The end of a beginning
Note: This was written on the 1st of April ......didn't have time to post it till today
Yesterday, something came to an end.
Something that began a year ago.
Something, which turned out to be different form anything any of expected (at least, I don’t think any of us quite expected things to turn out the way they did)
We came to MICA a year ago.
Actually, its not exactly a calendar year to the day when we came to MICA. But it’s a full academic year now, and also, we got our MICA call letters almost exactly a year ago, and for many of us, that was when the journey began.
And the journey has been eventful to say the least. What started with us running out of a classroom to enjoy the first rains of the season, has developed into a bond that all of us will not only cherish, but also live up to. The impromptu singing sessions at chhota in the heat of the summer have metamorphosed into the BrumousBlues, and a new Palaash Song which we defend zealousy against the older (and now boring) one!!
Yes, its been an eventful, and eclectic year!
10 months ago a motley (yes, I KNOW that’s rather clichéd) bunch of about 85 people landed, bags and parents (for the most part) in tow. The first sight of the hostels, comprising of images as profound and thought provoking as Absolut Overkill, and Ground Zero, triggered a variety of reactions. Some positively rejoiced, some took it in their stride and some spent the next few days wondering just what they had gotten into.
And so began the journey of the 13th (but by no means the unluckiest) batch in the history of the exalted institution that is MICA.
The rest of the summer orientation, was spent sleeping in class, and staying up nights, with guitars and chhota tea for company. It was of course, liberally punctuated with varied efforts by various teachers to actually get us to learn something. Equally obviously, hardly anyone succeeded. What we did succeed in doing, and haven’t yet lived down, is the great MICAn rain dance, having stopped a lecture midway, no less!
July brought with it an ‘Orientation’ of a different kind, and some unfortunate repercussions of the above mentioned rain dance. This orientation was also our first taste of what MICA was really all about. The taste? Bittersweet really. From the authorities turning bitter because the ‘orientation’ was stopped, to seniors taking it in their stride, and not really holding it against us, the taste was, well, bittersweet. The orientation brought out most starkly, both our eclecticism and our individuality as a batch. From taking strong stands unsupported, to 94 people standing behind one man, from issues as profound as personal values to as trivial as the unthinking use of profanity, we did it all, and for the most part, got away with it!
The first term went by, and between economics, Moulin rouge, and trying to understand the phenomenon that is MICA, we never quite realized when the exams were upon us. Just when we were fretting about finally having to do the pre (and by now very very post!!) reads, one of our exams was cancelled, in true MICA style.
A number of us never really knew how cold and hard rejection could be, till we faced it (in extra large doses!) during the summer placements. Many frustrated outbursts, tears, and exhuberant whoops of joy later, we were all (yes, all 94 of us), placed. Not all got what they wanted, not everyone wanted what they did get, but the magnitude of the feat accomplished by the placements committee (both Junior and Senior) deserves a salute. Thank you PlaceComm.
October also brought with it MICANVAS, and all the ensuing chaos. Amidst much nail biting by the marketing team about budgets, frantic phone calls by the PR team, and much hollering from creatives to come and help, dawned the morning of 27th , and began MICANVAS 2006, which over the next three days went on to surpass everybody’s wildest expectations in terms of participation, hospitality, scale, and grandeur. From scandalizing outstation teams, by asking them if they wanted co-ed accommodation, to swinging to euphoria singing English (?!?!?!?) numbers, and having treasure hunts at midnight (it really started at 2 though), we did it all, without really breaking stride.
Scarcely was MICANVAS over when we saw looming large, SANKALP 2006. Endless cups of chai from chotta, a harried director, a confused lights team and a far more harried marketing team later, we got the show on the road, and pulled it off too.
In between, of course, were various courses and faculty, some in house, some visiting. Most tore their (sometimes already scant) hair out in frustration at our utter unapologetic indiscipline. All this of course, was only incidental.
