It’s been a long night, or maybe even a couple of them. You don’t know, time is relative right? Looking up from the drafting table, you see the break of dawn, and probably your will and energy. Letting out a deep exhale and inhaling, you immediately regret the mini blackout because of stale morning breath. It’s time to freshen up for your semester jury.
You thought to forget your way to the bathroom was the worst of it, but as you brush your cheeks and shave your tongue, it’s evident that there is a definite bug splat in your brain (Subtle SketchUp reference). While you take the proverbial deodorant bath, you realise Axe smelling like a cocktail can at least help you stay awake. Eating a meal of biscuits and water, because, let’s be honest, the sight of the 643rd cup of coffee might make you gag, you leave for the long journey towards college.
Yes, it is wise to take a cab when all you can see are Van Gogh’s filter, but you’re proud and self-sufficient, this is the age to take “risks” anyways. At the final turn, you’re utterly confused as to why the cycle should be riding a human, and your classmate/friend, because on this day, anyone can be your worst enemy. Tushar Dharmarajan/T.D is asking for a lift, and because you’ve made eye contact, dodging him is inviting a hostile attitude later, so you decide this lift is something he might need.
His continuous rant is keeping you awake, and you’ve almost reached college. Parallel parking never triggered this level of paranoia, how is it that the cars are booing you for this skill? Is it even possible? T.D making comments like “It’s worse than your semester design” is pushing it, but you’re too fatigued to quarrel. After walking the 5k to your college, there is a feeling that tells you, if you can’t walk the 20 steps, you should reconsider this jury. There is only one hope, and this is playing with fire.
T.D knows your design in and out. He ridicules it, he is “inspired” by it and most definitely, doesn’t seem to be doing the one-step front, two steps back Cha-Cha step you’ve realized this is the apt time to do it. It has to be a proxy jury; you’re biting the bullet anyways. You ask T.D, and of course, he has his demands on how you owe him and other hinted blackmails for the kind of friend he is being.
Dropping the model thrice before even reaching the hall isn’t a good sign, but at least he wasn’t kicking it like you were. You muster enough strength to pin up the sheets, while T.D’s idea of humour is pinning your hand to the board. Taking permission from the ever so kind juror, T.D has permission to explain your semester project, while you slouch; flat like a wallflower near the board. The big moment has finally come. Though “Architecture is frozen mucus-sorry music” can be defined as a rocky start, it can be said a tone was set for the jury when the teacher set her cup of tea down and flinched a little. It was all downhill from here.
With the rest of the class as the audience, you see, in between blackouts, the closest thing to a circus you have, in college premises. Hearing things like, “ And here on this upper ground…” when you know he meant a hill and him saying “ So ma’am, here the sun rises on the East and sets in the West”( as opposed to?) makes you wonder whether you should ask the coordinator the jury dates for next semester. As in the background you hear T.D droning away at what sounds like a game of “Mad-Libs”, and you see your classmates synchronizing a social media live feed, you wonder which city you could restart in, now that your reputation is down the drain. You also wonder, is self-immolation something that can draw everyone’s attention away from the absolute disaster that is this jury. You decide against it, you don’t have the energy to light a match.
Then again, if you read this now and realise some episodes of memory have been exaggerated for effect, but you’ve had similar bouts of being “Sleepless in Shivajinagar”, you know walking into the semester-end jury with only caffeine, biscuits and overcoming your friends’ ridicule can help you get through it. Possibly, slight mishaps like calling “ma’am” “mom” and blanking out till someone calls you by our name is something you can relate to. But, if you’re a fan of Chuck Palahniuk like I am, you realized somewhere while reading this article that there was never a proxy jury. Tushar Dharmarajan, like Tyler Durden, never existed (spoiler alert?), and that you trudged through that jury like every architecture student does, making a fool of yourself and learning to be better, hopefully, before the course ends.
Among schizophrenic bouts, your hard work paid off, and the juniors who know you didn’t sleep for a week, worship you like the legend you became. While you thank powers you don’t believe in, you pass out, due to extreme exhaustion, and the next 3 days are spent in you becoming the legend who slept 72 hours straight. Though juvenile, you know these are memories that you will cherish for a long time to come.
