I came into college with a checklist – its specifics do not matter as much as its purpose – I wanted to have the most compelling “story” for Admissions Committees for MBA programmes. I chose, arguably, the least popular MSc. major because of the “academic diversity” it granted me in front of the old men in academia judging me on a pseudo-quantitative metric based on the “variety” I would add to a classroom. 

In hindsight, I should have known that I could never make most of my decisions for five years on their terms.  

Then, it was time to report on campus. Three months into my first semester as a BITSian, cliques had already formed — some geographical, some interest-based, some department-based, and some more, club-based. Yet, somehow, I was fortunate enough to find my tribe, partly through these overlaps and partly because Lady Luck was on my side. I suppose I stood out a bit that year due to my adamant refusal to learn Hindi, let alone speak it. Certainly, being one of the “English commitments only” (read: DebSoc, EPC, ELAS) crowd must not have helped one bit. I must have seemed so incredibly pretentious at the time. 

In hindsight, I should have known that I could never survive college with a mind and heart closed off to new experiences.

By the time the second year rolled around, thanks to a then-partner from Kanpur, I was equipped with a greatly improved Hindi lexicon, ready to seize the day year. A (second) 5-point-something SG and a hard conversation on a train ride from Udaipur to Loharu with two of my closest girlfriends showed me the ramifications of my inability to let go of that silly little checklist I brought along to Pilani. 

In hindsight, I should have known back then, that I could never fully escape the consequences of my actions even if I tried.

Then came my third year, known for being the roughest for us dullas, courtesy of both majors rearing their (occasionally ugly) heads. Someone with their priorities in order would have figured that this year would be a great time to buckle up and study. I certainly was not that someone. I instead nursed a growing set of PoRs — Positions of Responsibility — for the uninitiated reader. Why do I say “nursed” and not “committed to”? That is but a reflection of the roles they played in my life, and consequently, my headspace. 

In hindsight, I should have known that bandwidth is limited and while choosing what to spend it on is subjective, there objectively exists such a thing as stretching oneself too thin. 

Fourth year finally rolled around. The first semester saw most of my friends on their PS-2. One would think it was a lonely couple of months. Surprisingly enough, it was these three lessons that carried me through it all. I discovered a genuine appreciation for my majors, an astounding sense of contentment with following a “normal-person schedule”, and not the “wake up at 2 pm, sleep at 7 am” schedule I was so incredibly used to, and above all, incredibly supportive humans I am beyond grateful to have around — students and professors alike. 

Today, I woke up and decided to get cracking on my Psenti Speak. And what did I see? An adorable picture of my best friends and I on our batch snaps — truly happy and some, slightly drunk. A notification on my phone from Instagram, my lab partner sending me a funny reel, with the usual “us” caption. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels, belonging to an empathetic, strong, and funny woman I am deeply fortunate to be able to call my best friend, kept with the promise of me repotting a plant in it sometime this semester (after I accidentally over-watered and killed it). Loved ones asking me for my midsem schedule to work out their Pizzeria plans to celebrate their Ivy League admits. 

So, when recollecting three whole years’ worth of memories was the task I put my av-minus-EQ brain to, I realised that my most cherished memories here all have one thing in common — they all are gentle reminders of the love my loved ones hold for me. Nearly every memory on that list today has nothing to do with the planned, on-the-checklist (either an AdComm-friendly one or a BITSian FOMO-inspired one) events and everything to do with the reminders of the love I still cannot fully process receiving. 

Perhaps, I should have known that this is exactly how it was meant to be all along.

To the place that changed me, to the place that taught me the most crucial, unforgettable lessons just in the nick of time, I fear my time to leave comes closer with every passing day. While your mark shall remain on me every day of my life moving forward, I can, at best, hope that I will be remembered fondly by those I view the same.

Signing off,
Akshatha Sabaji
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