8.15 AM. Now I have to get up. My legs suddenly feel as if they aren’t there and my head swims in frenzy, making me realize I should not have watched that one extra movie last night. With brush in my hand, I come out of my room, groggily looking up at over-enthu people locking their doors and running to the mess for breakfast. Wow…It has been ages since I last ate a meal before class. Anyway, at 8.45 sharp, I enter the classroom along with several of my classmates panting and puffing all the way. Case after case after case. And the delight at catching hold of the attendance sheet. Two hearts near my crush’s name! I almost faint. Meanwhile, the meaningful CPs are getting overcrowded by the desperate and random ones and the professor realizes it’s time he closed the session before he starts to question his existence.
The hot summer has given way to a sometimes-warm-sometimes-rainy season, fondly called monsoon in this land of the Amdavadis. After having lunch, while everyone is waiting outside in bated breath, my friends and I watch the shower thrashing down, little drops of monsoon washing off dusty leaves and red bricks. The heritage campus once again boasts of green foliage and black umbrellas. But one look at the notice board and all the beauty goes for a toss. My entire fate depends on this 1 hour that I have before we would march down to write our quizzes. Not again!
Quizzes define PGP-1. They usually lead to those prized moments when a random cool dude scores his claim to fame by fetching one more mark than the incessant ‘maggu’. And the rest is history. In the afternoon, after the ‘chai and anda maggi’ meet at Tapri, my friends and I haul our bags and make way for the library. Our talks jump haywire from one end to the other – random banter and fierce intellectual discussions. In midst of everything, we try reading cases for the next day and catch hold of the few concepts that had been discussed today. Some professors make much more sense after, rather than during class. I look at the tables occupied near me. People are poring over books and Google, quickening their pace of absorption. Discussions galore about the probability of this quiz or that one. After all, you never know what actually turns out to be. Everybody’s fate is in the hands of the PGP office. We had already received a mail about a 2000-word submission. And field-project assignments had to begin this week as well.
At around 11 when we have finished our dinner and the Uncle at the mess smiles and the guys start switching off lights, we know we have to leave. People have started to play Frisbee in the LKP so we join them, mostly to cheer for our own sections. Good spirits merged with shouts, jargons and profanities – the institute sport is played with vigor and all seriousness. What beats everything else is the sight when we lie back exhausted – the lush green LKP and streaks of neon light dancing on the bricked walls. And I feel like I can spend the entire night there itself just staring into the vast nothingness. But of course, cases still have to be read. I grudgingly go to the library again. Case after case after case. When I finally make way back to my dorm, pining for my bed, it is almost past three. Five hours of blissful sleep before the next day shows up!
Swasti is a member of LSD. She wrote this piece to remind herself how a perfect day at PGP1 is like.