You rush down the steep, narrow blue stairs, finally done with the day after enduring three back-to-back classes. As you catch your breath, the overwhelming mountain of work waiting for you crashes back into focus— two exams, two quizzes, an assignment, and a presentation. Oh, and let’s not forget the paper due at midnight. Naturally, there’s only one destination that comes to mind— besides the Fuel Zone, of course— the tuck shop. The sacred haven where all the essentials for surviving these big, bad days await. So, let’s gear up and make a list of everything you’ll need, shall we?
Let’s start with an assorted bag of self-esteem. Why assorted, you ask? Because it comes in all kinds of flavors and shapes. Some days, it’s the 100% all-natural variety with no preservatives (fake it till you make it). On those days, you feel invincible— hitting deadlines, acing your daily dose of “networking,” and rocking a great hair day (as in, your hair didn’t all fall out thanks to the Sonipat water). Then there are the days when you take the artificially colored ones. These are your “participation-heavy” class days. You pop a couple in the morning, trying to memorize a few talking points, hoping your nerves won’t betray you when it’s time to speak. Miraculously, your point lands— maybe even gets a nod from the professor with a “building on this idea…” moment. You feel the artificial sweetness tingling on your tongue. And finally, there’s the flavor you never want but you often get— the inferiority complex variety. This one sticks with you, especially on days when your hair is greasy, and instead of the meticulously planned outfit, you grab the oversized, worn-out T-shirt and baggy jeans. You find a corner at the back of the class, quietly resenting your classmates who seem to have it all together— sharing points that not only make sense but actually impress. Later that night, you scroll through their LinkedIn profiles, and confirm your suspicions. They’re living their best, most accomplished lives. But hey, it’s an assorted bag, and you’ll let life surprise you with what flavour you’ll get.
Next, you grab a packet of friendship. Oh, the grand promises of finding your closest friends in college! You succumb to the peer pressure (aka the ultimate “friendship maker”) and finally decide to buy a pack. It’s a little pricey, but hey, you chalk it up as a college essential. After all, everyone else seems to have multiple packs of it. At first, you’re cautious— you wait to see if the pack has expired, gone bad, or maybe even using you instead. But then, something clicks. You find yourself liking the pack, using it more, and before you know it, it’s gone. So, you buy another… and another. Over time, it becomes something you not only enjoy but also something that makes your Ashoka journey a whole lot easier. Turns out, this one was worth the splurge. Oh, and how could you forget your daily necessity: individuality. At Ashoka, it can feel like a rare item to pick up. Sometimes, as the bhaiya rings up your purchases, a few people glare or snicker at you for daring to add it to your cart. But hey, the first step to embracing that oversized bottle is refusing to be ashamed of carrying it. Except, you quietly slip it into your tote bag and zip it shut. “For another day,” you tell yourself.
Back in your room, the bottle sits on your desk, fizzing gently, waiting for you. But first, you iron the new green cargo pants you bought. “They’re ugly,” you think, “but they’re Ashokan. And so am I.” You rehearse in your room, dragging your vowels and tweaking your pitch. You’re determined to master the “Ashoka accent” and get it pitch-perfect.
Then your eyes land on the bottle again. You take a sip, savoring the taste only you enjoy. Slowly, you push the cargo pants aside, pull out your makeup, and go all out with a full face. You dig into your drawer and attach a bunch of playful keychains to your bag—the kind some people might dismiss as childish. You slip into long skirts and flowy dresses. