May 1995
I am back from a Summer Vacation that never felt like one. I visited Vikrant's family once or twice after and then it was time to go back.
Coming back, I am on the same road on which he died, on a bus from Chennai to Pondicherry, and somewhere I know that I will pass the exact same spot where the accident happened. I didn't go to Chengelpet or to see the site of the accident and so I can only make an educated guess. That is the only real thought occupying my lonely journey back to College.
The scenery seems so normal, so utterly normal that denial bursts through again. But then slips back quietly inside, replaced by mild despair and a very strong sense of "what if" and "why".
The College is also the same. What did I expect after all? I am dropped off at the main gate, and bag in tow, I walk through Osler House and stand on the InterClass road gazing at Lister House for a few minutes. Lister in all it's glory, with the volleyball court in front, the mess besides it and Snappy, hidden from view, further down.
I see my room on the right and my gaze shifts steadily left and stops at 225. That was Vikrant's room. It's locked of course. One thing we all learnt over time was to identify what locks each of us put on our doors. It was just born out of constant observation of seeing doors locked, their occupants presumably in hospital saving lives. Vikrant had a small padlock, a "click lock", slightly greyish-black and of course, all that it meant before was that he had gone out somewhere.
I trudge up the first floor and I turn right towards 225. There is now a generic lock, belonging to the Hostel. I could write cliches about how I expected to see Vikrant pop out of the room, book in hand, but that didn't happen. Too much reality has sunk in. The removal of that lock, in some ways, was the final nail.
I put my bags and go in search of Rahul and Bong, who are back too. Shom is at work- as an Intern there is very little leave. He was supposed to have Vikrant as his co-intern.
I meet up with Vinay and Condom. The three of us had made the journey from Delhi to Chennai that previous winter together. The train journey starts in freezing cold from Delhi, shifts to a pleasant day across India and reaches Chennai, as steamy and hot as ever. On that trip, Vinay, whose father was posted in Bulgaria, had got 2 packets of Camels as a gift for Vikrant. A combination of cold and boredom ensured that they never reached him. We got an earful of Vikrant's finest.
Vikrant was a unique guy. As fun loving as any of us, he nevertheless had his sights set and focussed. He was that rarity amongst us, a regular reader. Every evening, regardless of when a test was, he could be seen reading his faithful Harrison's and over a few drinks later, telling us to do the same. He had this pinkish, crumpled shirt and a faded pair of jeans he used to wear often and was named "Clip-Clop" because of his quick, short steps that always seemed to be taking him somewhere specific. As opposed to the rest of us, aimlessly roaming around.
And he was an excellent guitarist too. Late nights, after a reading/boozing session, I would saunter across to chat while he would strum. Sometimes, I would just shut up and listen.
I look at a Neil Diamond cassette I had borrowed from him to listen on my partially melted deck. The album was titled "The Best Years of Our Lives".
The irony.
May-June 1995
Life goes on. Classes and clinics. The routine does help. Rahul and Shom have atleast started talking again.
We have completed General Pathology complete with Inflammation, the Complement system, Genetics, Neoplasia, Environmental Disease etc and have moved on to Hemat, a subject I fall in love with instantly. I even understand the slides and the peripheral blood films, the bone marrow charts and the many, many classifications.
Rahul and I created a pneumonic for the manifestations of SLE (Systemic lupus Erythematosus) which I cannot repeat here. One of my classmates was involved in it......
There are 2 months here between the end of our Vacations and the start of InterClass and Hostel Days and, of course, Spandan, a further month away.
There are class tests in this period, all Departments keen on maximizing academic time before the Festive Season. We are bombarded with tests in Path, Pharm (the 3 week version), Micro, Surgery (fail), Medicine (God knows what happened), OG and PSM. They all happen in sequence and all the studying helps take my mind of things. Which is all the good they do, more or less.
Vikrant was always a keen supporter of the Cultural events in the College fests, especially Western Music and over a few reminiscing sessions, some of his classmates and us start talking about how to best preserve his memory and legacy.
We want to create a trophy in his memory that will be awarded to the Best Cultural Team in Spandan. This is quite a big deal as the teams will have to perform across many events such as Indian Music, Western Music, Choreography, Skits, Ad-Zaps, Mimes, Acoustic (Unplugged) etc. Many teams come to Spandan in all seriousness and some, like the Christ College team are even semi-professionals.
We are certain the prize will be a valuable one and we know, from previous Spandans, that competition will be very tough.
We also want to institute a cash prize in the region of about Rs 50000 and we want to keep it rolling, not as a knee-jerk one-off. The trophy part is easy,raising cash will be a challenge.
Someone floats the idea of holding a screening of a movie "Schindler's List" where all the proceeds will go towards this trophy. The idea takes hold slowly and germinates. Contributions come in from us and a major one from his family. The movie is chosen for its newness and its success.
We want to do this soon so that we will have enough time to get the trophy and the cash before Spandan. And so, it's fixed up for July or so.
I am happy something is being done to perpetuate Vikrant's memory and remember him perhaps the way he would have like to be, standing with his guitar across him. That becomes the design of the trophy and will be awarded in Spandan, on the last day.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, one day, I walk into Shom's room, just like normal. I sit down and tears start to flow. No words are necessary. None are spoken.
Life can change in an instant, they say. It can also end in an instant. But while its still there, we just muddle along.
And that is what we are doing.
