It is the season of nostalgia, it is the day of reflection.
The dawn today has turned a new page in all our calendars, and the emotional, weak, suckers-for-redemption that we all are, we’ll hope will in our lives too. We shall want to be forgiven by those we hurt, but not forgotten by them, for we love them. We shall want that the shackles that bind us explode and wither into nothingness, but not the memories, for once the shackles were worn with love. The ceaseless yearning of Man to have a new start, this inherent desire to be given that one chance to right all wrongs…and yet, we never really look into the future, and make it. We only want to correct the past. We aren’t expectant, leave alone excited, of the strange that lies before us: no, we are only hoping to relive that which is past us, always golden in its tranquility, after making the modifications it requires, and trimming out the ‘un’-pleasantaries.
But let the future come when it shall, for now, let us lie down in the shades of the hours that have passed. Let us all go back in time, through that window that shall never be shut, Memory, and look at what 2011 did to us, and what we did to ourselves.
Last January, I began my first job. After the debacle of not making into any college for post-graduation studies, when I was certain that I would make into all of them, through 2010, I needed to find myself something to do. And that something turned up to be editing, of the dying grammar editing variety, as a QC exec at a social media agency. Six months I spent there, editing the creative output of a great number of creative and, unfortunately, an exponentially greater number of non-creative people. Even on the basis of that limited experience, I can assure that the latter is one of the slowest, most-painful forms of death, suicide or murder, depending on whether you choose it or are given it, known to mankind. Come to think of it, if you choose it, you seriously deserve the consequence.
In six months there, I earned more than what I had bargained for. No, the salary wasn’t exuberant, but I ended up meeting one amazing, loving person. Disregarding the official title, she never really behaved like my boss, save when she was annoyed, but became a friend and a guide. A philosopher I reckon she’s always been. There are these few people I have who I am sure will always be around, no matter what hole I manage to get myself into. If she is reading this, as I am sure she will, know that I count you in them, love.
If the first half of the year was work, the next was anxiety. It was first brought upon by the uncertainty of finding a college – the admission rigmarole recurring – and, once a few were found, or who found me, brought upon by making a choice. I had two options: one in Pune, and the other in Bengaluru. I chose the latter, where I’ve since been pursuing my MBA. But the greatest bout of it, surely, came prior to actually joining the place.
Talking on the stage to a hundred people does not make you confident in facing one! I’ve never been a social person, and the very idea of meeting new people, interacting with them, impressing them positively, and simultaneously managing to not appear a douche – I was sceptical if I could do any of this, let alone all of it. The horror that had been my graduation, narrated in detail here, led me to seriously question whether I could have been any dumber in choosing ‘hip’ Bengaluru.
But I did make it, and have made it satisfactorily well. What’s more, in fact, is that I made some friends: Vishal (on the first day itself – not bad, eh?), Omkar, Manasa, Srilakshmi and Kashmira (though I’d love the two of you more, probably, without that ‘hainnn!’), N10 (sorry mate!), Eshna, Niket, and all the wonderful folks at the boys’ hostel (“Sorry Shaktimaan! Tumhaari…”). There’re others but this would become too prolonged a list. What a grand time we’ve had of it, eh, folks? Ranbir Kapoor didn’t have a ‘Sadda Haq’ moment as stunning and evocative as ours!
Anyway, drawing to a close, I must make mention of the wonderful events of this last week of December. Most of you reading this would’ve been wondering why I went underground as soon as college quit. Well, as the year drew to an end, so did the story of my DNS. It is a medical condition in which the bone that divides your nose in two gets knocked off its straight foundation. In my case, it had deviated severely to the left, almost entirely blocking it. At the same time, on the right, two balloon-like entities had formed, almost entirely blocking it too. In short, then, my nose was incapable of serving its primary purpose. So, to fix it, I underwent a surgery, six days of cellulose pads choking my nose, and the closest I’ll get to a Jesus-like stigmata. These are memories, and boy are they graphic:
On the bright side, though, I’ll be able to breathe from my nose – talk about doing new things in the new year! – and hopefully get rid of those sneezes, which, to quote a friend, are so loud, you don’t need alarm clocks!
A lot of people left, a lot of people came, some haven’t decided what they’ll be doing, but regardless, almost everyone did shape a bit of what the year was. There were professional highs, there were serious personal lows. But, somehow, by writing it all here, I hope I consign it to the annals of history, as they call them, and not make them the forces that will give birth to the lovechild of Hope and Destiny that Tomorrow We sit and yearn for that which has passed, especially when the calendar has almost stripped itself to nothingness. Today, however, I hope that we give up on what has been, and open ourselves to what we really are, so that we can become what we really must.
Today, I wish you, a happy new year!