The 18th of August

It begins in the afternoon with a hangover. My first ever. First, not because I drank for the first time but because I drank so much for the first time.

I bunk the classes, miss the lab and skip the lunch. That is all I am doing, nothing. And I hate it.
Goddamn it, the day is the worst I have ever had. I hate it.
I want to enjoy myself, and sing, and be lively. And all I am is nauseous. I hate it.

I remember that I have to meet a professor for the sake of a competition. Relief. And it is Nakul’s scooter that is to come in handy at a time like this. Raunak jumps in with me and off we go.

The professor doesn’t come. We waste an hour at the office. We return to the hostel. What a f-ing day!

We are at the gate, Raunak wants to go somewhere. I don’t want to, nauseous. He compels, we leave. We have samosas, favourite. Back to the hostel, in front of the gate.

Raunak says, “CCD?”
I say, “No way.”
Raunak compels again. I say, “Have to return the bike.”
Raunak says, “Don’t we have to put petrol in the bike.”

I look at him, nod and smile. We leave for the petrol.

“10 rupees,” I say. “Minimum 20,” says the pump-boy. I shrug. Whatever!

Back to the hostel-gate. “Let’s go somewhere,” Raunak says. I am thinking. What should I think?

“Fine, Pizzeria?” I say.
“Great.” We leave again.

It’s Paras we find on the way, going back to the hostel. Force him to come with us. He agrees. Three on the Activa.

I have my wrist turned on the accelerator, throttling the engine. I have my legs in the air, spread like wings of an eagle. I have my mouth open, shrieking and shouting and singing – three things at the same time. Multi-tasking. I have my hair flowing in the wind as the Activa rushes at fifty kmph, three on its two tiny tyres. I have my ears full of noises, coming from Paras and Raunak, singing like a choir, the songs of The Beatles. The three of us have, pinned to ourselves, the pair of eyes of all the passer-by’s. Who cares?

Crazy driving, crazy singing and crazy friends.

We reach Open Hands Cafe, it starts raining. We forget about Pizzeria, rush into the cafe. I take a chocolate cake, Raunak a muffin and Paras, a quiche. It tastes like a mixture of Uttapam and Upma. The cake and the muffin, however, are yummy.

We receive calls, Nakul’s calling. Got to go. We get out.

Crazy friends, crazy singing, crazy rain and f-ing awesome driving. The streets are clogged with water, seems like a flash flood or something. Water is up to the knees, coming on to the foot-rest of Activa. The scooter is moving slowly, like stuck in a swamp, spilling water all over, like a fountain. We are still singing, and cursing, and loving every moment of it.

What would you think if I sang out a tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song,
And I’ll try not to sing out of key.

Oh! I’ll get by with a lil help from my friends.
Hmm..I’ll get high with a lil help from my friends.
Yeah…Gonna try with a lil help from my friends.

Paras says, “Do you need anybody?”
I say,” I just need someone to love.”

We laugh, we shout, and we drive. We drive so that we don’t get stuck. We drive so that we may spill all that water and laugh when the fountain wets someone. We drive because we are loving every moment of it.

We are wet, very wet (With water, I mean). We are soaking wet. Even our underwear gets wet. We are like the bread in the soup, every inch is damp. F-ing disgusting (in one way) and f-ing awesome(in another way).

We leave Paras at the gate of his coaching. He asks to get his wallet from beneath the seat. I throttle the accelerator.

We runaway. Raunak gets hysterical, I am highly amused. Paras stands on the road-side, dripping wet, with no money, no mobile and a class to attend.

We come back to the hostel laughing, enjoying and, of course, singing. We talk some more, in front of the hostel gate.

“Wanna go someplace else?” Raunak asks.
I look at him, flabbergasted, “F-you. Dude, Nakul will kill me.”

He laughs. We talk some more. Finally we go in, talking about the most-awesomest (I know it’s wrong English) time we have ever spent together. Sorry, the three of us did together.

I figure that I love this place. I love being a dual degree. I love this hostel and I love this city. I love the BC we do here. I love the amazing time we spend here. I love my companions, and I am going to miss them, a lot. Now, with a lot of courage I have to admit something.

I love being a dual degree, I said. It’s true. But my final year here is going to be a page-turner. Because all I am going to do then is to turn to the pages I have spent with you, B.Tech guys. And I am going to miss you guys, a lot. And I love you guys, a lot. (I am NOT gay).

So, this post, is dedicated to all those who are passing out this year. Don’t worry, I have faith in you. YOU WILL PASS.

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9 responses to “The 18th of August

  1. It’s always enjoyable to read something tangible & real… & its even more amusing to write something real…. coz all those sweet memories flashing while penning down those moments leaves a never ending smile on your face…
    anyways it was very well written … kept the mood & rhythm right till the end…
    keep writing… cheers !!!

  2. nice 1 piyush… ur blogs r really getting addictive 😉
    chalo ending mein to B.Tech ke baare mein kuch likha…lol.. bt ya.. we`ll miss u guys lot more buddy… cheers…!!!

  3. u made me nostalgic dear…but ur posts r real beauty…very nicely and cleverly written(clever in the sense that the love u showed to b.tech guys for involvement in the party fever this yr is quite gud :-P)
    keep it up!!!

  4. Being a dual wala myself i should say, ” Ranjan, dil ki baat bata di yaar…” that too in a much eloquent way…btw i m pretty much excited abt this year, final year with B-Tech frnds…
    One more thing….
    “I have my hair flowing in the wind as the Activa rushes at fifty kmph, three on its two tiny tyres.”
    better dont trim them before KY-11….neither am i.

  5. Ohh, it makes me nostalgic..No, not ur post or the fact that v will be leaving u guyss…Bt these lines: “I have my hair flowing in the wind as the Activa rushes at fifty kmph, three on its two tiny tyres.””…buhuhu, i had them once too!!!

    What a great style of writing. I envy you, man…
    Nice you are writing abt wat you do best..BC. The post had a very lively spirit and enthu which could be felt…U improving, haah!!

    • Thanks buddy,

      As for the writing style, I thought of trying a new style. Guess its liked.

      I am empathetic with you Rahul, now that you have short, unflowable hair, 😀

      Thank you everyone for your generous comments..

  6. Dude…even after writing “I am NOT gay”, i dont think ppl gonna believe u…and i hav seen sum new pics from the gaurav party which can corroborate this ….
    Loved d last 3 paragraphs…will miss u too buddy!!!…

  7. gosh….dats real nostalgia!!! floods back all d f-ing gr8est (loved 2 write dis..:D) memories wid d bestest available buddies 🙂
    n it sumhw actually reminds me f chetan’s 5 pt sum1 scooter part…
    really gud!!! n ulti usage f lines!!!

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