I remember, Part I: Limping back in more ways than one

I have been feeling rather nostalgic of late. As such and not having much inspiration around, the mind turns to early days of comfort - well, not as much comfort but surely days stamped with fullness and hence, happiness.

My first semester in Buffalo was spent in Schoelkopf Hall - a name I could hardly pronounce. Having arrived early, I was moreorless the lone occupant in this 3-storied brick building. I was allotted to a double occupancy room with 2 beds, two closets and two desks. Communal bathrooms were down the hall. I remember the name of our Resident Advisor (RA) Tara who (Nursing student) was rather helpful in bandaging a raw piece of exposed layer-beneath-my-brown-skin that I had successfully managed to rip with a razor (unintentionally). Her one comment stands out in my mind - "You are the most washing girl in this whole building!" - meaning that I did loads of laundry on Friday nights. Every Friday night - sometimes even on a weeknight. In a dark basement laundry room that scared me the first few times I visited. There was little more to do other than looking out at a silent snow-covered campus-scape.

I also think of Daran - or Maheedaran Mahalingam - from Sri Lanka. This guy looked eerily like Denzel Washington - tall, dark and gangly. He was a resident in the co-ed dorm and taught me how to use a public telephone to dial home (India). He was a familiar face in dorm parties. Daran will always remind me of Walgreens and Tops - or grocery stores in general. I fail to remember why. I can only guess that we used to meet inadvertently at Tops to stock up on bread, bananas and I cant Believe It's not Butter. I vaguely remember buying a phone set for 11$ from Walgreens - these were all first purchases - for a very unsentimental practical person, it is strange that I still have that set.

The tall tower right beside Schoelkopf was Kimball - housing Occupational Therapy graduate students - the only reason I know this is because Harpreet had her office in said building. I met Harpreet on the day of the TSE(Test of Spoken English) and soon after, met Sourav at the South Campus bus stop. One Niagara trip later, we were friends. Really good friends. I remember picking up frozen German chocolate cakes from Pepperidge Farms (Tops again) on my way to Harpreet's; storage trunks full of empty beer bottles at Sourav's; chatting on instant messenger in Sourav's architecture lab (while he pored over papier mache building models) with friends in India or jotting down long, oh-so-long emails to my father detailing my financial health. I also remember this pair of incredibly cute flirtatious French guys, Eric and Gail (Gale?) on the bus I would take daily to the North campus for classes.

I remember the first snowfall in Buffalo - it came in the form of a snowstorm over Thanksgiving break. The morning after the big snowfall, the campus was pretty near empty and I stepped out into a knee-deep white cushion. I waded through to another dorm - to be greeted with delicious news to a graduate student's ears - the cafeteria was being opened to all students on campus for free in order to dispense of the victuals. A couple of short calls to Sourav and Harpreet and we were all over it.

I remember playing racquetball for the first and the last time in the recreation center. Being urged to lash out at the ball (thinking it were my snitch of a labmate or supercilious advisor), I heard a snap as my upper body rotated about my knee joint. No amount of Advil or Aleve could alleviate the pain or the sudden giving-away of the knee. An ACL reconstruction surgery was to follow - days after, I moved out of Schoelkopf to an off-campus townhome. But, that's another story. For another day.

Friend, who art thou?

The most sensible thing a woman once said to me was that friends are the family one chooses for oneself. She is also currently hoarding food, water and guns in anticipation of an imminent economic collapse. But, that is another story - I'll return to the discussion on friends.

I invite you to come meet my friend templates. Remember though - these are base templates. Hybrids are expected.

The lucky one, the blessed one - They go through life effortlessly. Born into reasonable affluence and endowed with excellent looks, they sail through school, college and a career as if they were a midsummer tea party. They marry well and live happily ever after. Their best friends are often non-achievers.

The dark one, the sarcy one - They brood in a corner in parties. Most people know when to leave them alone - which is most of the time. They spout philosophy and nurse drinks like babies. You name any one thing that can go wrong in people's lives and they are a living example, except that you cannot coax them to talk about it. Their best friends are often the most cheerful spirits you will find.

The silly one, the one that just won't stop talking - If life were an Agatha Christie novel, these friends would be found dead in their "parlours". Miss Marple often relied on such people as sources of information. Their happiness is often found in others' misery. The sound that crosses their lips more often than any is "Tsk tsk". They have many friends (who prefer to be referred to as acquaintances) but no best friends.

The gay one, the happy one - They live life on their own terms. Their company is a pleasure, their smiles bring cheer to dull corners. They will attack most sports with abandon - bungee-jumping, swimming, hang-gliding, tennis - in the same manner that they approach life. Sometimes goofy, they jump right into enthusiasm. That's right - INTO enthusiasm. They have many friends but feel especially close to the dark ones.

The shifty one - And, if life were Junglebook instead, they would be Kaa. They socialise outside their group and trust nobody. Their efficient selves hold a hypnotic attraction for the silly ones.

Life makes strange bedfellows.

Passion, anyone?

Nowadays, all I do is switch between tabs on the web browser. As if switching within seconds would present a fresher, more interesting view of the same webpage I was looking at earlier.

Then, he talked about passion - a lack of passion. In whatever I do. That set me on a slow walk down tortuous memory lanes where I meet you, YOU and YOU. I meet the pen and paper, the terrace, the tree-tops - I meet a smiling face saying 'Hop on, child'; blogs and breeze and water. I also smell fear, a passion for fear. I am at once brave and cowardly; nice and rude; arrogant and humble; but that's natural - arent we all? I am passionate about being ordinary - I am passionate about walking a normally undisturbed path. Think of it, I was once passionate about bidding for a coffee grinder on eBay.

How ironic it is that the reason you fell in love with me was passion. I miss myself.