The Estuary

I always had the desire to see a river meet the sea. How does it look like when a stationary object meets a restless harbinger of life? The river, an un-assuaged spirit that is runs to slake its thirst for a home, meeting the languid unassuming sea.  Now that I have seen it at a place called Sasihithlu (that is five kilometers from my college), I thought of typing some random stuff about the same.

 Most of the writers have imposed upon the river, an allegory of life, change and hope. However the apocryphal script of this entity has definitely got a lot of attention, perhaps more than it deserves.  Motion and energy of the rivers have driven civilizations, inspired poetry and literature. However, it does have to move along an unplanned path, often without certitude or a vision. In spite of its foibles and fears, the river does make an effort to negotiate flat lands as well as ridges. It takes courage to leap from a height and patience to drag along a slower path. The river does seem to have layers in its personality. Though it generously fosters life in its path, it doesn’t mind washing out the same when it is angry.  But how does it encounter its end? Is it hesitant to have known that it has ended? Or, does it know that it has actually met its end?

 

An old wandering man sitting all alone at Sasihithlu. I would've loved to know what was going on his mind

However, the sea has been on the other end of the story. The calm and stationary repository of salty waters is often compared with stagnation and mystery that surrounds our life and times. You can play along the edges of the beaches. But you’ll never know its depths unless you are equipped with all your suits and oxygen cylinders. But the greatest journeys of history were made on the sea. Much glory and wealth was achieved by those who danced on the waves. The power they gained was far greater than that amassed by those who tamed the rivers. It did take lot courage and technology to conquer the seas. History has not maintained a full record of the list of unknown, un-named pioneers who took the first strides in science towards the goal of finding lands beyond the horizon. Only the successful sailors have made to the front pages of history texts.

As I write about these random thoughts, I realised that a river makes the journey and makes you stay at a place, whereas the sea stays at a place and forces you to make the journey. This subtle revelation makes me feel good about myself as a self-proclaimed writer. Others might have made this point in their works. But, I have arrived at this point from the scratch. And I am glad I did. Such a thought could never have come to me on a beach or a river bank. It had to happen near an estuary.

A Poem

  Drops of Bliss

As the first drops of joy left sky

The first smiles were nigh

Warm sand swallowed a bite of bliss

The little drops were eager to kiss

The little kids ran out of the doors

In spite of their parents roars

The thunders welcomed grown kids

To steal some joyous sights

The sweat beads were kicked out

By raindrops that were stout

The puddles were disturbed

By the tires that sped

The wipers on windshields

Sweeped out the dust layers

The smile on the drivers

Made them forget the jams

There was just one scent in the air

That drove out the despair

It is not hard to savor

The lovely petrichor

Lift Stories

Travelling in a lift on a daily basis might be considered as a privilege though it comes with its own quirks. I wanted to write an article on this topic in the fifth semester itself. But that was still the beginning. There was not much that I could write about. However I think I have picked up enough instances to finally write this piece.

Approximately an average guy spends at least 30-40 minutes waiting/travelling on the lift in my hostel.  There are two lifts in the hostel with a capacity of carrying about 10-12 fully grown men. Since we guys are underfed and quale, up to fifteen guys travel in it the peak hours. I might not be quoting exact values, but am trying to estimate.

There are six floors in our hostel. The lift does not stop at third and second floors. I felt a bit uneasy about in the beginning, but later found out that it was a good idea. Some of the buttons don’t work. And there are few emergency numbers written in blue ink on the control panel. The transparent half on the other side enables you to the inside of the hostel. Very often you can see internet refugees sitting out to claim their share of online bounty.

I thought that travelling in the lift was going to simplify my life and save time. But the first lesson that I learnt in life was this. Nature has the knack of proving the exact opposite of your convictions. The lift is always at the farthest end possible 9 out 10 times on an average. It takes maximum time to reach your end whenever you need it the most.

It gets pretty interesting to watch people when the lift gets overloaded. The guy who got in the last often gets down. But sometimes we have to show some gaanchali towards some gaanchali guy. That guy is pushed out purely on the basis of popular vote. And then sometimes we love some of our buddies too much and we won’t let the guy get down. We hold him tight and take him to the top most floor just to piss him off. If you didn’t have good day just make sure that you press 4 and 5 after getting down at 6. The sadistic pleasure to know that the guy on ground floor waits for extra five minutes makes you feel better in a crooked way.

Sometimes the kindness of strangers touches you when they hold the lift for you just in case you are a few meters short. However those acts go un-thanked on a daily basis. To be honest, I don’t think people should do all that. I often pray that the guy running towards the lift misses it by a jiffy. I pray harder if I know the guy running to the lift.

Hostel lift is the de-facto news wagon. It is literally a travelling news wagon. You get to know a lot of things about the college if you belong to the say-no-to gossip gang of individuals. You get to know about which branch people have which test, which branch classes got cancelled, etc. Sometimes you get to know the weird style of electrical professors who use a particular double meaning gesture to explain “system excitation”. Then there are the intern opening news, who-got-which-intern news and what-happened-in-which-branch news. If you are the average kind of guy who has got nothing, you really feel bad for yourself. Trust me, it hurts.

Then there are moments when you are travelling in the lift with a “dick” i.e. a guy with whom you have had a bad experience. And many times you don’t know where to look or how to avoid that person. The best option in such situations is to pull out your phone and run through some unwanted stuff.

Last but not the least, I must mention the sweaty and smelly guys, the ones who rarely allow water to run on their skin must be given due credit for their bindaas attitude. But that is not cool. That is nasal terrorism. I would say “Use the stairs dude” if I had the balls to say that.  The raw smell of tobacco from certain kind of unique individuals makes you feel like closing your nose. But that would be a bit too offensive if you do it on their face.

Seriously, I don’t know how to end this piece. I am out of touch these days. Sorry if I have disappointed you. I will try better next time. Till then, see you folks.