Chennai is drenched! It’s raining since more than 24 hours and most of the hostel quadrangles are filled with water, forcibly turned muddy by the enthusiastic freshies and few others playing rugby. We were there once, doing the exact same thing. That was a time when we knew considerably less about everything. We managed to enjoy effortlessly. It was all possible few years ago, not ages ago. Sometimes I wonder how much has changed over these few years.

Ah, let me come to the present. Rains seem to have decided to rob me of the basic necessities of life. Going to the mess is difficult, finding dry clothes is all the more difficult. As if roti and kapda were not enough, now I don’t even have makaan. I just discovered water dripping from the roof of my room!

When you venture out of the hostel, you can easily make out how affluent different gumbals are by counting the number of heads under each umbrella. There are few gumbals who proudly walk with one umbrella per head. There are few less privileged ones who manage with one umbrella for three fellows. Surprisingly, you can see many guys carrying pink umbrellas! There are different shades of it: baby pink, meterosexual pink, maroon-pink and so on.

Hula was here for two days. He left few hours ago. This was his first visit to India after landing up in Singapore for his job. We celebrated his birthday yesterday, two days before his actual birthday. People come and go, most of them mature enough to lead a life alone, away from close friends. Sometimes I think being geographically close is not at all good.  When we separate, we explain to each other why we are sad. But when we meet, we forget all that and laugh. I guess guys will always be like that.

I had a weird dream last night. I saw myself smoking! It’s been 4 months since I decided not to smoke and have stuck to it. Last night when I dreamt about smoking, I was quite saddened that it all came down. But thankfully it was a dream. On another note, I do miss it sometimes.

Serious things lie ahead in life. But even all that will pass. May be I will work hard and do good. May be I won’t work and end up not doing good. Whatever it will be, I am sure of one thing: that I will get used to it, thanks to different philosophies that life is made up of.

Four years ago, in my first year in college, I had written a poem when it was raining. It has lost much feelings after so many years, still I would write the concluding stanza here:

Sitting in the corridor bustling yet quite,
The downpour thickening and then going light,
The hostel now draped in a rainy gown,
Things were different in the small town.