Kick in the gut started the unreason to lose the groove and find ourselves: the groove we had been in to for about 17 years either comfortably or by default, and on the horizon approached WGSHA Manipal the 18th. Our prayers were answered as we set foot on the new shores only to meet countless questions of its own, not surprisingly though; all in the new direction to mould us: young men and women waiting to learn the most we can, to be the best we can: in sin, love and everything in between .The journey up hill had just begun.
Seemed like we had made the deal with the devil that our asses couldn’t cash but, skies cleared as lifelong friendships emerged; short-lived affairs encouraged; potential turbulences compromised while first rain caught our first fragrance. It was a perfect storm. We may have not gone down in history but we did make those times go down on us.
It didn’t appear much of a challenge: may be because our lack of preconceived notions or partly because our will to be human amidst still civilizing seniors, not to mention the overly clenching management. It did feel weird though to meet our alleged idols, who were ready with their excitements in their hand trying to find their Pam Andersons within us while our Guiding Sharks had already featured our Baywatch.
The latent togetherness did help marinate our vision with the first pegs of whiskey and flavor our thoughts with the first smoke of weed; also it introduced us to the music of our lives that we still swear by and gala in a nostalgic trance, which during the formative years took our hand and helped shed the dance virginity to the floor.
Training was a dirty darling whose hickies we now proudly wear as war medals. Our lack of experience wasn’t delicate towards the hotel’s royalty either. The truthful sounds of china we broke did whisper the lessons of suaveness, helping us learn the art of smile in the most barbaric ‘exposure-learning’ conditions. Taxing as those times might have been but, it did help us test our discretion’s degree of doneness which we paid to learn: by stopping us from giving into the expensive temptation which the guests found rational.
Returned injured but armed on the Blue Waters coast again; filled with compassion, gave juniors exactly what they have asked for: unconditional ignorance and other species – the finger but, with an Oscar-winning innocence. After the industrial tango, our efforts to study were more cadaverous than the college subjects. A good man left no stone unturned and flipped on his own stash while trying to in-fume into us a hit of Dynamism, during our D.H.R sessions (erstwhile A.B.S). His diligence didn’t completely go waste either as we did learn that even student-made demi-gods have their psychological addictions: Thanks to those festive quickies on the kitchen table, gladly figured that even god gurus bleed.
As the judgment days of placements approached, the love for the devil known grew fonder with the apprehension to eventually submit in the cold-hearted industry angel. Giving into temptation is what keeps everyone from being divine, has kept us human and one – sane; like that organized chaos who had a heart beat of its own: where one thing led to another and everybody emerged as their definitive self, post groupism-fire that occurred at irregular breaks. Now draining mind of its blood, gushing Down Town – Retrofuckinspectively.
An era was ending and the moment to move on had finally arrived. The exchange of analysis, disrespect and likes climaxed and we set out loaded with cumulative-us towards respective unexplored shores again but this time spiked with compassion, courage and arrogance.
The smoke is holy, whiskey is quicker, Life’s music… loudest; so is our will to live it on our terms. And the dance continues…
About the Author: Dhaval Kolhapure is an alumni of the Welcomgroup Graduate School of Hotel Administration. He Blogs at Nomadic Peeps. This article was originally published on the author’s blog in 2009.