“A feeling of ecstasy beheld me, as I entered BITS Pilani “. Ideally that’s what I should say. But saying so would not be sincere. Frankly speaking,fatigue, and just fatigue is all I felt. “Why wasn’t GD Birla born in some Metropolis? “. I asked myself as my parents looked around at the Neem trees.
Anyways, did I introduce myself? No, I didn't. I’m Madhav Shrivastav. Like most BITSians, I screwed my IITJEE. How I remember every bit of 18th May. “Congrats, you have cleared IITJEE” read the screen .It were the words “AIR 12188” that spat on my face .Then BITSAT happened . I wonder if it was the online pattern or the Air conditioned rooms or perhaps a BITSAT computation error,that I got a decent BITSAT score. In retrospect it was perhaps dad’s numb face expression that made me clear BITSAT. In short, that’show I got into BITS Pilani.
Coming back to today, once parents left, registration and all other formalities were done it was time for in-formalities that began with formal intros . I ,like everyone else (Ghots excluded) made friends with my wingies , sideys and all . We spent our mornings sleeping in classes ,afternoons cribbing about mess food ,evening in Clubs/department interactions and nights giving intros .
It was at one of these department interactions in T-lawns that I first saw Amishi, Amishi Verma . The temple bells rang, seniors bullied juniors, birds chirped as I continued to gape at her. ”I’m talking to you” said a senior spanking my head . The rest of what happened that day didn't really matter. Nothing in my life really mattered now, not even the zeroes of tutorial quizzes. The only thing that mattered was Amishi. LTCs and FDs were always a tourist destination, but now they became ‘bird watching sanctuary’ . People watched different genus and species of birds, my eyes searched just one.
Luckily Amishi was in one of my tutes . I wonder how I didn’t notice her for the past two weeks, perhaps I was sleeping . Anyways ,the point here is we began to talk . One thing led to another and we became good friends .Now good friends is a very complicated word in the 21st century, isn't it ? Am I supposed to be more specific? “Frankly my dear ,I don’t give a damn.” . I mean yes, writers are supposed to be specific ,describing things in mind baffling details . They can spend 1000 words describing how a Bengali women ties her sari. I can’t do that for nuts . And even if I could, this story is supposed to end in thousand words right? So stuff it boys, we became good friends, that’s all I can tell you.
All my friends (read: sick bastards) began to tease me. Although we didn’t get into the same department, thanks to our regional assoc I got more time to be around her. Texting each other for hours, sitting together in some lectures etc. was how things went further.
Friends asked me what next? I said “I have a dream. A dream that we walked around, holding hand in hand
to ShivGanga.” Friends
insisted I should ask her out. Everyone said I was being a jerk by not doing so, I was puzzled.
I took a bath that day. I used my sidey’s deodorant . For the first time in a month, I combed my hair.I wore ironed clothes and washed socks . For the first time I didn't sleep in the lecture. The bell rang at 9:50 . She got up from her place, I got up too. Went to her as quickly as possible. Remembered all 36 crore gods and goddesses of my weird religion. Took a deep breath and spoke,”Amishi would you like to go out on a date.” I said . Was it the timing, the words used or perhaps the deodorant used . I didn't get the reply I dreamt of.
She walked away. I stared at her as she walked away .Slow heart break songs played in the background.
“She wasn't hungry, that’s it” the stupid crazy me said.
“Even if she wasn't, she could have come for you” the sensible bastard within me replied.
“But she was in a hurry. She had to go”, the former said.
“It’s obvious she doesn't like you” the latter couldn't help but be a bastard.
“I’ll be more direct, next time” the crazy me, went real crazy.
It was Sunday evening . We were meeting at Sky-Lawns . The whole bathing, wearing washed clothes process all over again . I turned back to god.
“Dear God. I know I’m not a good person. I’m sorry I don’t study . I’m sorry I pray to you only before exams or emergencies like today . But please help me today. I’ll study at least one hour every day. I’ll consider all Bitsian girls (other than Amishi) as my sisters. I’ll come to meet you every Sunday morning and that too, after taking a bath. I’ll keep my room clean . I’ll never stare or leer at women kind. Please help me today.”
We ate cheese-maggi and talked about random stuff for a while. Then I gathered myself and spoke. “Amishi, you are the most beautiful and sensible girl I have ever known . You had me at Hello, and I would really love it if you and I were a couple.” No matter how filmy it seems, every syllable of that sentence came from the depths of my shallow heart.
What happened next is perhaps what you are wondering . Well I don’t think what happened next is worth telling. All I can tell you is none of the Bitsian girls are my sisters, I still don’t study and my room sucks even more by the day!