The third term. Well, this one was perhaps the most hectic of all. Starting with the final placements for the seniors, going on immediately to the final alumni meet, we never quite realized where January went. Of course, for a few of us, life was made even more chaotic by Director Saab, who though he otherwise seems to be in a state of permanent somnabulence, woke up like a modern day Kumbhakarna, and rising from deep stupor, went on to drive us quite like slaves, till the annual day function and the staging of the noe famous ‘CUT’. Fond memories of the final show. Of the audience laughing even at places we didn’t expect them to, of last minute dialougue changes that worked, of a last minute replacement which we pulled off seemingly effortlessly, of an hour on stage that seemed no more than a minute, and of the ultimate reward – a standing ovation.
The theatre streak, having been rekindled in a number of us, refused to be put out again, and we went on to participate in and win (despite some considerable hurdles and an extremely horrid audience) both in the street play and the one act play category at DAIICT.
Holi came and left in its wake, many multi coloured faces and torn clothes. Most of the torn clothes were to adorn the tree near Chandni for a long time to come, sending most unknowing innocent people into a mild state of shock.
The rebelliousness and eclecticism of our batch had not waned with time, but had in fact grown, as was evident when we tried to get an entire course scrapped (it wasn’t, but the effort was worth it!).
It finally dawned on us, in stages, that we were no longer the juniors, but the soon to be seniors. Elaborate ‘orientation’ plans for the next batch were begun, and a farewell for the senior batch put together (need it be said – at the last minute!). And then, as we sat watching the awards ceremony, and the next day, the convocation, it gradually sunk in. The first year at MICA, had ended. It sunk in more cruelly, as we packed, stripping our rooms bare of all signs of life, packing a year of our lives into numerous cartons, and wishing each other a good internship (placecomm people of course, adding to the wishes, entreaties for PPOs!!!).
It was the end. The end of our beginning at MICA, the end of a year that gave each of something, yet took away something too. The end of the beginning.
The above was a feeble attempt to encapsulate our first year at MICA. Of course it isn’t really possible. There is a lot more left unsaid, many milestones left unmarked. But like I said, its not really possible to pack away a year into bags and cartons, or for that matter, condense it into a blog entry.
Yesterday, something came to an end.
Something that began a year ago.
Something, which turned out to be different form anything any of expected (at least, I don’t think any of us quite expected things to turn out the way they did)
We came to MICA a year ago.
Actually, its not exactly a calendar year to the day when we came to MICA. But it’s a full academic year now, and also, we got our MICA call letters almost exactly a year ago, and for many of us, that was when the journey began.
And the journey has been eventful to say the least. What started with us running out of a classroom to enjoy the first rains of the season, has developed into a bond that all of us will not only cherish, but also live up to. The impromptu singing sessions at chhota in the heat of the summer have metamorphosed into the BrumousBlues, and a new Palaash Song which we defend zealousy against the older (and now boring) one!!
Yes, its been an eventful, and eclectic year!
10 months ago a motley (yes, I KNOW that’s rather clichéd) bunch of about 85 people landed, bags and parents (for the most part) in tow. The first sight of the hostels, comprising of images as profound and thought provoking as Absolut Overkill, and Ground Zero, triggered a variety of reactions. Some positively rejoiced, some took it in their stride and some spent the next few days wondering just what they had gotten into.
And so began the journey of the 13th (but by no means the unluckiest) batch in the history of the exalted institution that is MICA.
The rest of the summer orientation, was spent sleeping in class, and staying up nights, with guitars and chhota tea for company. It was of course, liberally punctuated with varied efforts by various teachers to actually get us to learn something. Equally obviously, hardly anyone succeeded. What we did succeed in doing, and haven’t yet lived down, is the great MICAn rain dance, having stopped a lecture midway, no less!
July brought with it an ‘Orientation’ of a different kind, and some unfortunate repercussions of the above mentioned rain dance. This orientation was also our first taste of what MICA was really all about. The taste? Bittersweet really. From the authorities turning bitter because the ‘orientation’ was stopped, to seniors taking it in their stride, and not really holding it against us, the taste was, well, bittersweet. The orientation brought out most starkly, both our eclecticism and our individuality as a batch. From taking strong stands unsupported, to 94 people standing behind one man, from issues as profound as personal values to as trivial as the unthinking use of profanity, we did it all, and for the most part, got away with it!
