Withdrawal Symptoms and the CME (Part Three)

Part Three:      C  ME   Now. 

(for Part One and Two, visit here and here.)

"There are no happy endings.

Endings are the saddest part,

So just give me a happy middle

And a very happy start."

~ Shel Silverstein

We never exactly got off to a very happy start, and neither did some of us have a happy ending. But that's life, isn't it? Happy endings are for the Cinderellas and Prince Charmings. For us, we are all just trying to find our happy middle. Like those happy hours in the library. (Happy? Kill me NOW.)

But no, seriously. Think about it. Think about those tiny moments of laughter and silliness. Human moments stolen from hours of being a zombie, slogging off through books, thinking about pebbles and helicopters. 
.
And hey, CMEs come and go. What you have is all those memories of the middle. And the middle is what matters. What you and I will take back from the CME is not a rank. Yes, it is a bonus. 
But what we take back is experience. And you have it.
So who said you lost out on anything?

Dust yourself, pat yourself on the back. Lift your chin up. And look straight ahead.

What do you see?

IME - Return to Zombieland! 


Naw, just kidding. I just meant for you to see that there is so much beyond CME. 

And for those who did get selected after the HUGE gracious move by the MCA, (I eat my words. They aren't THAT scary.) 

See ya in the moot court,

singing SEE ME NOW!

I got my suit and tie
And I don't know if y'all know
Well, maybe y'all do
Or maybe y'all don't 
But I don't really care
It's how we on it all the time
So I'mma get my Arguments, let's go!


{Ps. NOT a Kanye West fan.}

Withdrawal Symptoms and the CME (Part Two)

Part Two:        C ME   Go. 

(for Part One, visit here.)

What's a withdrawal symptom?

Google tells me it's "any physical or psychological disturbance (as sweating or depression) experienced by a drug addict when deprived of..."

Umm... Hell no?

Withdrawal symptom is what happens to you when you've been given a one way ticket OUT of Zombieland and for reasons unbeknownst you REFUSE the ride.

But a lot of zombies did take the ride and left us 150-something odd ones to fight for survival.

Between stolen photocopies and hushed discussions I discovered that some of these zombies had excellent scavenging abilities.

I saw a dark side to them. Angry zombies. Kleptomaniac zombies. Sleep-deprived zombies that were ready to beat me to pulp for consuming their precious time.

Zombies walking around with pens and highlighters in their pockets, carrying books heavier than their own weight. Zombies disappearing behind a heap of photocopies.

Zombies wary and distrustful of each other.

I felt like I was in The Hunger Games.

For the first time, these poor harmless zombies seemed blood thirsty. They still may not have wanted to eat your brain, but they sure did want what was in it.

Days went by, and the concept of nights disappeared.
I, despite myself became a zombie too.

My swollen face and puffy eyes would have won me a part in Scream 5. I felt like punching people for no reason. Or maybe because they existed. Or maybe because I existed. I felt like giving up. I felt like going to SLEEP.

And then came the day of war. The day of submission of the Memorials.

I saw people struggling to complete their Memorials. I saw them falling over each other to get them printed.

And a little before 5.30, I submitted mine.

The whole MCA atmosphere was scary and intimidating. Heck, even the junior volunteers (to-be MCA members in training I guess) were scary.

I was very grimly reminded that I was late. I shamefully nodded back.

I left the room, still shaken by the spine-freezing creepy atmosphere.

I felt light, I felt happy. Like a huge weight had been lifted.

But only after I saw beyond by own exhilaration did I see it.

As promised, I saw the bloodshed.

 I did witness the massacre.

I saw people crying.

I wanted to go up to them, comfort them. But what words did I have to comfort them with?

I saw their memorials, strewn, like war victims that couldn't make it.


And just like that, I stopped seeing zombies. I started seeing people.

Broken people. More human, more vulnerable than anyone I had seen.

We were all hurt.

They were hurt because they hadn't made it. I was hurt because I had. Without them.

And then,


One by one,

they left,

Leaving me all alone.

In Zombieland.

Withdrawal Symptoms and the CME (Part One)

Part One:      I...   C  ME. 

If you happen to visit the Symbiosis Law School library anytime soon, you'd find it has transformed itself into a temporary haven of zombies. 

Zombies in different shapes, sizes, colors and forms. Zombies pouring over books resembling assault weapons and zombies typing away furiously at their laptops.

But you can't miss one when you see it. They're peculiar. They're unmistakable. 

They all wear the same expressions: 

Furrowed brows
And faces screwed up in a scowl.

Yes, we the CME participants.

Except, they don't eat brains. (But you'd be surprised to note, some of them do!) 

