The roots of this post lie in the other blog, but this is the only blog where this post might justifiably be placed.

Well, lifeISgokhale.blogspot.com, maybe, but Soumya Mahapatra hasn't started that one yet.

Down the myriad paths of time, in the decades to come, when some intrepid biographer finally decides to take upon himself the frightening task of describing Soumya's life for future generations, he will have two choices.

One, he can describe it as it happened, and there is much to describe. Much that is fun, much that is scary, much that is wild, and much that is downright unprintable, on grounds of utter complete insanity.

Or, and this would be far simpler, he might write her biography thus:

"She Loved Gokhale"

For although there are those who claim that they love Gokhale, and their claims are justifiable (hell, yours truly is one of them), there is no one who lives Gokhale the way this girl does.

And truly, this is all that can be written about the lady.

Soumya outside of those glorious confines in Deccan Gymkhana is like beer outside of me.

Not at home, if you get what I mean.

Some things are just meant to be, and Peter Pan hasn't a patch on the best of the Mahapatras. She was meant to be a Gokhaleite for the rest of her life, and that's what she's turning out to be. Sure she's been in Bombay since, and she's in Bangalore now. Sure she's moved on and out and beyond, and sure she's out of Gokhale now.

But that's not Soumya Mahapatra.

Soumya in GT's room, staring at me in complete exasperation, as GT and I shuffle out to play yet another game of TT. Exasperation because GT's got about fifteen papers left, starting in like 15 hours.

Soumya in the Common Room, 10 minutes after that last scene, smoking a cigarette, and promising herself, that she'll drag GT in to study... just after a couple of games.

Soumya in Apache, not fifteen minutes after that, banging the table in perfect rythm to Pearl Jam.

Soumya at the exam, pen in hand and frown on face, 15 hours after that, and doing a damn good job.

GT and I? Paper scratched.

Soumya Mahapatra? 60% and an A grade, thank you very much.

Soumya on the terrace, glass of rum in hand, singing Sutta for all she's worth.

Soumya at Manas, bawling her heart out, and hugging every moving thing.

Soumya at the tapri, smoking a cigarette and yelling at whoever happens to be nearby. And if it happens to be Sush, it's that much more sweeter.

Soumya in Kale hall, lambasting a certain somebody, for reasons that are still unclear. And if you ask "Why?" your surname must be Sethi.

Soumya outside the M.A. classroom, clutching that guy's collar. He wasn't thinking of calling the police then, no siree.

Soumya on the bench outside the boy's hostel, just sitting.

Soumya playing Baddy at some random hour at night.

Soumya sitting on the katta, sipping on chai.

Soumya arguing about Romanian currency. Or something equally arcane. The specifics don't matter. The arguing does.

Soumya at Naani House. Drunk.

Soumya at Wasoo Mama's place. Drunker.

Soumya at the hostel. Drunkest.

Soumya on GT's bike.

Soumya, completely drunk, hugging me for all she's worth.

Soumya, crying at the accursed bus stop on J.M. Road.

And all that ain't Soumya Mahapatra either.

I could go on trying, but it wouldn't work.

Because when you think of Gokhale, you must think of that girl, Soumya Mahapatra.

And that pretty much sums it up, innit, girl?

You are Gokhale.

Here's to yet another bottle of Old Monk in Gtya's room, and may the last one never be opened.

Cheers, babe.