The Road to Revolution

This winter, I returned a bit early to college. I love returning to college early. The place is empty and not swarming as usual with humanity obsessed with their daily, frenetic lives. It was around evening, the part which un-original poets usually call dusk. I was taking that casual stroll through Rajpath, which was littered with dry, fallen leaves. Somewhere near the main entrance gate, I saw a rusted, old REC board. Among those pristine old buildings, which had so many legends etched on it, a bunch of glassed and steel rod structures had grown up. I closed my eyes.

I opened it up to the loud sounds of the open air Dee Jay night. The loud thumps and booms. The sexes trying to hit on each other. And, that familiar smell of booze. The loudness of laughter. Of course, there's the lot of them who are too confused to understand what's going on. The countdown to New Year. The unison of the voices. Three. Two. One. A lone rocket launches itself into infinity and bursts into a supernova.

The sudden light startles me. It’s from my laptop, warning me that the battery charge is nearly over. I wake up from my drunken stupor and plug the charger. The weird music plays on. It’s difficult to turn off something when your emotions and lightness of mood depend on it. I snuggle back into the bed. Sleep does not come that easily. Those damn mosquitoes. And my thoughts drift off. Revolution. And my eyelids begin to droop. Raised fists.

“Revolution..” he screams. “That’s what this college needs.” The audience, a bunch of first years, look mesmerised as usual. Politics anywhere usually has two things in common. Unkempt promises and a dumb audience. And of course, there’s that young guy, who falls in love with Che and Neruda. He usually has a stubble on his chins. But, he’s pretty much missing around here. The screaming, I suspect, has more to do with lust than ideologies. Since, it converts itself into shaded bottles with the more experienced audience. A pile of red bricks lie untouched near the orator. Somebody should probably hurtle one of them onto his face. Get a taste of the real red, he should.

His face falls as he glances at his examination scores. But, only briefly. I was barely able to notice it. He hid it quickly with his usual burst of laughter. But, when class hours got over, I could see him looking at a distance from the top floor of the department building and contemplating his future. Interestingly, he avoided looking down.

Down below, one of those Yen-Are-Aye girls is seen giggling with that mallu dude near the coffee shop. Damn. She’s hot. Long, dandy legs. She seems to be cursing this college. The guy agrees. Even I do. We certainly do not know how to live a good life and have a good time. Too much of academics or too much of loyalty to college tends to mess up a lot of people. I walk down to the shop and approach the mallu dude. Yo, Dawwg. Gimme that mugga coffee. Effing thirsty. The Yen-Are-Aye chic merely raises an eyebrow at my dramatics. Damn.

The midnight coffee around here is steaming and romantic. I have always loved it. Neskapi for the benefit of my friend, who says “nee dude alla. Vwerum thara malayali.” After some deliberation into the matter, I decide that I agree with him. A midnight walk coupled with the coffee is very sexy. And so here I am, wandering around the college. Much of the fallen leaves have been swept off.

People are being swept off their feet. Not with joy, though. Yes! Mob fights. A left hooker onto the jaw. A right hooker onto the...er…okay…that would really hurt. “What are they fighting over? “ I venture to ask. “Eda, injustice against our countrymen. We have the right to equality against the treachery of bourgeoisie”. Seems fair enough. “He wants to become this thing. But, if we put in this guy, we thought it would be acceptable to them. Since, we don’t want the other guy. But, then apparently not. A fight started. I am trying to derive mental equations to solve this conundrum.” Chanakya mutters behind the enemy lines. That is also pretty fair. And, I walk away from the crowd.

Central Computer Centre ahead. Damn. Am I seeing what I am seeing? Revolution-Screamer buttoned up in formals and waiting in a queue. Wonder whether he can work up his magic yet again? The queue seems pretty much unending. The ones who have finished with their interviews are walking out. Some of them seem cheery. Others have a bitter, wistful look.

I turn back to look at those gigantic gates. It’s the last day of my college life. I thought I did fast forward. I cannot do it in real life, of course. But, I can around here in this piece of writing. And as expected, I see gigantic black gates.Emptiness. For a moment, I panic. And then, it sets in. Emotions and memories. It’s fall again. The place is empty. They have all gone. It’s strewn with leaves from the fall. Dejavu. A scrawny first year kid looking in awe at that majestic path ahead, culminating in the centre circle. I will myself back into my fictitious future. And, I walk away with a small suitcase trolley.