It comes like a huge wave of salty ocean water, drowning me, embracing me, making me remember, for I must not forget

The wonder with which I looked at them, in their new and crisp uniforms, looking at different components of the class, thinking which spot would be theirs’ when they won’t be able to fit in, a space, where they could curl up and watch the strangers go about their work, while they would wish they had never left. Here was the bunch of girls, who set out to chart their paths and define their two years in a place which was alien, cold and impersonal

Even though they had a little help from a bubbly ray of sunshine (forced inclusion of the desperate author), they took their time, to feel home. And home it became, gradually, beautifully, like the scroll of our stories unravelling at different stages, knitting us together with memories of a lifetime

We became friends, over gossips, MUN, talent hunt, freshers, farewell and boards. We could fall back on each other, take that leap of faith, share secrets (mostly superficial), and bring the house down with our laughter.

We perfected our stalking skills, staring and following techniques, gushing and blushing tactics, and above all our common hatred for a group of repulsive people

This time refuses to leave me, as each face appears in my head, like a movie playing on a projector, Kriti, Tanvi, Sehaj, Harshita, Himanshi, Agrita, Vrinda, Prerna, Ritika, Raiza and many more…..

Is it nostalgia that I feel today? That emptiness you feel sometimes, where you just wanted someone to crack a weird joke, or comfort you when you wished to disappear, give you strength and be ready to fight for you. Because I was loved and cared for by people, whose happiness would make me go bazinga!

It strikes, in the middle of a lockdown, that you miss your friends, and wish to see them, knowing that this dream is too farfetched to be true

Nostalgia is one wicked twit.