Have you ever been in love?

“Have you ever been in love?”

Clinching, isn’t it? Put yourself in my shoes. Imagine being asked that question at three in the morning. Oh and that isn’t all. Imagine being asked that question by a very cute girl who you hope likes you back. Yeah, I know you feel for me.

”Yes” is pretentious, “No” is blunt, and “Maybe” is ambiguous. Where do you hide then? There is no correct answer. In comes the reign of “umm” and “err” and “mhmm”.

Have you ever been in love? Damn, why is that so difficult to answer? The voice in my head starts whispering, “It’s a trap.” Yeah genius, of course it is. It’s one of those things you wish you’re never asked, something you would rather keep to yourself without having to share with the world.

Have I ever been in love? I have certainly felt for women, and at that point of time might have wanted to believe that it was love. I have said the words “I love you” before, but the superfluity in speech was all too apparent. Love? I don’t think so. Not yet.

There are so many clichéd descriptions of falling in love that it is hard not to have textbook knowledge of how it feels. Come to think of it, all that is very possibly wrong. For I might feel absolutely wonderful, yet not in love, in someone’s company.

Love is not the path; love is the destination.  There will always be other feelings in the way – feelings that will seem like love but are actually not. Have I moved past those feelings? I don’t know. Honestly, the concept of loving is scary. Love comes with no guarantees, no validities. Love can hurt. Love can make you cry. Love can leave you disillusioned. Why risk so much for a feeling? And yet, at some point, someone comes along who makes it worth the effort. That is when you fall in love.

There will always be the three types of people. Ones that proclaim love, ones that denounce love, and ones that pretend not to care. I have, for so long, belonged to the third category. I vow to never belong to the second type. Will someone pull me into that first category? You never really know.

I realize this note has become wearily long, and that my rants on love will probably bring me nothing but sneers and jeers. But still I will say this. To be loved is undoubtedly the greatest feeling in the world (winning the lottery comes pretty close, I’m told!) and if that is to happen, I would have to accept it. The onus is on me. Always has been.

Enough with this analytical dissection of love. Till that comes, here’s something to motivate you to put your mouth to better use.

“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.”

An Outgoing Student Remembers

“I know that these will all be stories someday, and our pictures will become old photographs, but right now these moments are not stories. This is happening. And in this moment , I swear, we are infinite.”

Don Bosco School, Park Circus, is a shining example of how close a second home can get. In the fourteen short years that I have spent under the Bosconian shelter, I have felt a sense of belonging and a sense of pride like never before. The school has been my sole identity, be it within or without the campus.

The four-year-old who entered this institution cried his heart out, and looked back longingly at the freedom that lay behind the gate. The eighteen-year-old who leaves, I assure you, will once again cry his heart out and look back longingly at the fond memories that lie on the other side of that very same gate.

The journey, needless to say, has been unforgettable. Don Bosco has provided me open arms to embrace in joyous victory, as well as a shoulder to cry upon in lowly disappointment. DBPC is more than a school, in the same way that a home is more than a mere brick house. With our time swiftly running out, each one of us feel even closer to the institution that has shaped us into what we are today.

I will miss the warm greetings, the chaotic laughter, the exuberance and the general atmosphere of enjoyable education. I will miss the assembly hall, the courtyard and the classrooms, where so many of us have had the time of our lives. I will miss the auditorium, and the school stage – where so many memories, both good and bad, have been made.  But most of all I will miss the sea of white and grey  – my friends and companions who have all contributed to my stay in Bosco being an unbelievable ride.

Even with all the praise I have received for my writing skills, I fail to put to words how much this experience will always mean to me. I may have outgrown the uniform, but there is never a time to outgrow the spirit. So here’s to the school that made me a man. Because you can take a Bosconian out of Bosco, but you can never, never take the Bosco out of a Bosconian.