The first term went by, and between economics, Moulin rouge, and trying to understand the phenomenon that is MICA, we never quite realized when the exams were upon us. Just when we were fretting about finally having to do the pre (and by now very very post!!) reads, one of our exams was cancelled, in true MICA style.
A number of us never really knew how cold and hard rejection could be, till we faced it (in extra large doses!) during the summer placements. Many frustrated outbursts, tears, and exhuberant whoops of joy later, we were all (yes, all 94 of us), placed. Not all got what they wanted, not everyone wanted what they did get, but the magnitude of the feat accomplished by the placements committee (both Junior and Senior) deserves a salute. Thank you PlaceComm.
October also brought with it MICANVAS, and all the ensuing chaos. Amidst much nail biting by the marketing team about budgets, frantic phone calls by the PR team, and much hollering from creatives to come and help, dawned the morning of 27th , and began MICANVAS 2006, which over the next three days went on to surpass everybody’s wildest expectations in terms of participation, hospitality, scale, and grandeur. From scandalizing outstation teams, by asking them if they wanted co-ed accommodation, to swinging to euphoria singing English (?!?!?!?) numbers, and having treasure hunts at midnight (it really started at 2 though), we did it all, without really breaking stride.
Scarcely was MICANVAS over when we saw looming large, SANKALP 2006. Endless cups of chai from chotta, a harried director, a confused lights team and a far more harried marketing team later, we got the show on the road, and pulled it off too.
In between, of course, were various courses and faculty, some in house, some visiting. Most tore their (sometimes already scant) hair out in frustration at our utter unapologetic indiscipline. All this of course, was only incidental.
The third term. Well, this one was perhaps the most hectic of all. Starting with the final placements for the seniors, going on immediately to the final alumni meet, we never quite realized where January went. Of course, for a few of us, life was made even more chaotic by Director Saab, who though he otherwise seems to be in a state of permanent somnabulence, woke up like a modern day Kumbhakarna, and rising from deep stupor, went on to drive us quite like slaves, till the annual day function and the staging of the noe famous ‘CUT’. Fond memories of the final show. Of the audience laughing even at places we didn’t expect them to, of last minute dialougue changes that worked, of a last minute replacement which we pulled off seemingly effortlessly, of an hour on stage that seemed no more than a minute, and of the ultimate reward – a standing ovation.
The theatre streak, having been rekindled in a number of us, refused to be put out again, and we went on to participate in and win (despite some considerable hurdles and an extremely horrid audience) both in the street play and the one act play category at DAIICT.
Holi came and left in its wake, many multi coloured faces and torn clothes. Most of the torn clothes were to adorn the tree near Chandni for a long time to come, sending most unknowing innocent people into a mild state of shock.
The rebelliousness and eclecticism of our batch had not waned with time, but had in fact grown, as was evident when we tried to get an entire course scrapped (it wasn’t, but the effort was worth it!).
It finally dawned on us, in stages, that we were no longer the juniors, but the soon to be seniors. Elaborate ‘orientation’ plans for the next batch were begun, and a farewell for the senior batch put together (need it be said – at the last minute!). And then, as we sat watching the awards ceremony, and the next day, the convocation, it gradually sunk in. The first year at MICA, had ended. It sunk in more cruelly, as we packed, stripping our rooms bare of all signs of life, packing a year of our lives into numerous cartons, and wishing each other a good internship (placecomm people of course, adding to the wishes, entreaties for PPOs!!!).
It was the end. The end of our beginning at MICA, the end of a year that gave each of something, yet took away something too. The end of the beginning.
The above was a feeble attempt to encapsulate our first year at MICA. Of course it isn’t really possible. There is a lot more left unsaid, many milestones left unmarked. But like I said, its not really possible to pack away a year into bags and cartons, or for that matter, condense it into a blog entry.
posted by making sense of life @ 6:27 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home