2.2

Walks on college roads have no obligation to occur at a ‘proper’ time of the day. Their spontaneity owes itself to the comfort of roads, that are inseparable landmarks of the campus the students proudly call their second home. If ever there was a road that could be buzzing with activity at 2 AM and deathly quiet at 11 AM, it would be the beloved 2.2 of IIT Kharagpur. Visitors often look and praise buildings- the main building with its stately proclamation of service and patriotism, the massive library, Gymkhana, the classrooms in Nalanda, the Netaji auditorium and look in awe at them for having stood through the years shouldering the weight of some of India’s smartest. However, if you ask any student studying here for his or her favorite place on campus, you are sure to be pointed to somewhere along the loop of 2.2 kilometers that lies at the heart of the campus. After decades of seeing convocations and inductions, fests and elections, celebrations and protests, the 2.2 sprawles lazily in the campus with its arms forever open to all students that set foot into the institute with dreams of glory in their eyes and high hopes in their hearts.

A mere stroll through these hallowed roads is sure to evoke bittersweet memories for most current and past students. Just a few steps in and one can’t help but remember having walked the very same path at some time that seems like ages ago. I wonder if the road and the places too are reminiscent of the people that walked through, perhaps they too are tinged by traces of footsteps. Maybe the benches opposite MT and SN/IG halls still giggle at the impatience of their residents’ dates. Abandoned cigarette stubs outside Eggies solemnly hold secrets exchanged in the talk that ensued while they burnt up in smoke. Trees beside the footpath sigh with the breeze if they find the warmth of some kiss stolen beneath their rustling leaves. Somewhere along the narrow ‘Pepsi Cut’, the echo of an out of tune chorus sung around a painstakingly built campfire can still be heard.

Something therapeutic and calming lies in loitering late at night around 2.2 with friendly company, with no destination or purpose in mind. A casual invitation of the form “Chal, ek 2.2 maarte hain” from a friend has undertones similar to that of someone offering a drink and can rarely be resisted. Despite the sweltering heat and bitter cold that plagues Kharagpur each year, this break from a monotonous routine of endless classes and exhausting labs feels like a breath of fresh air. There is no limit to the range of conversations that can happen amongst friends here. From consoling words spoken with an arm around dejected shoulders to raucous laughter at the most vulgar of jokes, from astrophysics to indie music, from heated political discussions to campus gossip- anything and everything under the sky can be overheard here. Somehow, somewhere these conversations and these times slowly nurture the earnestness in the footsteps of a happily naive fresher to bloom into the languid aloofness of a final year.

I was fond of walking 2.2s alone, at admittedly ungodly hours of the night. Now I realise that it was a luxury to set out into the open on a whim, that too at some time around 2 AM. Sipping a glass of chai from the night canteen, putting on a black hoodie and nestling my palms comfortably in its warm pockets, I would set out from my hall aimlessly. There was comfort in being alone on the road, walking with the hope of giving peace to tormented thoughts in solitude, freeing them in the silence borrowed from the air or stifling them in the pounding metal in my earphones. I would often see a familiar face or two on the way and smile and wave, maybe stop for a chat if I was in the mood. Most had their hands full with their academics and extracurriculars and what-not on campus and were on their way to their rooms seeking sleep and rest, but no one would shy away from a smile and chat on 2.2. Amidst scheduled video calls, messages and reactions to messages, I sorely feel the dearth of this familiarity that chance offered.

In my last days on campus, before I left for home amidst the lockdown, the air was painfully silent. The tar that once cradled the feet of souls brimming with hope and passion and the sidewalk that comforted the anxious and restless ones now lay littered with unswept flowers and leaves. The clock tower tolled with its usual discipline, perhaps calling into a forlorn emptiness with faint hope hidden somewhere in its heart of turning gears and windings. In the desperate void lay a thirst for the ring of bakar, intoxicated blabber and laughter.

After all this time at home, the lockdown has made me miss these walks and these places the most. But maybe I just miss the people and having spent so much time with them at these places has intertwined the places and people in my mind.

Until better days..