A little bit bomesick

Exams and assignments here again. 94 of us churning material largely repetitive in nature, all of us have the break in focus. A break from a place that gets to you when you hang around for too long. A culture that one cannot survive for too long in succession. In the normal world the 94 of us have different personalities and a different pace to things. World shrinks in this place. The stone pathways have been worn out by the trampling of similar feet over the past few months. The washer man must have memorized about 200 lines written on t-shirts. People have almost memorized each others wardrobes subconsciously. The keys on my keyboard have been punched too many times over. The monkeys are no longer scared of our familiar faces. The chairs in our class are broken. The badminton net has worn out. A skeleton is being built next to our hostel. The weather is cold and hostile in the nights. We still stay awake. Going on and on, our fingers twitch with uneasiness. People do not smile a lot now, nor do we sing as much as we used to. Tiredness has set in. The food tastes the same. A sojourn to the city is a constant deja vu. Flowery jeans and unimaginable colour do not startle anymore. The dust sticks to your skin. Hair stays unruly. Eyes are watery and tired. Sleep beckons in between lectures. The wooden chairs creak a lot more. The clock in the classroom is subject to pleading eyes willing it to move faster. Our ears catch innumerable words during the day but we understand very few. The bed feels harder. Hot water seems lukewarm. The mirror is tired of our sleepy faces with a brush shoved in our faces. Plates with compartments that seem unnecessary. Spoons that are either too big or too small. An alarm clock that rings earlier than required.

The time has come to head back home ......