The Last Question

It is July 2003 and the hot, dry North Indian summer is resplendent in all its glory. A drop of sweat makes its slow, meandering way down my forehead. The sharp and bright light of the mid-noon sun lends a surreal quality to the landscape, accompanied by an almost unnatural silence that one only witnesses during summer afternoons. It is my first day in college and after the mind-boggling dose of advanced mathematics and physics I am trying to sleep away my apprehensions. Lying in the bed and staring at the elderly fan fighting a losing battle does not seem to help me ignore the sweltering heat which is driving away my sleep. On the opposite side of the room, Himanshu is tossing and turning in his bed, also unable to fall asleep, seemingly searching for a magical posture which will render the heat ineffective. The eerie silence is broken only by the fan's groans as it reluctantly continues on its unending journey, occasionally interspersed with sounds of hammering and drilling, signaling that construction work is going on somewhere just outside the hostel. Himanshu turns towards me, notices that I am awake and vents his frustration by exclaiming "B*******d, kitni garmi hai!". I snap out of my reverie and ask him something that I was idly wondering about during the lecture.

"How do you suppose it would feel to leave this place after graduation?"

Himanshu looks at me for a second like he fears for my sanity, then just shrugs and says, "Abhi bahut time hai be", before turning away to resume his futile quest for sleep.

It is a cold morning in January 2005 and a bone-chilling wind is blowing across the deserted corridor. Aayush and me are crossing a particularly cold section of the corridor, surrounded by open space and where broad leaves of the huge mango trees keep away the feeble sunlight. Both of us shiver at the perceptible drop in temperature and start walking faster to reach the relative warmth of our rooms before we succumb to frostbite. Barely able to control his shivering, Aayush swears loudly at nobody in particular.

As we turn the corner and come within striking distance of the room we make a run for it...bursting unceremoniously into the room which feels gloriously warm after our cold forage outside for breakfast. Aayush immediately jumps into the bed and entombs himself in the multitude of quilts lying on the bed. KP is not there in the room, perhaps gone out for one of his torturous trekking prep camps, so I feel free to wrap the quilts lying on his bed around me. While Aayush tries to maneuver the mouse and keyboard without having to force his hands out of the safety of the quilt, I think about how relaxed life is. It reminds me of the thought I had a long time back and I ask him, "How do you suppose it would feel to leave this place after graduation?"

He pauses for a moment as if to think about it, then says, "Jab hoga tab pata chal jayega, abhi to 2 saal hain." I nod in agreement, though I am not quite sure that he is looking in my direction because his head is tucked deep inside the bowels of the quilt. He starts watching Snatch which I have already seen thrice so I decide to leave.

It is an overcast afternoon in August 2006, and Mehra and me are returning from a unbelievably boring lab session. After staring at the confusing gauges in the stifling heat of the Mechanical lab for over 2 hours, the refreshing breeze blowing across the large, open space next to the library feels amazingly good. Wanting to enjoy the view afforded by the dim sunlight resulting from the heavily overcast sky, we walk slower than usual. Of course with Mehra it is usually hard to differentiate between walking and running, so even "walking slowly" for him is essentially walking like somebody close to winning a marathon...someone who is tired but the sight of the finish line is driving him to go for one last burst of speed. We pass a couple of peacocks pecking hopefully at the ground. The peacocks in our campus must be special because somehow they rarely seemed interested in dancing in the rainy season. A dazzling flash followed by a rather loud report of thunder gets us walking a little faster; neither of us is keen to get soaked again after the morning dash to LHC while braving a heavy downpour. By the time we reach LHC it has started raining again. We decide to wait out the rain this time, after all we can sleep to our hearts content once we get back to our rooms (oh how I miss my college!). While standing under the dreaded L6 Mehra expends his frustration by chastising the lab assistant in his usual fashion, using words that most guys stop using after 4th standard.

"Wo saala TA! Meri readings 3-3 baar check kar raha tha, kutta kamina kahin ka!"

I laugh, both at his language and the gesticulations that accompany it. After a bout of silence I decide to ask him.

"How do you suppose it would feel to leave this place after graduation?"

"Le, bahut khushi hogi, aur kya", he replies and follows it up with a description of what his celebrations on that day would consist of.

I suppose it is better than a nonchalant reply, although I am pretty sure it will not be a happy day for me or for a majority of batch-mates. However, Mehra's indifference bordering on dislike for the campus life is well-known to all of us and so the answer does not surprise me. I mumble something to show that I am listening while I think how would the prospect of leaving behind a relaxed, enjoyable life with close friends surrounding you 24 hrs a day sounds. The day we leave will unquestionably be a sad day for most of us...but I was curious to know how would it feel, how would I look at things that I have grown used to seeing every day and probably will not see again for a very, very long time (if at all); how would I feel when I wave goodbye to people with whom I have spent four of the best years of my life!

It is a warm, sunny morning in June 2007 and the sky is a beautiful light blue. It is too early in the day for the full brunt of the summer heat to be unleashed, but it is already sweltering hot. The hostel is quiet, with a majority of parents having left with the students after the convo. After a couple of days of hectic activity...meeting and greeting parents of friends, packing, attending the rehearsal and actual convo...I feel drained as I carry my sole remaining piece of luggage to the hostel gate. Himanshu is walking beside me and is uncharacteristically quiet. We both look around, hoping to see someone to whom we did not say goodbye yet, but there is nobody to be seen. The hostel wears an abandoned look, with the long corridors almost silent, the only sound being that of the currents of warm air swooshing through them.

The wide, clean road (so unlike roads in Kanpur city) is almost devoid of any traffic. Sunlight, filtering through the leaves of the numerous, overhanging branches, makes a continuous, criss-crossing pattern on the road. Sitting in the rickshaw, I take in all the familiar sights as we move leisurely past them...the academic area, SAC, Shop-C, Park 67. I know now how it feels, the final parting, and I can guess from his mild expression that Himanshu is experiencing a similar feeling. The last question remains unasked, but I finally have the answer...