo team (otherwise known as I can’t believe you missed when Richa Chadda’s pant’s tore on stage!) for the prestigious leg-shaker of the batch honour (though after Ghaziabad some believed it rightfully belonged to Jayant Sriram of the recently found my groove or so I think when I grind with Tenzing fame). Anyways, Gautam was too bashful (would you believe) to go up on stage. Unfortunately the same could not be said of Aby, who was both more visible, and more visibly gone, than he has ever been before (though after his recent miraculous personality transformation one feels disinclined to take his trip, however for the sake of art sacrifices must be made, however reluctantly). His thank you speech went something along the lines of: “Ummm... First year was funn. Uhh, College has been so much funn. All you first and second years are funn. All you people have funn.” (He really should have been president it would have been like the reign of the Thoma all over again). To the accompaniment of screams and cheers from the usual mathsie fans. Though one must sympathise, he is after all (as he repeatedly insists) ‘on antibiotics’. Yours truly (yes, I, too, adore people pretentious enough to refer to themselves this way) was called on stage too, alongwith Lara, to present the award for the disappearing act of the batch – the nominees were Aby ( I think he was the de rigeur nominee, butt of all jokes, and life of the show – in other words last night he was the George W. of college), Baruah, and Ramola – as I remarked to Swati, a list comprehensively covered by the flat. So Baruah won, but surprise surprise, failed to make an appearance, so of course Aby had to come up on stage again, the poor old antibiotised-out-of-his-mind sod. And give a speech goes without saying – though I’m told this one was an imitation of Baruah – I suppose I missed the subtleties. Anyways to get back to conti , to cut a long story short we hired a cab at eleven, got lost thanks to our genius of a driver who insisted he knew where Climax formerly F Bar was, reached there at twelve fifteen when the bar was closed and the place only open for another forty-five minutes, and eventually ended up going to Mist at The City Park for coffee at one. The five minutes we spent outside climax were fun, though the music sounded lousy, and apart from Joint and this tragic fellow called Chandy Oomen, not a single person we saw enter or exit the place looked like they were from college. Still waiting on the insider gossip but no leads so far, not even those tantalizing roaches (as they say in news channel lingo) so hope hanging by a slim thread. Summertime.
Jayan’s message to Swati this morning: joke for the day – ‘So how was Climax last night, what time did you come?’
I’m worried – I sometimes catch myself singing along to Engelbert Humperdinck – what d’you suppose that could be a symptom of?
