Tirade to third Degree ;)

Stalking - Third Degree spying

Every art at the very beginning of learning process, is boring. The strokes on the canvas, the rhymes going nowhere, the colours, the timing are just not perfect enough to create the impression and the impact. But then after continuous effort, you some day sometime cross the threshold and then after the improvisation and perfection of the art is all in all enjoyable. Like every other art same is true for stalking. This time around Alpha and Beta have left their amateur skin for the shining armour of professionalism. Alpha and Beta went onto reading the words of their college fellow, starting from the hopeless romanticism of Mr. Egotrip to the pandora boxes of the pirates. All of these was kept well hidden behind the camouflage. There were many a one incidents of multiple infatuation to single, and not ready to mingle individuals. These stories kept popping and thundering like the mushrooms, frogs and rain. At the same time, in the same world, but on another plateau, Alpha and Beta were all on for the reportire, watching girls who went on to have three or more relations during the four year tenure to the girls who were ruthlessly unavailable.

The college still flaps it's astounding wings of freedom, spirit and equality between the three vertical cuboids of confused identity. At the center, it's very much still, cubism of sixties, covers the rancid yet unimaginable depths inside the walls of library. At one side of it, standing in the state of inertia, amidst the dilemma of configuring it's future, is the faculty block. Behind these two monsters stands the gallantly swinging, enchanted by the young blood - The Studios. The Studios - where the teens, the queens, the thunder birds, the passions and the survivors of the DTC buses, to the cool and hep Metro group strive hard to get the last sip of the nimbus, which somehow has managed to elevate itself from the ground floor to the second floor, allowing those dreamers to weave another dream, without the most wanted commodity called - sleep.

While the structure stood there, the time has moved on, filling the gaps individual by individual, a transition which every senior can fathom upon. Among the quizzical mesh of academics, extra curricular, sipping, drinking and eating at Al-Bake, Times of India, Connaught Place, Andhra Bhavan, kareem's, Changezi, Bercos and CCD, standing tall, is our smallest but the most iconic structure - The Planning Tank. An attempt to remember the floating moments above it, literally inspires my imagination to think of it as a sea of water, where our little canoes and gondolas surf and roam in the little Venice of our ruffling emotions and bonhomie. And as I write one of the most reminiscent paragraphs about my college life, it is very easy to understand that we were passing out.

Left in the lurch to touch the foaming waves, the way we want to, to dip as religiously we feel to in the ocean of professionalism. As we kept welding our lockers for the money going to arrive, we forgot the emotions we left in our college lockers. Under the saddened demise of everyday sun, one after another, the touch of one to one stalking was slowly sipping out of our lives. The passion with which, every affair, every break up was discussed was fading out. Other than some lady digging the well for a year and half and some smokers going for the smoke ring together, nothing great happened. Alpha, Beta and Gamma were all in a losing spree. The exile from the romanticism, engulfed both Alpha and Beta into the old virtual world of read and write, while they retrieved and discussed the old and new ties, they kept analysis the ongoing ones. Beta's best friend went into an oblivion of the past four years and parked his feelings along his old companion and the new city. The lost moments were picked from here and there in tit-bits while Beta went to have Miss Purva as her new mate of the jiggles and jingles. Beta's friend's companion seemed to have more grey matter than both Alpha and Beta expected. Unconvincingly, the friend to a teenage writer Beta's friend's companion went on to scale new heights of intellectual aura. And hence, Alpha who once met the newbie teenage writer unknowingly, became an avid reader of her blogs, it seems after the subjective confusion with the hyper sensitive entourage of Beta's friend, she would be the new kid on the block. Since, she is the catalyst behind all of this not so stalking but called as a stalking post, I think it comes under our obligation to give her a thanks in this thanksgiving month.

Epilogue

As I walk past the Chowrangee, the Victoria Memorial, standing below the New Hooglhy Bridge next to the Sir James Princep Memorial, I think of a place thousand miles away, of persons who talk to me everyday and ask the date I would be back to the city. The city I refer as "to where I belong". I think of the persons who don't talk to me but know me, know that I am related to them, don't know that I am writing about them, don't know that we have seen and read a lot about them and we actually know them. I also keep thinking about that what is making both of us to write all of this, what directions the forces are driving us to? Why we are in an aggressive and over offensive dual of words and our emotions? Isn't all of this stalking is an attempt to stalk our very own thinking, opening all the impressions we have, of the world surrounding us and letting them to be challenged and convicted in their very own manner by everyone out there, linked to us, linked to these words. At the same time I wish that the subject should know about me, the writer should know about me, the characters should know about me, Miss Purva should know about me, Beta's friend and his companion should know about me in better manner, Beta should be know more to all the earlier discussed characters. So that, in future the story is more serene. We thank all of them for putting themselves in the roller coaster emotional rides, while we were around them, for us to create the imaginative weave of words. We wish that we remain "Stalkers" just as words from our very own pens and not in their conversations.

- Special Thanks to Manash for telling the right spellings of Bercos and Al' Bake !