I really had no idea what to expect from Pilani. 

I still remember arriving in Pilani, and adjusting my expectations from college when I saw those dusty roads, broken plastic chairs by the roadside, and pigs (hogs? boars?) browsing through heaps of rubbish. I remember adjusting them once more when I crossed those gates to find a lush, verdant campus with peacocks, parrots, and helpful seniors everywhere (little did I know, hehe). 

I remember frantic interactions with all the sniping, backstabbing and horse-trading one would expect from mature democracies. I also remember some brilliant conversations and experiences I’ve had with seniors and friends – from burying ill-begotten loot from seniors’ cards in ditches (sorry Pollu) to memorable trips to Kasol and Pahadi. My first year soon passed in a blur, and I couldn’t wait to see what the rest of college held for me.  

The next three years in many ways, both exceeded my wildest expectations, and confounded some others. I’ve always had a mortal fear of dancing, and somehow I’ve been forced to exhibit my skills not once but twice – the second time when sharing a stage with Shankar Mahadevan (thanks for the memes Debarpan). I’ve dressed up as an Arab warlord and a pregnant mom for skits (thanks for the gown Nidheesh), I’ve been lost in forests during treks, and had the pleasure of a mountainside dump to a glorious sunrise. Not to mention the experience of dealing with Marwari accountants without speaking a lick of Hindi for two whole years, at the end of which I could perfectly pronounce ‘payment-kab-hoga’ with a smile. There was the joy in conceiving and executing BEP with the support of my brilliant juniors. I could go on and on. 

It’s not all been smooth sailing, and I’ve had my fair share of disappointment and despair. 

There were some old friendships frayed, and some new ones unexpected and refreshing. The prescient words of a certain senior, ‘This will pass too’, has kept me going throughout. 

The past few months have, in a sense, been a meditation of my four years in college – a sort of epilogue. Every time I passed by C’not, I could still picture those eager faces of first-years, my juniors and Sharmaji, of course. During each walk, through NAB’s dimly-lit recesses, I could never not smirk. I have always fallen into the trap of either viewing the past through rose-tinted glasses or castigating myself and wishing I could’ve done things differently. With time, I’ve gradually learnt to make peace with the person I was, am, and will be. 

To paraphrase from Siddhartha, 

“Have you also learned that secret from the river; that there is no such thing as time? 

That the river is everywhere at the same time, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the ocean and in the mountains, everywhere and that the present only exists for it, not the shadow of the past nor the shadow of the future.”