Fret machine.

Day 10: Amity University, Route 493 (Amity Chowk Sector 44 to Nehru Place) – Check.

“Aal iiz well” – 3 Idiots

There cannot be qualms in relating to the quote with this column. Here’s the preview: engineering college, not really knowing why I got, swinging my line of study after acquiring a degree.
More than collecting my degree, it was about revisiting the place I spent four strenuous years, seeing and touching ups and downs, going to as far as suicidal notions and clawing back with anything but insatiableness, and practicing the method of study that fetches a 70% with a one night stand with books.
But as the saying goes, if at all there is, Amity would still give me enough reasons to fret than to praise its association to the IPL as a university partner – that, being my first dope. Alright, so what is a ‘university partner’, as a definition, again? Throughout the campus, I saw banners of Delhi Daredevils hanging from roof tops. It won’t surprise me if the authorities just may start hoisting the Delhi Daredevils flag in anticipated morning assemblies.
As glad I was to be back, walking through the corridor that has shared my anxiety and fears over my revaluations and supplementary examinations, there was a definite surge of inexplicability. I use the word inexplicability to refer to a mixture of feelings of anticipation, nostalgia, curiosity and a hint of vexation.
Some of the spots inside the E2 building I revisited, or to say, was made to revisit were Batra’s office, the corridor connection E3 to E1 and the examination department. I know it sounds a bit off the hook, for a corridor to bring back surges of nostalgia, but surprisingly it did. All the more I recognized the fear I held the last time I entered Batra’s office, in hopes for preponing my viva.
But then, nothing completes an Amity visit unless you’re made to sit for hours and walk around two diagonally positioned buildings multimillion number of times. Firstly, I do not understand why I have to pay Rs. 500 for my own degree. Secondly, why would the college authorities have my name categorized in a totally different course, after I’m done with the course; just certain things that although you might want to stand elusive towards, but it just doesn’t seem to surface.
Enough with the fretting, I suppose. The most wonderful part, apart from meeting a friend in the campus (if she’s reading this) was the journey back to Nehru Place. This time, I didn’t take the bus; probably as a tribute to my increased inabilities of bearing the heat, and the bus rides. Taking the same route for four years, again, reprised the echoes of the days I spent desperately looking for a seat in the bus. Yamuna bridge, Kaindi Kunj, Sarita Vihar, Apollo, Okhla and Nehru Place – all looked exactly the same, with the only exception of the widening of the road margins at Kalindi Kunj.