![]() ![]() I stood in that corridor for a long while, trying to listen to that song, feeling wistful and sad for some unknown reason. One early morning, when the entire hostel was sleeping, I had just completed copying from his books, and was walking up to his room to return the books – the whole world was silent, the sky was still dark, there was a chill in the air – and I could hear a faint melody from a distant temple, faint but crystal clear, infusing something magical to that cold, dark morning. His handwriting was perfect and his lab notes were works of art. He was a misfit amongst we ruffians, and he knew it. Such fine distinction was important to the well-coiffured sophisticate that he was. He had Sridevi posters in his room – pre-nose-job posters, he would insist. We never had those late night heart-to-hearts, we never got almost-caught for crazy stuff, but he was a friend. My college mate, project mate, last-bench mate. I am not mourning Sridevi, but a Sridevi-fan.
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