The brief winter is over, and summer has arrived in unnecessary hurry. Spring is not for us; the flowers don't bloom slowly and burst into a riot of colour, filling the air with their mingled fragrances. There is no mild breeze, no gradual change in temperature. The sky is blue, streaked with long, squiggly lines of white cloud; sometimes the blue is replaced by a blazing white. The sun has shaken off its winter slumber, and is burning down in full glory. The floor is hot against the feet, vapours of heat rise from the earth at midday. Summer has arrived.
The 'slam books' are out. (Question: Why are they called so?) I was given one to sign this morning. The same set of unnatural questions, answered with ostentation, sometimes dripping with insincerity. Are they just trying to be nice by asking me to sign, for they are not really my friends? That the semester is coming to an end is evident, of course. What I cannot understand is how people I haven't known for three and a half years are suddenly opening up to me. Are we trying to get to know one another, for fear we might have missed something in the time gone by?
I shan't miss college. There is no reason to. Four years is a pretty long period for something that is not exactly a great deal of fun. Not that it has been a bad experience; I enjoyed the delicious hours we spent talking in the scant shade of the few trees that survived the onslaught of expansion, meeting with a few interesting people, and some of the learning. Notwithstanding the emotional bond that does crop up as a result of a long time spent in one place, and the inherent resistance to change and to getting out of one's comfort zone, I am looking forward to whatever comes next. Life will probably not be as cosy and secure as it has been all these years, but looking at it another way, I'm getting a step closer to doing the things I want to.
Things change suddenly, don't they? Life is all smooth and simple, when something happens out of the blue and disturbs this tranquillity, throwing everything into disarray. Questions are asked. Obviously, they have no answers.
Most things about life are inexplicable. But where would we be without mysteries?
I like watching the sea. I've seen the Bay of Bengal in quite a few colours and moods. I've seen foamy waves being churned out of turbulent yellowish-brown waters on a cloudy evening. I've seen the almost-black pools far from the shore. Sometimes the sea is a cross between blue and green, mostly it's a colour that doesn't have a name. The sea looks divine early in the morning, when the sun breaks out of the clouds and casts a thin funnel of light on a small portion, embellishing it with silver. That is when the fishermen set out, their boats bobbing gently on the waves, minuscule objects against the vastness of the sea. The sea isn't a single entity. It's a community.
I haven't written for a while, and I can see how rusty I have been today. But I had to do this, to make a beginning again and rejuvenate my brain (tired in more ways than one), and hopefully I shall make more sense next time.