Instead, their brains eat away at them. Slowly, and painfully.

You can see them, these harmless zombies, suffering under the weight of their own mind, that rips and tears at their soul, piece by piece, as it grows, heavy with fear, depression and worry. 

Till you find them, eyes empty, staring away in space. A pen hanging limp in their hands. Ruffled hair. Papers scattered. Battered and shaken. Stealing a long luxurious moment away from their reality.

Their reality goes by three simple letters. 

CME. 

The Central Moot Eliminations. What law students live (Are they alive? I poke one to find out. It winces at me. Yes, they're alive.) for. 

They continue staring away in space. And I continue staring at them. Trying to figure them out. Trying to come to terms with the one reality that threatens to consume us all. 

And then I hear myself whisper; 'I withdraw.'

One decision. That's all I have to make. 

One letter. And I can kiss this Zombieland goodbye for good. 

I write it. With firm fingers, I write my withdrawal letter, and I smile triumphantly, after a long, long time.

And then I look back at the rest of the zombies. I pity them now. 

I won't be one of them anymore.

I feel like a war survivor. 

I wonder what stops them from making the decision. They're weak, I reason.

But I look at them more closely.

I don't see broken people. Yes, they are shaken. Shaken by the thought of the war they're preparing for. 

And then it hits me, that I am no war survivor without even participating in one. I am a refugee. 

I look at them more clearly now. Their eyes may be staring away into void. But I don't see void in their eyes. In their eyes, I see determination. I see them, readying themselves. I see a dream. 

And I don't need a mirror to see that the void that I thought they're all staring at, is in my eyes.

And I don't pity them anymore, I pity myself.

Silently I tear off the withdrawal letter,

and join the rest, staring away in space.

14 June and Symbiosis Law School.

14th June, 2012. It isn't just another date. It's a milestone. 

It brings back a lot of memories. The good ones and the bad ones. 

See, that's the thing with memories. You cannot relive the good ones without reviving the bad ones which you thought you had so carefully suppressed into non-existence. 

But that's where you go wrong. You cannot simply make them go away, and sometimes all they need is just a smallest of a trigger to come rushing back. 

Like say, looking at the date.

But to tell you what happened on 14 June, I'd have to take you further back in time to somewhere in early May 2012. SET 2012. For the legally challenged, it goes by the name Symbiosis Entrance Test. 

The moment of euphoria when I saw that I had cleared the written test and had been selected for the GDPI. That frantic last minute shopping for formal wear and formal shoes for the interview.

It's still as vivid as though it happened just a month ago. The nervousness. The anxiety building up as I saw thousands of students there, waiting to show off how brilliant they were. 

And me? I stood there. Awkward and out of place. I had convinced myself that I absolutely did not stand the chance to be here. I mean, look at them. Their CVs were bursting with certificates. They were oozing confidence. 

And what had I done throughout my life while these people were busy collecting certificates? What proof of extraordinary brilliance did I have to blow the interviewers' minds? Nada.

The GD and the PI went by in a flash, and there I was, sitting at home, awaiting the first list.

05 June 2012.

The list was out. I read it thrice. I wasn't there.

The waiting list. I wasn't in there either.

This college had no place for me. 

I cried. For days. I sobbed and cried like a baby. Reviewed my options. I had already messed up CLAT (again, that's 'Common Law Admission Test' for the ignoramuses.) What other option did I have? Nada.

I had completely given up the hope. 

And then, came 14 June 2012.

The day the second list came out. I did not bother to check. I wasn't in the waiting list (which was pretty long, mind you) and there was simply no point in having it rubbed in my face that I didn't deserve to go to a law school.

So instead, I spent the whole afternoon watching Hannah Montana. (Yes, I watch Hannah Montana. And I abso-fucking-lutely love it.)

And then I got a call, from dad.

"YOU'RE IN THE SECOND LIST!" he screamed in the phone. 

I was numb. Was I? No, no. There had to be some mistake. How could I?

Was he kidding me? Or was this the college's idea of playing some sick sadistic joke?

I checked their website. I read their acceptance letter. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

I was... in?

How?

I still do not have the answer to that how, but somehow, I was.

It's been a year now. And the memories of all the nights (and days, and mornings, and afternoons, and evenings, you get the gist) that I cried come surging back. But they don't make me sad anymore. They only make me value what I have now, even more. 

Yes, I do have my fair share of days when I curse the college. But that's mostly when I suck at the assignments. 

Symbi has watched and helped me grow as a person. It made me confident, And it gave me the most important lesson. That I was as good as those thousands of students with their folders overflowing with certificates.

14 June reminds me, that underestimating myself would be the biggest injustice I'd do to myself.