The rain-blinding, furious, unrelenting-driving against the window-panes of the bus, seeping inside between the closed frames, pattering like the feet of so many little elves on the roof. I cannot see beyond a few feet and have no idea how far we are. I have told the conductor to let me know once we arrive and received an ambiguous nod of the head in return. The conductor calls out-‘Udupi’ and most of the other passengers leave their seats and move towards the exit. I know that it will not be long now. The brochure said five kilometres.
The now nearly-empty bus lurches to a start once again and I can make out that we are travelling through a series of narrow winding roads. There is no letup in the rain that is about to welcome me to my home for most of the next four years. But even that cannot prevent me from sighting the huge hoarding that welcomes you to Manipal with another one advertising the completion of the fiftieth year of Manipal in education and healthcare. The conductor bellows that we are at Manipal and this is the last stop. I pull my bag out from the overhead rack and exit into the rain. Collecting the rest of my luggage from the helper takes a little more time while that worthy searches for the key to the storage space. Then the bus pulls away leaving behind a trail of fumes that are fast dispelled in the downpour…and me…
I am already drenched to the skin and am thus in no hurry to seek the shelter of an auto. So I make a leisurely inspection of my surroundings. I am at Tiger Circle and I know from my mother’s description that it is the town centre. The buildings to my left-which a sign tells me are the KMC buildings-have recently received a fresh coat of paint. The others around the square look as if they could do with the same. But on the whole, the place is much less derelict than I expected.
It is six thirty on a morning in early September and the grey overcast skies look down on a nineteen-year old who has just joined the thousands of others who pursue the Great Indian Dream of a degree in the twin El Dorados of engineering and medicine. In my case, that pursuit, though by no means whole-hearted, has led me to this small mini-town after a fifty hour journey. Cast into a totally different milieu from the one that has formed the backdrop for my entire life, the weeks and the months to come shall bring me face to face with people and experiences hitherto totally unknown to me. That the people I come across shall be those with whom I have at least some aspects in common, I have not the least doubt. Youth everywhere are essentially the same-in their hopes, dreams and aspirations, in spite of the cosmetic differences that may seem overwhelming at first. But there shall be trying times ahead as I adjust to the world of Manipal and I can only hope that the excitement of discovery shall be greater than the loneliness of unfamiliarity.
It is time to move on and I hail one of the many autos that wait patiently nearby despite the weather and the earliness of the hour. Another ride-a brief one-through drenched streets, a glimpse of the buildings that dot the roadsides-most of them shops or eateries, the others college buildings or hostels and I am finally at Block 7, MIT Hostels. Soon I am once again standing alone again as I begin hauling my three considerably heavy bags up the front steps. Another auto pulls up in front of the neighbouring block and I wave a hand to the solitary figure emerging from it. We leave a formal introduction for later though, our minds are on other matters at the moment.
I finally manage to wake the caretaker after knocking incessantly on the door the sleepy guard pointed out to me for close to five minutes. The keys to my room are found and we climb six flights of stairs to my room on the third floor. It is at the very end of the corridor-a further distance to drag my bags. But I am finally inside Room No. 409-my abode for the next one year. It is not quite the ultimate luxury as far as accommodation goes, but the room is clean, well-furnished and a far cry from the horror stories of hostels that I have heard. The caretaker departs and I put off unpacking till later. A refreshing shower and a change of clothes later, I step on to the balcony next to my room. The rain has lessened by this time and the sun is struggling to break through the clouds that cover the distant hills that I can see from the balcony. Someone else arrives on the floor with a pair of suitcases. It is the occupant of the room next to me. He puts his suitcases inside the room and then joins me on the balcony. I stretch out my hand to make my first friend in college…
Here in these pages, I pen down the starting moments of my new existence. Many chronicles of this town and the life that I shall lead here will no doubt follow-some pleasant, some not-so, and most downright mundane. No matter that they are of no interest to anyone save me. Perhaps they shall afford a passing diversion years hence when I look back upon these fleeting moments of yesteryear.
School is over. Life, on the other hand, is about to begin…
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