Happier times

I told myself that this blog post had to speak of happy times. This is something I learnt at work. Not everything (almost nothing actually) will be the way you want it to be. Especially the people. The people are always going to do things that you don’t want them to do. But you must learn to keep quiet and accept it because not everyone thinks like you. Unless something is absolutely necessary, don’t go worrying your head about how you are going to change it or complain about how things are not the way they should be. Just take a deep breath…look away…and tell yourself that there is nothing there. So, I shall speak of happier times! (God knows why I came up with that expression!)

 Happier times in the school auditorium…bunking classes with the excuse of rehearsals for performances that didn’t need rehearsals because the acts ran through our veins. The knack to entertain was our gift at birth. Happier times during walks back from tuition to save Rs 5 on the bus fare and ending up with a chicken roll on the 3rd day of money saved. Those brisk walks when two friends spoke of Irodov and Backstreet Boys, of f(x) and f’(x), of growing up and changing the world. Happier days playing “Trust Games” at St. Thomas Presbytery and gorging on Chelo Kababs at Peter Cat. Happier times in City Centre and random parks in Salt Lake and going past the “Rainbow House”. People fade but some memories don’t. That winters’ day she wore a red high neck cardigan and cream coloured trousers. And there were white Polka dots on purple!

Happier times in CH 2-2 where the benches were nailed to the floor. Of exams and exchanged papers. Of rooftops and beer bottles. Ghosts in the Food Tech Department and plastic guns. Happier times on the field where we ran barefeet, in jeans and all…till our backs ached and sweated so much that nobody wanted to sit beside us in public transport.

 Happier times of unknowingly falling in love. Happy times outside the Open Air Theatre with cheap mocktails. Of waiting at 8B bus stand. Of letting numerous buses pass with excuse of them being overcrowded, just to see which bus she got on to and quickly rushing home to check the route of that bus on Google. Happier times of walking to Jadavpur Police Station. Happier times of when we rushed for the seat just above behind the rear tower in the Prince Anwar Shah Nimtala minibus. Of times when I let my stop pass so that she wouldn’t have to travel alone the rest of the way to her own stop. Happier times of getting lost in search of the Maidan. Happier times running with a bottle of Slice after the bus. Happier times on JUPC outings and dark room sessions. Happier times at the French Loaf. Happier times in the “ Garage Ghor”.

That’s a lot of happy times for one night. Its 1: 38 AM now. The 30 long playlist has played 2 times over now while I was writing all this down. If I had written down each and every happy time that came to mind, then I could have published a book. Some memories are best kept as secrets…to take with us to our deathbeds. And am I happy now? Well I never said that I wasn’t in the first place. Till the next time, follow knowledge like a sinking star…