Writing through the engineering days

The scenery of rain drops slipping on the slides of leaves gives me nostalgia of my engineering days. It was 2015 when I took admission in an engineering college. Continual rain over the days had filled in all the low lying areas beside road leading from the main gate to the hostel. My father had just dropped me off at my newly, temporarily and partially owned property. One of the bed was unoccupied and in another, my senior roommate slept covering himself with blanket from top to bottom.

My room was on fourth floor. It was drizzzling and through the sprinkled glasses of the window, I gazed at the hills on the other side. There were four of them in view, so I saw in them my family photo which hung up on the drawing room walls back at my hometown. The big ones were my parents ofcourse and the small ones- me and my brother. All my life I had remained secluded from friend circles but being alone in a new area of strangers where you don’t identify a ghost was a terrible feeling.

In a boys hostel, it doesn’t take much time to make a lot of friends and know each other. The process is to ask if everything is fine in their lives and sit in a group for interesting tales and conversations. Not to forget, ask their name many times till it sits in the mind. People from different parts of the state come alongwith their stories and experiences which is enough to put a ready made writer rich with content. And there was the problem, I wasn’t ready; I was an aspirant.

It was communication class that I used to enjoy the most. The only class where I could stand up with an answer and not a question. There in a new environment, I outsmarted my years of stage-fear. I was growing in pieces but gradually, I realised that people weren’t understanding me or my poetry. I had given an abnormal appearance of a complex being that most easy goers stayed away from.

Very soon my poetry faced a slow threat. It dawned upon me that the environment was going to kill me. I went for making the college magazine and shot to popularity immediately but then anonymously, with my views and knowledge on the subject, I had sparked jealousy in the minds of many people who wanted the attention I was enjoying. My colleagues were broken when there was no support for all the efforts done over the magazine and all of them left college, and there I was again. Felt like the first day of my college, alone and afraid with the excitement being replaced by anxiety of how will I spend the forthcoming years.

I came up with several pages- news and achievements, photography, troll and few others whose present existence I am unaware of. My attempts for a literature club was in vain because of disinterested personells. Everybody enjoyed attention in one form of another, and maybe I was seeking the wrong thing in the wrong place. In this phase, I got a big writer’s break owing to my inability at almost everything- in extra-curricular, in academics and also in personal life.

For two years, I was one depressed lunatic who could jump off the roof at any moment. It haunted mme more when my conscience stopped speaking to me just like the people who didn’t want me to join engineering. My friends were gone, the environment was full of jealousy and inward hate and the pretentious smiles killed me more. At this point of a ‘tired’ life, no matter how internationally aclaimed an artist is, he seeks an escape. There I started gaming a way too extensively. 10-12 hours a day, purposelly, shooting bots and getting happy, was all the schedule. It was a point where I realized escaping wasn’t the key. I had to face my demons. So I left the hostel.

No sooner did this happen, than I got the opportunity to work for the USA magazine where my poems were first published. I was happy to be among all elders. Even deep down I had killed the poet in me, I struggled and pushed to bring three new poems every month. Once a year was over, I left it and began compiling poems for my poetry book. It was an amazing feeling when I got a publisher and my work was there, right on my hands. The book was poorly formatted and with that thinnes, I gave all of it at no profit and even gifted many. Now that over two dozen people were reading my poems and were encouraging me to do even more, I began to write even more. Even better this time.

And one year later, on August 1, 2019, my second poetry book was published. Today is the 6^th of August and almost everyone whom I had given free copies of my first book denied to buy my second one. It isn’t much of a big deal but when you put investment of all that effort, time and money into people who do not believe in you, you get affected by your loss. It seemed like I was the only person who had been excited for the book. Few have shown support though but when the progress isn’t big, it’s a dead end.

There were these raw artists who were trying to do their bits and I encouraged them, they never showed any happiness over the succesful completion of my work. All those sentiments and memories grown over time appear blank when expectations are lost. Thankfully, I never hanged out much otherwise this regret would have been further traumatic. Next, I am going to spread the word that Bismay Mohanty is back. With just two copies being sold in the opening week, life has taught me again never to look upon the aimless, even when it’s the person in the mirror. I do not regret engineering. Many problematic people were there; it’s not my fault and I am not going to suffer because of it. There were few good people I came across during this process and now my ambition is to rely on them and then grow the numbers.  If I dwell on the retards then I am going to lag behind. Being with people who believe in me, has taken me in the forward direction even when I wanted to go back. Now it'ts time for the culture to continue...