It was a sultry February afternoon. As the Ramnath Goenka Award winning professor kept teaching the journalism class, about developmental journalism and how we, as youth can save India, four girls bunked class and came back to the hostel, to roll a joint instead.
The room was dark and comfortable. There were slices of the hot sun seeping in through the sides of the curtain, giving the room a dreamy feel. As four of us became busy passing on the joint to each other, my mind kept thinking how life will drastically change in a week. The journalism course was getting over in a week. Masters would be over. Work will start. Time to step into the ‘real world’.