Here, Exit.

The pandal is coming up. The stout casuarina poles are stuck deep into the ground at regular intervals and more of them are tied tightly across them. They shall form the robust structure upon which the canopy would soon be mounted. After this is done we shall go in a long patient row, in shiny black and yellow gowns to collect our diplomas. I have passed by so many separations, I know the excess emotions during such occasions don’t mean much for practical purposes. Voids cause pain yet there are always fresh arrivals to fill up voids in our life. So I am wary of spilling tears unless and until they are absolutely necessary. I would like to choose my tears and sentiments more carefully than my smiles and laughter. Also, there is this thought that nostalgia and the pangs of separation from one’s alma mater is not so unwholesome an emotion-in its effect it comes close to the pleasures of vicarious tears from big screen tearjerkers and soap operas. Yet in saying and thinking all these too I am being hopelessly pointless. Because when the moment comes I have to live that lump in my throat.