I am back from a Summer Vacation that never felt like one. I visited Vikrant's family once or twice after and then it was time to go back.
Coming back, I am on the same road on which he died, on a bus from Chennai to Pondicherry, and somewhere I know that I will pass the exact same spot where the accident happened. I didn't go to Chengelpet or to see the site of the accident and so I can only make an educated guess. That is the only real thought occupying my lonely journey back to College.
The scenery seems so normal, so utterly normal that denial bursts through again. But then slips back quietly inside, replaced by mild despair and a very strong sense of "what if" and "why".
The College is also the same. What did I expect after all? I am dropped off at the main gate, and bag in tow, I walk through Osler House and stand on the InterClass road gazing at Lister House for a few minutes. Lister in all it's glory, with the volleyball court in front, the mess besides it and Snappy, hidden from view, further down.
I see my room on the right and my gaze shifts steadily left and stops at 225. That was Vikrant's room. It's locked of course. One thing we all learnt over time was to identify what locks each of us put on our doors. It was just born out of constant observation of seeing doors locked, their occupants presumably in hospital saving lives. Vikrant had a small padlock, a "click lock", slightly greyish-black and of course, all that it meant before was that he had gone out somewhere.
I trudge up the first floor and I turn right towards 225. There is now a generic lock, belonging to the Hostel. I could write cliches about how I expected to see Vikrant pop out of the room, book in hand, but that didn't happen. Too much reality has sunk in. The removal of that lock, in some ways, was the final nail.
I put my bags and go in search of Rahul and Bong, who are back too. Shom is at work- as an Intern there is very little leave. He was supposed to have Vikrant as his co-intern.
I meet up with Vinay and Condom. The three of us had made the journey from Delhi to Chennai that previous winter together. The train journey starts in freezing cold from Delhi, shifts to a pleasant day across India and reaches Chennai, as steamy and hot as ever. On that trip, Vinay, whose father was posted in Bulgaria, had got 2 packets of Camels as a gift for Vikrant. A combination of cold and boredom ensured that they never reached him. We got an earful of Vikrant's finest.
Vikrant was a unique guy. As fun loving as any of us, he nevertheless had his sights set and focussed. He was that rarity amongst us, a regular reader. Every evening, regardless of when a test was, he could be seen reading his faithful Harrison's and over a few drinks later, telling us to do the same. He had this pinkish, crumpled shirt and a faded pair of jeans he used to wear often and was named "Clip-Clop" because of his quick, short steps that always seemed to be taking him somewhere specific. As opposed to the rest of us, aimlessly roaming around.
And he was an excellent guitarist too. Late nights, after a reading/boozing session, I would saunter across to chat while he would strum. Sometimes, I would just shut up and listen.
I look at a Neil Diamond cassette I had borrowed from him to listen on my partially melted deck. The album was titled "The Best Years of Our Lives".
The irony.
May-June 1995
Life goes on. Classes and clinics. The routine does help. Rahul and Shom have atleast started talking again.
We have completed General Pathology complete with Inflammation, the Complement system, Genetics, Neoplasia, Environmental Disease etc and have moved on to Hemat, a subject I fall in love with instantly. I even understand the slides and the peripheral blood films, the bone marrow charts and the many, many classifications.
Rahul and I created a pneumonic for the manifestations of SLE (Systemic lupus Erythematosus) which I cannot repeat here. One of my classmates was involved in it......
There are 2 months here between the end of our Vacations and the start of InterClass and Hostel Days and, of course, Spandan, a further month away.
There are class tests in this period, all Departments keen on maximizing academic time before the Festive Season. We are bombarded with tests in Path, Pharm (the 3 week version), Micro, Surgery (fail), Medicine (God knows what happened), OG and PSM. They all happen in sequence and all the studying helps take my mind of things. Which is all the good they do, more or less.
Vikrant was always a keen supporter of the Cultural events in the College fests, especially Western Music and over a few reminiscing sessions, some of his classmates and us start talking about how to best preserve his memory and legacy.
We want to create a trophy in his memory that will be awarded to the Best Cultural Team in Spandan. This is quite a big deal as the teams will have to perform across many events such as Indian Music, Western Music, Choreography, Skits, Ad-Zaps, Mimes, Acoustic (Unplugged) etc. Many teams come to Spandan in all seriousness and some, like the Christ College team are even semi-professionals.
We are certain the prize will be a valuable one and we know, from previous Spandans, that competition will be very tough.
We also want to institute a cash prize in the region of about Rs 50000 and we want to keep it rolling, not as a knee-jerk one-off. The trophy part is easy,raising cash will be a challenge.
Someone floats the idea of holding a screening of a movie "Schindler's List" where all the proceeds will go towards this trophy. The idea takes hold slowly and germinates. Contributions come in from us and a major one from his family. The movie is chosen for its newness and its success.
We want to do this soon so that we will have enough time to get the trophy and the cash before Spandan. And so, it's fixed up for July or so.
I am happy something is being done to perpetuate Vikrant's memory and remember him perhaps the way he would have like to be, standing with his guitar across him. That becomes the design of the trophy and will be awarded in Spandan, on the last day.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, one day, I walk into Shom's room, just like normal. I sit down and tears start to flow. No words are necessary. None are spoken.
Life can change in an instant, they say. It can also end in an instant. But while its still there, we just muddle along.
And that is what we are doing.
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