That is what the phrase Alma Mater can be roughly translated as. I know this, from my personal experiences, to be a very accurate translation. However vulnerable, ridiculous, heavy and melancholy it makes me feel at times, I cannot but help loving and missing my Alma Mater. Love, in my opinion, is not continuously being able to talk about or with someone or something. Sometimes, love simply means being able to share two minutes of comfortable silence with someone or not needing any external event to be able to feel an overwhelming rush of affection towards something. Though the quality of the images, captured with my 3.2 MP non-smartphone camera, may be poor and hazy; the memories are anything but.
The Onam Rangoli in my hostel, courtesy of Malayali Cultural Association, IIT Bombay. Believe it or not, the design has been made entirely by flowers, and solely by the students in a period of 4 hours, between 2 AM to 6 AM.
Kalesh, a friend, near the Rangoli. Notice his traditional attire.
Garaj baras saawan gir aayo.. (click the link) Sunless evenings were common in August.
So were sunless afternoons, sometimes. This is 3 PM, by the way.
Compare the color of the sky in this picture with the picture below. Both were taken on consecutive evenings.
The lights in the hostel mostly pinpoint the rooms of addictive gamers.
This structure, on the banks of the Powai Lake, was the IIT Bombay Boat Club once upon a time. Today, it is known as The Weeders' Den, and not without reasons.
Sunset from the banks of the lake is vastly different than the one from my room.
Hiranandani, across the croc-infested lake.
My last evening at IIT Bombay. The heaviness I felt while clicking this picture is not something I can put in words.
Bombay, I have SO many reasons to hate you. Why do I not hate you, then? Why is your photo a part of the series that I swore would only be about my alma mater?
My last morning at IIT Bombay. Two hours before I left the institute for the last time. Thank you, nourishing mother.