A Tribute to C-303 Geet Ganga Apts.
This one is a tribute to C-303, GG. I write this mail today with a heavy heart. I feel an overwhelming sense of loss even as I vacate C-303, GG Apts.
Never before have I felt so dearly for leaving a house which does not even belong to me. But, it does…… it does belong to me in more ways than one. It belongs to me as much as it does to Vaibhav, to Robin and to Manhar.
30th May,2009: My last night in the house and there is nothing that can make me go to sleep. I wonder and I wander. Try to figure out what is it about this house that gets me so attached to it? I lie down. The ceiling fan above me spins on. For a brief moment I close my eyes and let my mind take its own path to search for an answer. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear a continuous lovable banter, some one is laughing, making everyone else laugh, someone is cracking “black jokes” on me… Ah! That is Robin, the life of every party, the soul of every house.
The mind wavers again. An unknown hand pushes open the door to another room, only to reveal two bespectacled, shirtless blokes tirelessly working away at some paper in front of them. Looking at them you did wonder whether it is a multi cultural UCB ad or what? The one you can see is Vaibhav, the epitome of dedication and the paragon of motivation. And the one you don’t see, probably camouflaged… well, that’s TiTo! Staring back at them from the wall is a News Paper Strip which seems to admonishingly state the D-day or in other words the date of the CAT examination. Decorated on each side of the New Paper strip are small yellow POST-ITS. They never really managed to get a five star for any days work. Max they got was a 3 Star. That too TiTo had to plead Vaibhav with a half star and the other half he secretly added on his own. Those were the days of directional pursuits and indefinite waits. All of a sudden Robin appears with his classy glass, quarter filled with the Regal that satiates his senses. Fills in some humor into their quant-ridden brains and then leaves them to fight out the next round.
Now the mind dwells deeper; deeper into the house, deeper into their lives, deeper into the past. A silhouette forms… I must remember him, I never forgot him. There is a chill in the air. Its bitingly cold. That would be the A/C serving its master. But the master? The silhouette takes shape, a massive shape. A custom made bed enveloped in a FAB INDIA bed sheet can be seen through the dim lights that make up the ambience of the room. The shape seems to have sucked up the collective heights of Robin, Vaibhav and mine. The interior decorator of the house; a house designed keeping in mind some wishful happenings. The flamboyance in the gang, the flash in the pan. Manhar materializes….
Its hazy again. The shape turns into a silhouette. I am pushed back, the room door slams shut. My mind back tracks. The next room throws up the image of the two bespectacled blokes again. But this time each ones’ specs bears the reflection of the other bloke…..disintegrating. At last , there is some smoke and some dust. But the laughter is still there, it is echoing. My mind races towards the voice in a final effort to hold on to the little remnants of the past. The laughter, however is different. Its not that familiar sweet sound but a mocking one. Is that from the walls? From the corners of the room or from the ceilings themselves? Common sense, the gift to mankind, tells me that it is “Time” that is mocking me.
I try to grasp on but there is nothing left. Ultimately it is the nothingness that I am left with. It is the nothingness that I have to live with. I open my eyes to see the ceiling fan, still spinning on….
I wonder whether the next tenant would ever realize what this house has seen and been through. With the walls being as mute as they are, the house remains sworn to secrecy.
Never before have I felt so dearly for leaving a house which does not even belong to me. But, it does…… it does belong to me in more ways than one. It belongs to me as much as it does to Vaibhav, to Robin and to Manhar.
30th May,2009: My last night in the house and there is nothing that can make me go to sleep. I wonder and I wander. Try to figure out what is it about this house that gets me so attached to it? I lie down. The ceiling fan above me spins on. For a brief moment I close my eyes and let my mind take its own path to search for an answer. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear a continuous lovable banter, some one is laughing, making everyone else laugh, someone is cracking “black jokes” on me… Ah! That is Robin, the life of every party, the soul of every house.
The mind wavers again. An unknown hand pushes open the door to another room, only to reveal two bespectacled, shirtless blokes tirelessly working away at some paper in front of them. Looking at them you did wonder whether it is a multi cultural UCB ad or what? The one you can see is Vaibhav, the epitome of dedication and the paragon of motivation. And the one you don’t see, probably camouflaged… well, that’s TiTo! Staring back at them from the wall is a News Paper Strip which seems to admonishingly state the D-day or in other words the date of the CAT examination. Decorated on each side of the New Paper strip are small yellow POST-ITS. They never really managed to get a five star for any days work. Max they got was a 3 Star. That too TiTo had to plead Vaibhav with a half star and the other half he secretly added on his own. Those were the days of directional pursuits and indefinite waits. All of a sudden Robin appears with his classy glass, quarter filled with the Regal that satiates his senses. Fills in some humor into their quant-ridden brains and then leaves them to fight out the next round.
Now the mind dwells deeper; deeper into the house, deeper into their lives, deeper into the past. A silhouette forms… I must remember him, I never forgot him. There is a chill in the air. Its bitingly cold. That would be the A/C serving its master. But the master? The silhouette takes shape, a massive shape. A custom made bed enveloped in a FAB INDIA bed sheet can be seen through the dim lights that make up the ambience of the room. The shape seems to have sucked up the collective heights of Robin, Vaibhav and mine. The interior decorator of the house; a house designed keeping in mind some wishful happenings. The flamboyance in the gang, the flash in the pan. Manhar materializes….
Its hazy again. The shape turns into a silhouette. I am pushed back, the room door slams shut. My mind back tracks. The next room throws up the image of the two bespectacled blokes again. But this time each ones’ specs bears the reflection of the other bloke…..disintegrating. At last , there is some smoke and some dust. But the laughter is still there, it is echoing. My mind races towards the voice in a final effort to hold on to the little remnants of the past. The laughter, however is different. Its not that familiar sweet sound but a mocking one. Is that from the walls? From the corners of the room or from the ceilings themselves? Common sense, the gift to mankind, tells me that it is “Time” that is mocking me.
I try to grasp on but there is nothing left. Ultimately it is the nothingness that I am left with. It is the nothingness that I have to live with. I open my eyes to see the ceiling fan, still spinning on….
I wonder whether the next tenant would ever realize what this house has seen and been through. With the walls being as mute as they are, the house remains sworn to secrecy.
Comments
But Kudos, it has all the trappings of a bro-mo-sexual drama..