PGP2, Semester 6 and the Time of my life.

'I'm leaving on a jetplane. Don't know when I'll be back again.

Oh babe, I hate to go...."

As I sit in my office, my day's work done. The papers checked, assignments reviewed, final grades submitted. I sit back contentedly and reminisce the beautiful days gone by.

The sun is streaming through my office window, the time is 5:30pm, and there is a lovely evening breeze outside. A flowering tree smiles into my view, spreading its branches to hug me and say hello.

30 sessions with the brightest of the bright. Those friendly faces smile back at me, every time I think about them. IIM has given me so much more than just the learning experience - some wonderful friendships, the warmth of being respected and loved. What more can one ask for.

It is a pleasure to teach a bright energetic bunch of youngsters, the sharpest of minds, most eager and full of wit. There is this amazing connect with my students. I share my experiences with them and enjoy the vibrant discussion that follows. I feel proud when my students do well and achieve. A sense of belonging, a desire to help them in their endeavors and an ethereal sort of satisfaction when I see them appreciating a new point of view.

I have started to understand the power and value of the relationship between the teacher and the taught. Education is a gift, and we are fortunate to have had access to the best temples of learning. I now have a chance to give back to my country some of what I have learnt as well. This experience will my most cherished for a long time to come.

"And so I taught them, and I tried to make them happy. I was their playmate, their companion. I shared their life, and I felt that I was the biggest child of the party" - Rabindranath Tagore, on Shantiniketan.

Ticket to Bangalore

When one feels low, one looks for that solace and comfort that can calm the soul. The sound of the waterfall, the shower of rain, the dewdrops on leaves, little things.

Just the thought of the lush green IIMB campus tells me that there is beauty in life. The campus is an oasis, nestled away from the hustle bustle of the city. The quiet atmosphere is soothing as I close my eyes and feel at one with the natural surroundings around me. Bangalore is full of flowering trees - Bouganvillae - all colours - purple, pink, white, orange, red. Tikoma - a blanket of golden yellow flowers, the red Bottlebrush, and a whole lot of varieties that I do not even know the names of. It is as if the whole painters pallette is sprayed atop the trees everywhere - pink, orange, yellow, purple, blue, red, white... you name it.
The food here is light and healthy, the coffee and nariyal paani a must have. As my time here comes to an end, I shall miss this place. Thank you Bangalore, for everything.

The Journey Home

Delhi to Chandigarh on the Shatabdi is always a treat. Since I left for college, and later work, this has been my beat, the last leg of my journey home. Home – where I keep returning, where my heart belongs. No matter how much I travel the world, I will always be that simple kudi from Chandigarh, with my hint of Punjabi accent, colourful Phulkari Dupattas and Churidaars, and my love for Chai and Lassi.

As I pass by fresh green fields, dotted with white, yellow and orange marigolds, a splash of yellow mustard now and then, I drift into my thoughts. Home brings images of the lights at the Gurudwara, the soothing Kirtan, the Chaatwaala anchored right outside where I have been treated to the best Golguppas and Papdi Chaat since I was a kid in school. The bustling market, enthusiastic youngsters circling the Gedi route, disciplined runners off to the Sukhna, Mom and me walking the Leisure Valley, Papa with his foursome of Golfers and my sister and I with a giggling group of university students going to Stara sector for Hot Millions and Tokri Chaat. Evening songs from the temple, the orange Prasad at the Hanuman mandir on Tuesdays, lovely scent of jasmine floating by from the flower wala’s perch, and the tinkling of bells. I also hear the sound of prayers from the nearby Mosque. Yes, that is Chandigarh – every place close by, small and sweet, nestled beneath the Shivaliks, the City Beautiful.

The train chugs along. I have often travelled this route by bus – the GT Road is smooth. Those were fun times, travelling on a rickety Haryana Roadways bus, with my IIT seniors, when we were too broke to afford the train ride. Gossiping, joking the whole way, (Yes! The typical IIT PJs), snacking at some Dhaba on the way, braving the occasional bus break down too, finally reaching Chandigarh at some wee hour in the night, much to the concern of our parents.

But the Shatabdi has never failed me, never disappointed. As I sit contently, gazing out the window, the expanse of greenery takes me to another world. I respect the labor of the farmer who tills these fields, admire the abundance of the earth that feeds us. Cow dung cake thatches nestle comfortably lending a rustic look to the scene. Two little girls in red and white salwaar kameez are running along happily though the fields, effortlessly bouncing over uneven patches. An occasional brick kiln adds a splash of burnt orange. Some of the older stations roll by, still showcasing the storybook look – the old station master and the solitary bench.

Sunset over the horizon, the sky turns  pink and amber, leaving behind the afterglow. The afterglow is the inspiration for the inception of my blog. It is the word for the way the sky looks just after the sunset. Looks as if a fairy sparkled gold dust all over the clouds and the whole earth below basks in the soft light. Night falls and the lights come out. Like glowworms peeping out of the bushes just after a hearty shower of rain.

Another hour or so to go, and I will be home. An excited Tuffy jumping over me, a big hug from Mom and Dad, and everything around me smiling to me as if to say – “Welcome home”.