The Breakfast Club.

(Id like to thank my friend for putting this up on her blog so early on, it means a lot to have my story told. I also want others out there to know that they are not alone.)

College.

The very term seems so all encompassing in itself so lets say it one more time, this time out loud ladies and gentlemen,

College.

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The horrors and bathed breath arrive this place can only be matched by the profound sense of excitement in it. Of the friendships made and forgotten of new love and old and most importantly, of friendship.I mean, nobody really knows what to expect.

I have not written for a while, but not that my keys groan under the weight of my feverish fingers, all I can say is that I owe it.

I really do.

To the club.

We sat in that class at the end of the day waiting after waiting to go back. Around me were a group of children I hardly knew, the bubbly and ever happy Zara and her friend the sombre but still somehow vibrant Aisha. There were a group of nondescript boys in the corner, most of whom were bored and leaving the room. The silent elegant of figure of Shanti loomed in at another end, shy and retiring. There was a pretty curly haired girl ahead looking equally disinterested. mismatched elements in an even more mismatched melody.

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I heaved a heavy sigh and was resigned to leave. But suddenly, the uncertain beginnings of a sentence forming at the back of my throat died and the boy behind me said resoundingly, “That was the most fucking tiring day in the world yaar.”I nodded in consent, and soon Zara, ever alive to a conversation chipped in saying, ” I know! They rally need to give us a break, I mean I have this cough and stuff…..” I nod

Need I remind you that most of us had never spoken before this point, and the burst of confidences was so surprising and so wonderful. Maybe the element of the melody were not so disparate after all.

Soon and oddly enough, chairs were pulled out and a circle was formed, we talked about our time here, about what we felt. We had done that in every meeting , but somehow it felt less superficial and less contrived. More like we meant it. It was not the whole class only a few, 8 to be exact, drawn by this uncanny but inexplicable force of attraction. The topic of conversation. was so varied, never once touching our actual subject of B(Tech). We spoke of our friend, our old schools, that experience of living in the hostel, of the idea of a Vibe, both good and bad, one of the boys, Hritesh said with a sense of uncanny honesty, “I an getting a good vibe just sitting here” I smiled my first genuine one in a while.Realizing how good it felt to be here.

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We playfully dispelled notions of ourselves, the girl Shanti spoke in a soft dove like voice which was so animated that it would hearten anyone. Yet another, an introvert smiled wide and even said a few words. Divya even stated how her seeming intelligence was 1/10th true intelligence and 9/10th a show.

Need I remind you that most of us had never spoken before this point, and the burst of confidences was so surprising and so wonderful. Maybe the element of the melody were not so disparate after all.

There were further discussions on college like seeing people playing the guitar like out of a movie, getting egged on by a friend we really did not want and the uncomfortableness of seeing boy wander around in only his underwear. Phones were passed around the room and numbers collected.

There were good stories, sad storied and happy ones. Stories on the Waga border and in classrooms, about friends and relationships. Debates on feminism and the nature of politics also raged on in a lively manner. The nature was feminism was explored and a variety of views from reservation and education of women was expounded.

There was not one single bad story. For one who enjoys talking, listening was a real treat.
Time slipped with all the unassuming manner of water in cupped hands. Time seemed too short.

I had barely know these people, yet I knew, they were just as scared as I was, just as human. That made me feel safe somehow. In a space where people would listen not because they ere forced to but genuinely wanted to.

Maybe Orwell was not too off the mark when he said,

“Perhaps one did not want to love so much as be understood.”

The group was given a most fitting name,

The breakfast club.

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Named in honor of the blockbuster hit movie of 1985. As a student of engineering here.

Truth to be told, I really did not know what to expect here at college, would it be frightening? Would I have a good time and more importantly, will I be understood. A dank, dank fear that rests in the hearts of so many. After spending many weeks wallowing in a pool of isolation, this release was much needed. Underneath the picture of seeming buoyancy, I was sinking, and boy was I sinking fast. There was I feeling,after roaming the rooms and corridors of loneliness, caused not by the absence of people but by the presence.

But this was different. Whether we may meet again or not, I do not know, it is beyond my control. But thank-you for your time. Tomorrow, I will not see merely a host of faces,

But friends.

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Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club

 

 

(Id like to thank my friend for putting this up on her blog so early on, it means a lot to have my story told. I also want others out there to know that they are not alone.)

 

love,

Anonymous.