This strange thing called time flies by at a pace you cannot catch up with. But some things just don't change whether be it at age nine or nearly twenty and those things are your fond memories.
Before summer ended and I began another year at the University of Rochester, meeting up with old friends in Bombay who stood by me during childhood was a welcoming treat. The tight hugs, friendly jibes and the well meant jokes were there more than ever. A, J, R and N were together once again, their friendship crazier and stronger than ever. One quiet and lost in her own world but extremely playful when challenged. One strong and silent, waiting to have everyone in splits with his silly jokes. One mischievous and stubborn, yet good-natured with a full bag of tricks up his sleeve. And me. No one knows why, but we always got along like a house on fire, always have and always will.
I remember the times we were little kids running into the sea on the beaches of Goa while our mothers sat and lounged on the beach, their watchful eyes always upon us. I remember the times when we spent the entire evening after a tiring day at school, playing cricket, soccer, hide and seek – game after game until the mothers screamed themselves hoarse calling out to us to come upstairs and study. I remember the times we'd run away from dinner at the club to go play table tennis or air hockey, throwing tantrums when one of us lost. I remember the times we played Uno, R and J trying unsuccessfully to hide all the good cards but A and my watchful eyes never let that happen. The smile that lit up R's and J's faces when we caught them and A's and my stifled laughter were scenes etched into my memory. I remember the times we ate entire plates of Indian food, went for movies, ran around berserk in the malls…the memories continue. Those were the times when I was growing up in my beloved city, Bombay. Revisiting it this summer was magical. Was? I'm still here, sitting on my bed at 2.30am in the night, writing out my emotions welling up inside as I leave for another year at Rochester.
Here I was today, eleven years after I moved into that apartment complex in Bombay where I forged eternal friendships, sitting amongst these friends in the very same place. But we had grown up. Now we were talking about college, degrees, and what we wanted to do in life. Where would we want to live in the future? What would we end up becoming? I couldn't help but notice how our serious conversations, in those rare times that we controlled our laughter, revolved around where life would take us in a few years.
But something amazing struck me. I hadn't met them in a very long time but that magical friendship still remained intact. "A" changed her BBM status to show her elation that I was here. J still sent me those annoying texts, taking jibes at me in Hindi. R was there, mischief glowing in his eyes as usual. I belonged, I was home. I felt strong, I'd be able to overcome any hurdle in my path. I had to live life with a laugh, like these amazing friends of mine. At twenty, almost every person I met this summer would ask me what I was studying, how was college in America, and what I wanted to do. My answer was always "Microbiology and Immunology, Rochester is great, the academics are tough but satisfying, I'm leaning towards a career in healthcare but let's see where life takes me." After a while, when this answer became standard, I began reflecting where I'd be four years down the line. But before I could let this uncertainty bother me, I met these old friends of mine and it was a refreshing change. For once, with friends, the uncertainty of life didn't creep up behind me. I'd be going back to finish college, and by the time I did, my watery answer would solidify. If I didn't, I'd eventually figure it out.
I'm beginning my third year at Rochester. But some things don't change. I still get emotional every time I leave home. There's just something about flying halfway around the world. Earlier in the day, my heart was sinking as I numbered the days to boarding my flight back to another semester, leaving behind this magical city I call my hometown, my family, and friends. Four hours of meeting old friends and plenty of flashbacks to my childhood later, I knew I was ready to begin another semester. I wasn't leaving anything behind; I was taking everything with me. And as cheesy as it may sound, when you have that home and those people in your heart, you draw strength from those happy memories (for those Harry Potter fans, it's kind of like Harry conjuring up all his happy memories to produce his best Patronus to protect one and all) for even the toughest journeys of life.
As the Class of 2016 enters the University of Rochester to begin their journey into college life, leaving behind their familiar places, I urge them to hold on to their memories. College is tough, no denying that. You might get homesick, maybe a class might seem too difficult, or it may take some time for you to get the hang of college style exams. Then sit down and remember the laughter and twinkling eyes of your best friends, the faith your parents had in you the night before your first high school test, the encouraging words of your friends and family as you ran the last lap during the athletics day in school, the resounding quotes of your mentors and many more of those memories…draw your strength from them. To recount the words my cousin told me earlier today, "Good luck to another year at university, and remember, when the going gets tough, the tough get going."
And I dedicate this post to the resounding friendship of A, R, J and N and my magical hometown of Bombay that never ceases to amaze me.