The college days retained the flavor of adda in the rainy days, with pure, uninterrupted power-cuts for hours, and the deliberate forgoing of emergency lamps for the noble sake of ‘spiritual’ elevation. The necessary accessories of jhalmuri and multiflavored Lays-mixture spiced up the gothic tang, and our individual contributions extended the chapters of our collective spook-book to newer vistas of black-magic and supernatural tales across the cultural diversity of India. But the most loveable part of such monsoon days belonged to the beautiful afternoons before the dark and the rain—when truant breeze and deepening skyline dared us to go outof-joints, to indulge in a lavish riot of colors in the attire and accessories to match up equably with the promising grey and the tinkling sounds of the nature outside. On such evenings, we made impromptu plans to visit the ghats, hang out till aarti, laughing out loud at the improvised piety of the foreigners, and most importantly,
taking in deeply the sights and sounds of youthfulness and happiness. Right now, seasons have become a blur. T ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????qM?????$?????????????????????????????????t??q ?????????????I?????????????????????????????t??q1??e??????????????????Q???????????????????????????????????t???qA??????? ????M???????????????????????????????????????t?????????????????????Q???????????a?????????d?????????????????9??????$?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????a5??????d?????$???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????((??()?????????????????????A???????????????????????
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