Musings

Winged but ringed

Emancipation promised

Yet impeded with gazes and characterizations!

This happens when you step in the big bad world with all your kit of innocence and artlessness. The world and its people stir your mind through constant jabbing; refresh it and initiate the process of rethinking.

As fast as words could fly, one year in Miranda House too was quick enough to realize. I entered as a fuchcha, in awe of the north campus, only that nobody pinched me if I was dreaming. My campus life precisely began and begins every day, with the walk from the Vishwavidyalaya metro station. No sooner you exit the station, the overexcited rickshaw walas with their blatant hospitality, welcome you in their monotone, “Mirinda, KMC, Hansraj, 10 rupay …madam kahan jaogey?” I started from smiling at them, took to frowning in weeks and over months, ended up ignoring them. Trust me, it happens!

Just when I escape this humdrum, our dear idler student netas are up with their NSUI/ ABVP posters, not least unaware that in no seconds, the paper would be crumpled and hurled, only to clutter the place! But amidst all this, the smell of hot momos and kachodi don’t fail to tingle my nostrils. The booklover inside me doesn’t forget to steal a glance at the book stall adjacent to the antique jewellery stall, where, girls, unlike me, swarm over the items, haggling over the 40 rupees’ danglers!

The area outside the VV station is no less than a mini university in itself where you see students everywhere, laughing at lame jokes, discussing the theories of Marx, fighting over cola, reading Dan Brown or even puffing cigarettes.  The stalls and vendors, the hubbub of people, the eateries and the whole hustle bustle add up to the charm of north campus. While going back home, the occasional nukkad nataks at the station area sum up your day. Walking a little further, in a secluded corner, an old man, clad in a crushed blue check sarong and an outgrown pale white frayed shirt is no less a figure of dignity, squatting against the wall with his weighing machine, earning money and respect in the unsparingly hot sun.

Talking about MH and not introducing cats can definitely hurt the sentiments of the latter. You will see cats and kittens, if not anything, cuddling in laps, lazing in lawns soaking sun, or balancing themselves on roof edges. But I personally dislike Wilson for having devoured an innocent squirrel! Whenever the college’s name echoes, mentioning of the canteens is obligatory. The tidiest canteen in the campus, here, sumptuous chhole bhature and the 6-rupee samosa is a must for all. The Nescafe coffee is the best to keep you refreshed in between the lectures.

The Principal’s corridor, Nescafe lawns, the Hogwarts stairs, Heritage hall…to describe life at the red brick Miranda, one may fall short of adjectives. Some freshers, including me, enter(ed) here with a lot of apprehensions but learn(ed) to dodge the stupid stereotypes the college is looped into. None of the walls in the college reverberates that men are extraterrestrial and girls are not…so they should be loathed. It gives you a lot of space for free ideas and discussion but surely doesn’t provide a battle ground for feminism. Though the class discussions are linear, with no male perspective, but that doesn’t make it any less from other colleges. Another seed of doubt our dear Non-Mirandains may have is that the girls remain desperate to see boys. So, to clear the mist, dear men, you may linger in our conversations but hardly become the epicenter of it.

The estrogen filled corridors with all its pitter-patter seemed suffocating initially but the same aisle became liberating with the feminine vibes, swelling me with pride for what I am, unwary of the judgmental eyes. A girl with long wavy hair to a bad headed one, a girl draping saree to the one wearing shorts and flimsiest of tops, not just this but the Mirandaians are also massive brains who are witty and intelligent with their tongues. Independent as they are, these girls make Miranda what it is and Miranda makes them who they are!

One year in college

Withered away…

Like a Bakula flower

Leaving the scent of memories in air!