As it was a Sunday, Nandu thought of writing letters to his parents and friends. “Everything fine over here… Please do take
care of yourselves…” he finished his
letter. He could feel the sentiments of his parents when they read this letter. Their only son…far away from them… all alone…
Life is always been like that. You have happy
moments, sad moments, terrible moments…You try to cope with it. Everyone believes that time can only cure the heart burns. Is it because that when we get old our memory gets diluted? Let it be… Then we are saved for ever!
Sudeeptho came back with a smile. He had purchased a dozen of inland letter cards and some postcards. It could not be just words with some meaning that are communicated through these papers…It is the aspirations, nostalgia and lifelines…which; in later stages of once life commands no meaning to any of them! It takes hell lot of time to read between the lines.
Sudeeptho switched on his pocket radio and tuned to BBC news. “George Orwell’s ‘1984’ wins the Nobel prize in literature.”
The Political Science batch of the year has only 13 students to do their post-graduation. Ten boys and three girls. All the three girls are from West Bengal! It was a surprise for Nandu. Why is it so?
“Our society is knowledge hungry.” Sudeeptho explained. Nandu was not convinced. Rather he got confused.
There is a Banyan tree at the western corner of the campus. Students get together here to discuss anything and everything under the Sun.
Nandu was experiencing the diversity of Indian culture for the first time. Bhitta Singh with his ‘laal” turban. Niomi in her ‘Gujarathi saari’, Pummy Kaul in her ‘churidhar’ and Amol Gupta in his ‘bell-bottom’ pants and ‘hippy’ hairstyle!
Nandu was mesmorised by the introductory lecture given by Dr. Sharma. A thought provoking lecture filled with lot of inspiration…in a unique Indian English style. He was neither too negative nor too positive! Nandu felt the pride of being an Indian.
After the college hours Nandu visited Madhusudhanan at his Rafi Marg office. The teleprinter kept in a corner was churning out news after news. An office boy tore the sheets and put it in a basket. The New Delhi bureau of the party newspaper is in action for tomorrow’s edition. Madhusudhanan was very busy. He spoke on telephone for hours and hours. Note down details from someone or other. By 10.30 p.m. he got settled with his days work.
“Sorry Nandu…this is called journalism!”
They walked down to the Dhaba nearby. Ordered for Dal Rooti. “So, how is life in the campus?”