Call from heaven ..episode 2

With a full to bursting backpack (thanks to my fetish for curios n a sleeping bag) and the bewildered look of a fresher, the attention near the main gate , was immediately on me. Then came the ‘messiah’ “Rolling” by…err … I mean Hari…. my friend at IIMC…. The way he was riding his bike brought to my mind ,the picture of the typical sun tanned biker boy.
But the poor man had started riding a bike very late into his life n was still fresh from an accident. he he…Appearances can be deceiving…
I passed on some pleasantries with him for coming and picking me up in the wee hours…sorry 7 am is in the same segment in a ‘B school’….
The bike slowly rolled into the territory of the lakes. I call it their territory because the entire environment is chiseled out of it. The entire eco system in that area works on the lake as the focal point be it the white spotted roads or the perpetual chirp or the dancing foliage or the determined breeze…
We slowed down near the “Howrah bridge”(the iimc version) . a nice lil replica adapted well into natural settings. Bridges and the vitality underneath always make me itch for a smoke. For a person who finds shocking correlations between a dream girl and a Wills Navy Cut, that was the right moment. I took out a disfigured ciggy from a travel battered pack and lit my way into IIMC.
Correlations never seem to leave me. I have a tendency to relate the bliss derived out of a smoke to the energy in a particular place.
Talking about correlations, I have another one working, of linking the class of a meal to the pleasure derived out of a smoke after that.
After all sense can be derived out of nonsense………
After the rendezvous with the Howrah Bridge, we moved onto the famous boat jetty, which caters to everything except boats. The floating jetty probed the entrepreneurial mind in me. What about a floating restaurant there? But since I was not in a mood to go into a managerial verbal diarrhea, I asked that spark to buzz off. I always have my share of the cassata of jargons. There are some people in my class who are so good in making them. But an overdose of it has killed the fascination for that taste. Now I have started loving anything that’s bland.. I mean devoid of the jargons… hell with KRAs , bottom lines n bottlenecks.. Life is more beautiful….. n promising…..
Then the biker boy took me to the different hostels.. Ramanujan hostel, Tagore hostel.. both of them remnants of the past and the supposed to be new OH,NH,Annexe…
The nightmares of the past week were continuing to harrow me, n my mind n body ached 4 the comforts of THE WALL. That urge led me to the halting point of the journey. Hari’s room … I still wonder how he fits into that room…..too small for comfort though… but my previous encounters with penny-pinching existence put me in good stead here. I was ready 2 go into a trance .. I mean u know what….. with soothing melodies of the 1980’s in the background and a tripping mind due to an exposure to the GREEN, I slowly transcended the mountain plains of mundane existence to fall into a valley…an emerald valley studded with cannabis sativa………………………(to be continued)