The Return of the Native

 For the past few months, I am trying to be more "systematic" and "practical", two things I was never accused of being.

In line with my new-found obsession with "keeping everything in order" (I am telling you, something is seriously wrong with me these days), I remembered my long- forgotten uncollected B.A. and M.A. certificates and decided to visit my college and university - that too on a single day - during a recent trip to Calcutta.

Now, the problem with visits back in your life's path, (especially when done after a long gap) is that you want things to be just as they were. You tend to forget that you are not anymore the person who used to dash two stairs up at a time to reach "B.B.'s class". That as your run has gradually changed into a trudge, so has the world.

Hence, the normal objections raised by the watchful eyes over entry of any "outsider" to their premises irritate you unreasonably, and you don't want to being curtly told to "use the back entry to the office" when you are looking at your favorite spot at the 2nd floor balcony of your college and almost expecting to see your mates, sitting on a high desk, dangling their feet in the air, and gossiping and arguing endlessly.

But after some initial sadness when I allowed to run my nostalgia about my youthful years ahead of my middle-aged self, I quite enjoyed my day out to the old haunts, especially my university, the College Street Campus of C.U.

The rush of memories can be unsettling and oddly comforting at the same time. Unsettling, because you realize how much you and the world have changed. Comforting, because you also realize how most of it have remained the same.

In my case, I sometimes feel I could never come out my student days. I still want to be the same happy-go-lucky person I was then, totally, cheerfully unconcerned about the future.

There was a small corridor between English and Journalism departments in C.U. which was my go-to spot when I wanted to brood over something. I went there this time too, and saw a kite hanging there, defeated in battle but still surviving with some visible bruises.

Sometimes I feel like that kite.