Neera and I had been friends ever since I started making memories. I met her in school. Her father had been transferred from Una to Shimla. Her family bought land and constructed their home in the same locality as me, and Neera and I grew up together and finally, joined the same university.

She had brown eyes, jet black curly hair, and a smile radiant enough to solve India's energy crisis. Her aura was enchanting; her lively nature was endearing. One might doubt the words I write in praise of this maiden after I mention that she had been my girlfriend since ninth grade, but believe you me, any beholder, whether old or young, a man, woman, or someone of the third sex, would have described her as stupefyingly beautiful.

Even though she and I were different people, we managed to form a strong relationship based on trust and honesty. She was always a hard working girl, clear about her goal to become an officer in the Indian Allied Services. On the other hand I have been, to put it delicately, a little lost.

I always felt lucky to have her. She was definitely "out of my league", and I never understood why she loved me the way she did. .

Give a monkey a copy of Principia, and he would not know its value - the same was true in my case. Mudit, a close friend of my college times, had suggested on numerous occasions over the years I had known him that I write a book about Neera and me. I had initially rejected the idea because I believed that life is boring, and writing about it is boring. Anyhow, by and by, certain events made me relent and I started working on this memoir.

I do not refrain from saying that I have altered some facts; reality is bland, the narrator of a story, that is founded in reality, must season it adequately.

###

The story, that I desire to tell my readers, begins on a blistering June afternoon, as I was walking through the campus of my college, occasionally wiping my forehead with a handkerchief. My Rocket Propulsion 407 class had just concluded and my hostel's room seemed miles away.

A screech of tires behind me made me turn around. I was greeted by a round faced boy, wearing square framed glasses and a wide grin. He was a little overweight, which was not a huge problem for the old Pulsar motorcycle he was riding, and had shortly trimmed hair.

"Yo, Prachur," he said. "Do you want a lift to the hostel?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied and went on to climb on the back seat of his bike. "Can we go and get some cigarettes first, please?"

Mudit and I were batchmates at State College of Engineering, Chandigarh, or, as the majority of the population of the City would call it, owing to the rusty old rail engine that was displayed just inside the gate, "Train Wala College". Our college had a decent campus, spread out in the entire Sector 13. The streets were clean and lined with trees on both sides. No building was more than three storeys tall and most of them were brick red in colour. This campus probably would not find a place in the Architectural Digest, but to me, it was my second home.

Our journey to Ram Ji, the infamous cigarette vendor, located barely a hundred meters from the college gate, was quick.

"Two Marlboro Golds, Ram Ji," I said, alighting from the bike.

We lit the cigarettes and sat on a low black metal fence that separated the road and a well maintained park.

"I hear that you won't be appearing for the interviews tomorrow?" Mudit enquired.

We were in the final year of our Bachelor's Degree, which was going to be completed by the end of July. It was a slow time for us; we had our final examinations due next month and nearly every student had got an offer for a job.

"Yeah, I won't," I replied.

"Why, may I ask?"

"I don't want to take up a job yet. No other reason," I replied, apathetically.

"Bro, you need to just show up there looking decent. It's a mass recruiter. The job is yours if you want it."

I did not answer.

When you know someone for a long time, you know what their small gestures mean. My silence made him sense that I did not want to pursue the topic anymore, and he did not push it. On finishing our cigarettes, we rode back to the college gates. Once inside the campus, he did not drive us straight back to our hostel, but rather took a detour through the part with the academic buildings to - as he used to put it - "check out the local flora and fauna".

As we drove past the Civil Engineering Department, he turned the bike toward a crowded road.

"Really?" I asked him. "You want to do this now? Can't we just go to our hostel? I'm tired."

"Only two minutes. After that we go."

I must say that he was quite a skilled rider - he could drive fixating on the girls we passed, without even glancing at the road.

"Oye, Neera's there. Let me get off, please," I said, pointing at a tall girl sitting under a flight of stairs leading up to the college canteen.

I jumped off the bike and told him that I would find my way back to the hostel.

"No problem," he answered. "Remember that you need to come to my room to finish the Eco assignment due on Friday."

"I don't think that's so important," was my reply. "It is only like ten per cent of the total grade. Besides, Verma won't fail anyone."

Dr. Tripti Verma was the professor of our "Economics 442" course.

"Come to my room at Six," he insisted.

After he drove away, I waved at Neera and walked toward her. She looked gorgeous in her dark shirt and blue denim jeans.

"You look breathtaking," I said, helping her stand on her feet. "What're you doing here?"

"I have my class in twenty minutes," she answered, in her angelic voice. "Yukti and Yashika have gone up to the canteen to buy something. I'm waiting for them."

I nodded.

She and I were not in the same course. I was pursuing Aerospace Engineering, while she was studying Electronics Engineering. She had got admission in a college of a much higher reputation than ours, but she had chosen to study with me.

"How was your day?" she enquired, beaming at me.

"Boring. I've already attended three classes since morning. I'm done. I am going back to my room to sleep."

"Don't you have your lab this afternoon?"

"I do. I'll skip it."

She shook her head and asked, "Anyway, did you talk to your family about us?"

"Not yet. I'll do it soon, though."

"Prachur, you promised you'll do it by this morning," she sulked.

"I forgot. Sorry."

"Don't you want to?"

I dreaded talking to my parents about Neera and my engagement for reasons that I did not understand. Obviously, I could not tell her this fact, so I said, "Of course, I want, baby. Why wouldn't I? I will talk to them soon. You need to give me some time. I'm just a bit shy, I guess. Anyway, you haven't told your parents either. Why don't you do it first? There's no way that they'll agree!"

