A Dose of Reality

Date: July 10, 2009

Time: 1:00 PM

Location: Jadavpur University – Beside the Lake

The afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden hues over the still waters of the university lake. The breeze carried the scent of damp grass and old stone, a calming contrast to the noise of the bustling university. Towering banyan trees lined the area, their branches sprawling wide like natural canopies, offering patches of shade where groups of students had gathered for casual conversations—also known as "adda", the traditional Bengali ritual of wasting time in the most meaningful way possible.

Aritra sat on a weathered stone bench, his posture relaxed but his mind elsewhere. Around him, his new classmates from the B2 subsection—Vikram, Rakesh, Sumit, and a few others—were sprawled across the patchy grass, some lying down, others sitting cross-legged, all of them engaged in what could only be described as a passionate group mourning session.

Vikram, the most dramatic of them all, threw his arms up towards the sky, his voice filled with exaggerated pain. "Bro, I had dreams. College was supposed to be the place where I'd finally get a girlfriend, where I'd meet a girl who understands my soul, where we'd do assignments together, steal glances during lectures, and take romantic walks in this very park! But what do we get?"

Rakesh, the resident statistician of the group, sighed deeply, adjusting his glasses. "Six, bro. Just six girls in the entire Mechanical department of one hundred and twenty students. That's a 1:20 ratio. I did the math."

Vikram let out a pained groan, rolling onto his stomach. "Dude, I didn't even get these kinds of odds in WBJEE! I'd have better chances of winning a government lottery than finding a girlfriend in this department."

Sumit, a stocky guy with a naturally cheerful face, let out a chuckle. "Bro, you should have seen the CSE department. It looked like something out of a Bollywood romantic campus movie. So many girls, and here we are… a bunch of sweaty dudes in a department that smells like engine oil."

Vikram turned his head towards Aritra, his eyes filled with mock betrayal. "And you! You've been silent this entire time. No reaction? No heartbreak?"

Aritra smirked, shaking his head. "I came here to study, not to relive a rejected script from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge."

Rakesh clapped his hands together. "See, this is a true scholar. While we sit here grieving our imaginary love lives, he's already thinking about his career."

Vikram shook his head, turning dramatically toward the lake. "Aritra, be honest. You must have had a heartbreak before. No one is this emotionally stable without a tragic backstory."

Aritra's smirk remained, but he didn't answer.

Vikram sighed loudly, placing a hand on his chest as though he were the protagonist of a tragic novel. "Fine, keep your secrets. But mark my words, someday, someone will melt this cold exterior of yours, and when that day comes, I will be there—laughing."

Sumit stretched his arms, staring at the glistening water. "So… what now? No classes today, right?"

Rakesh nodded. "Yeah, we're free for now. Formal classes start next week."

Vikram let out another dramatic sigh. "I guess we should head back before the hostel warden starts yelling."

Sumit smirked. "Or before Vikram's PG owner throws him out for breaking another fan."

Vikram groaned, waving his arms in exasperation. "Bro, that was an accident! How was I supposed to know the blades were loose?"

Rakesh rolled his eyes. "Man, you grabbed it while it was on. What did you expect?"

Vikram sat up, frowning. "I expected it to be sturdier."

Aritra shook his head, standing up. "Maybe you should stick to books before you start breaking the hostel too."

Sumit burst out laughing. "Bro, don't jinx us so early."

The group slowly got to their feet, brushing off stray blades of grass as they made their way toward the campus exit. Vikram, still brooding, walked with his hands in his pockets, muttering curses at fate. Rakesh, ever the realist, was already talking about preparing for the first week of classes, while Sumit seemed torn between going home and stopping by the CSE department for "research."

As they parted ways—some heading toward the hostel, others toward PGs and rental apartments—Aritra felt an odd sense of contentment. This wasn't like his past life. This was new. He was surrounded by people who had no idea who he was, no expectations, no baggage.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't so bad after all.