Some days ago I had left my house, the place that is home with all its familiarity. The laughter and the fights. The dog and the neighbour upstairs who hates her. The siblings and the mother. The granny and the cakes.
But this is not about the left over dregs of homesickness, for me and my friends have cried ourselves to silence over the last few months. We are no longer home sick but will jump to the proposal of going home, not thinking that for years we had plot our get aways.
So is the irony of our age.
And now its all gone. The roads graze dense undergrowth and run past historical monuments. The city seems to have enclosed us in mile high red brick walls and placed our semester texts in front of us. You no longer can leave. Well not at least right now. Day in and day out we trudge uneven paths to the desks and pitch our intellect against the walls of tradition and the rocks. They shatter and fall into pieces that become our alter egos. The guy who is too arrogant to make any friends and the girl who gets all the men. There is a bit of us in every other face of that hand picked 35 from across the country and the world. Yet we know that we all are skilled politicians and veteran liars. So what if we are this young?
There are the bad habits which is considered to be escape routes and relationships that are built and broken over night. And who knows one day we might get dragged into this and become cosmopolitan. But mind you, we swear that we won't. Never, Never, Never!
And then they tell you that everything you ever learnt is just a farce and now they will teach you about Life, Universe and Everything. And all you need is a towel and a hostel room.
These are the roads that lead to nowhere. Ans these are the roads on which i am leaving reluctant footprints.
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