"I did, yesterday. My mother said that it's better if we get engaged. She thinks it'll give our relationship a name. What's your excuse?"

Having no answer, I reiterated that I would do it soon, but she was not happy.

"You're impossible," she said, gloomily. "Sometimes I feel you have no intention of being with me after college."

I was saved by the arrival of Yukti and Yashika.

Yukti was a slightly chubby girl with broad shoulders, and was dressed in a checked shirt and blue denims. Her nose was a little crooked because a kid punched her "accidentally" when she was six. Her habit of correcting people's grammar in her nasal voice often made people offer to restore her nose to its former glory, but I, personally, found her genial.

Yashika was a tall, thin girl with hungry looks. She had black hair, which she used to wear in a bun, and a sharp chin.

"Hi," I said to both of them.

"Hello, Prachur," Yukti replied, cheerfully.

"Why does Neera look sad?" Yashika asked me. "What did you do, Prachur?"

I did not answer and she rolled up her eyes. I knew she despised me and the feeling was mutual.

"Let's go," Yashika said, tugging Neera's arm.

Neera gave me a defeated look, following which, they all left, with only Yukti bidding me goodbye.

Drearily, I walked back to my hostel room.

###

After spending my evening with Mudit, working on my Eco assignment, we decided to go out for a drink. With this intent, he and I rode his bike to Sector 17.

Sector 17 is the centre of life in Chandigarh City. The shops are heavily lit and always brimming with people; the bars are fancy but surprisingly cheap; and you can buy pretty much anything, maybe not babies or planes, but a plethora of other useful items.

We had trouble finding a parking spot, and after securing our helmets to the bike, we walked to Leo's, which was my favourite place to drink in the City.

It had translucent glass doors with a caricature of a lion on them. A doorman stood outside and would open the door as you walked inside. The interiors appeared cosy; the lights were dim and the decor was classy. Most importantly, they did not ask customers their age before serving.

We found an empty table, sat down, and ordered a pitcher of beer. Drinks kept pouring and hours passed. At about half past ten, we slouched out of the bar and Mudit suggested that we ride back to our college, to our friend Sanchit's room, and continue the festivities.

Mudit was an exemplary drunk driver, which, when I think with a little maturity, is not something to be proud of; but proud of it he was anyway. Thankfully, when we finally jumped off the bike outside Sanchit's hostel, our limbs were intact and my phone and wallet were safely in my pockets.

Sanchit was a fresher and was living in the first year hostel, and since ragging was a concern, no senior was allowed into it. We scaled the wall toward the back side of the hostel building and walked to Sanchit's room through a garden with knee deep grass.

The blue wooden door of the room opened, and a thin boy peeped outside. His orange T-shirt was stained with food, and his eyes were red.

"Hi, brother," Mudit said, hugging him. They were distantly related.

"Hi, guys!" he replied. "Care for some MAAL?"

I smiled and entered his room. We spent the next hour or two smoking and ranting about the terrible times he was going to have during the rest of his time in college and how he should value his time as a fresher, after which Mudit and I took our leave and walked out of his room.

"Don't you miss our time here?" Mudit asked.

"I do," I murmured, as I bent down to take a sip from a tap.

"Remember we used to drink up there," he said, pointing to the top floor of one of the buildings.

I nodded and reminisced about the past.

Soon, we reached the wall behind which stood Mudit's bike, and we were trying to scale it, when we heard someone shout, "Hey! Stop there!"

We turned around and saw that four people were standing behind us, flashing a torch light.

"Is it you Thakur?" one of them said to me, in a deep voice.

Instantly, I recognised the voice as to being of our professor, Dr. Kumar. From what I could make out, he was standing with three security guards.

"Yes, Sir, it is," I replied.

"Both you and Mudit Garg, come with me," he snapped. "Don't you dare try anything stupid!"

We glanced at each other, and quietly followed him.

He led us to the mess hall of the hostel, and ordered us to sit at one of the tables.

I should have realised the severity of the situation we were in, but a brain that has been stewed in alcohol and marijuana does not care much for the future. The only emotion I felt was anger, at Prof. Kumar for ruining our night.

"Do you know that you're not allowed in the first year hostel?" asked he, standing beside me.

We nodded, reluctantly. I was staring at the table, so I could not look at him, but I could imagine him rubbing his bald head, as was his habit, while he searched for the right words to speak to us.
 
"This is why I conduct these random searches," he said, pompously. "If you are warden of a hostel you must care about the students living in it." Maybe he was expecting us to applaud, and when we did not react, he enquired, "Were you here to rag your juniors?"

"No, Sir," we answered, in chorus.

"I can smell alcohol on this one," one of the security guard, with a stubble, stated, sniffing Mudit. His manner of conduct made me suspect that he was drunk himself.

What a bunch of hypocrites! I thought.

"Both of you are drunk and in the first year hostel so late into the night!" Prof. Kumar said. "Do you know the severity of your actions?"

We said nothing and looked at each other.

"What is wrong with you?" he continued his rhetorical enquiries. "Don't you know how big of an offence ragging is? You can be expelled for this."

"We were only here to meet our friend, Sir, nothing else," I slurred.

"And where is this friend?"

"He's sleeping, Sir," Mudit droned, in an effort to keep Sanchit out of the controversy.

Prof. Kumar shook his head and a look of disgust and anger streaked his face. He took out a small notepad from his front pocket, and scribbled something on one of the pages, following which, he said, staring at us, "Now I want you two to go back directly to your hostel. You are supposed to report at the DSW's office tomorrow at eleven. He'll be the one taking care of this. You two are in a heap of trouble."

We hung our heads, and walked to our hostel in silence.