I ran away from home on June 24th, two weeks after my mother passed away. I ran away from Dinesh Devarajan, the grieving son of Late Dr.V Devarajan and Late.Mrs Praveena Devarajan and ran towards DD, so called comedian and flirt who hit shamelessly on all women much to the amusement of those who occupied IMT. I left behind an empty house and occupied room number I-8 and as roommate of Ankur Poddar. I left behind the pitying glances of family and friends and lost myself in the warm smiles that greeted me when I got back. The doors of IMT closed behind me when I entered, sternly forbidding the real world from making its way into my mind. The dirty work of clearing up legal formalities was left to my uncle and sister who ran breathlessly back and forth until every document was signed, stamped and sealed. I cowered behind the walls of my college, refusing to acknowledge that the woman who’d brought me into the world had chosen to leave without my consent.

It was simple to pretend that nothing had happened. My mother had never existed in IMT and so I found it easy not to notice her absence as I smiled into the camera, decked in a business suit as I posed for the placement brochure. I did not miss her when I stayed up for weeks at a stretch preparing for the exams, the quizzes and the projects. I forgot about her as I danced with gay abandon with my friends on freshers night. During the times when I asked my heart if it had acknowledged what had happened, I received no response. I had no feelings, no pain, no lingering memories of motherly love. I shouted into the depths of my soul and waited for a reply that wouldn’t come.

IMT had done its job splendidly. It wordlessly sealed that raw gaping hole in my soul with neat stitches and pretended that the wound would heal. I ran my fingers over the stitches and thought things were all right now, that I was healing beneath the threads that held me together.

The months passed and I settled back into the routine: Classes, mid terms, parties, dinner at nice restaurants, staying up all night just talking to friends, bothersome case studies and end terms. The reward for joining a B school - the much coveted placement now dangled tantalizingly in front our noses after seeming so distant in the first year. There was a sense of purpose to the life I led.

And then when I least expected it, my soul replied. After staying up for an entire week to complete another set of projects, I sat back dirty, weary and tired and said to myself “Man I need a break, I want to go home!” and my soul said “What home?”.

I got scared.

I had a 3 bedroom house complete with furniture, TV and hot water but no one to make it worth returning to. IMT was the only place left where I knew who I was.

Now I feel the pain in every waking moment. I feel it when I see my friends talk their parents on the phone, I see it when they bring back sweets made at home and I taste it when I drink that cat piss that passes off as Nescafe coffee.

I have to feel my way along blindly , without the comfort of parents to tell me who I am and where my place is in this world. I don’t know where I’m going and how I’m going to survive. I ask myself “Why me? Why does all this have to happen only to me? Why must I recover from one blow only to be hit below the belt again? Why do some people get to live their lives so smoothly while others have to struggle just to be able to breathe?”. Perhaps the self pity will get me nowhere but for the moment its all I have.

IMT has been taken over by the first years. Like some sort of Blitzkrieg they have swarmed all over the campus, making themselves at home much to the dislike of us weary seniors. They’re everywhere, you cant move around without suddenly finding yourself in the midst of a annoyingly cheerful crowd of achievers. They spend an exasperating amount of time in the library striving hard to understand concepts we chose to remain ignorant of, they party harder than us, they drink more than us and sit around in the amphitheater and have a rollicking good time till dawn.


We took time getting used to IMT’s culture. We settled in gradually, the essence of IMT seeping slowly into us. We took time to get to know each other, to trust and to have fun. We tested the temperature of the water with our big toe before lowering ourselves gingerly into the pool. The juniors however have leapt off the diving board, screaming joyously, arms and legs splayed out wide and splashed loudly into the water, violently displacing those of us who were content dog paddling.

Maybe we’ve just become old. An entire year of relentless projects, exams and quizzes followed by a grueling summer internship has robbed us of our initiative. Perhaps the time has come for us to move on, to get our jobs and get out and leave it to IMT to wring the zest out of them.

To someone who loves popcorn...

So you sailed away
Into a grey sky morning
Now I'm here to stay
Love can be so boring

Nothing's quite the same now
I just say your name now


But it's not so bad
You're only the best I ever had
You don't want me back
You're just the best I ever had

So you stole my world
Now I'm just a phony
Remembering the girl
Leaves me down and lonely

Send it in a letter
Make yourself feel better


But it's not so bad
You're only the best I ever had
You don't need me back
You're just the best I ever had

And it may take some time to
Patch me up inside
But I can't take it so I
Run away and hide
And I may find in time that
You were always right
You're always right

So you sailed away
Into a grey sky morning
Now I'm here to stay
Love can be so boring

What was it you wanted
Could it be I'm haunted


But it's not so bad
You're only the best I ever had
I don't want you back
You're just the best I ever had
The best I ever had
The best I ever

Growing a french beard is a lot like dating a loser. Nobody's happy that you are doing it."Take it off/break it off", they tell you. "You'd listen to us if you knew what was good for you" they mutter. You smile and let them talk. For they dont see what you see...