It feels like the official trip you hear about so often. Shuttle in. Work. Shuttle out. I guess it's that way because I've been convincing myself of the same over the past week and a half. That way there would be no need to grapple with nostalgia. That's how things turned out. In a manner I hadn't anticipated though. I'd been hoping to have ten to eleven hours on campus (three to four for the quiz). I had six and a half which gave me little time to rediscover the campus. Of what I did see and experience, being in one of the Lecture Theatres (where the quiz was held) felt akin to not having left at all. Within moments, I felt quite at home near the projector and computer. The institute cafeteria was perhaps the one eerie experience of the lot. Pressed for time, I had a quick snack there. It was for all purposes deserted. That there had been a rush just a little while back was evident. The hostels themselves presented a strange picture. Being a first batcher, one of the things I've taken for granted was the presence of brand new hostels. Now though, they wore the quintessential Goan look with the varnish beginning to wear off as a consequence of having to bear the brunt of torrential rain.
"I've been travelling since 1977", said this man I chatted up at Madgaon during the lead-up to the arrival of the bus.
"You're a seasoned traveller then, Sir", I offered.
"My first air ticket was Rs 380. Indian Airlines. Bangalore to Delhi .... "
" .... and I still have it with me".
The bus driver's cackle woke me up. We were to halt for an hour and a half. I glanced at my dial. 08.25. No ! The quiz was at 14.00. We were still in Karnataka. No mistaking that. That meant a minimum of three hours to go. I left the cozy confines of my sleeper cabin and stepped out. Mixed thoughts ! It couldn't be. This was Kamat, surely. On a bus journey from campus to Mangalore in second year, we'd halted here. I'd loved every moment of it. Then the customary process of dealing with it. I told myself I should've expected it. Buses must halt here then, must've always halted here.
It feels odd to see so many faces you don't recognize. Near the juice shop. In corridors. Huddled up in benches. Stretching on parapets. This is now the abiding memory from campus.
After a shower and breakfast, the bus eventually leaves after what feels longer than a halt. I look forward to this leg. Karwar. You don't get to see much of it from here. Every glimpse tells of a beautiful port though. And the three-year old refrain returns. Must come here once.
In the night Kamat showed up again. They always halt here.
"I've been travelling since 1977", said this man I chatted up at Madgaon during the lead-up to the arrival of the bus.
"You're a seasoned traveller then, Sir", I offered.
"My first air ticket was Rs 380. Indian Airlines. Bangalore to Delhi .... "
" .... and I still have it with me".
The bus driver's cackle woke me up. We were to halt for an hour and a half. I glanced at my dial. 08.25. No ! The quiz was at 14.00. We were still in Karnataka. No mistaking that. That meant a minimum of three hours to go. I left the cozy confines of my sleeper cabin and stepped out. Mixed thoughts ! It couldn't be. This was Kamat, surely. On a bus journey from campus to Mangalore in second year, we'd halted here. I'd loved every moment of it. Then the customary process of dealing with it. I told myself I should've expected it. Buses must halt here then, must've always halted here.
It feels odd to see so many faces you don't recognize. Near the juice shop. In corridors. Huddled up in benches. Stretching on parapets. This is now the abiding memory from campus.
After a shower and breakfast, the bus eventually leaves after what feels longer than a halt. I look forward to this leg. Karwar. You don't get to see much of it from here. Every glimpse tells of a beautiful port though. And the three-year old refrain returns. Must come here once.
In the night Kamat showed up again. They always halt here.
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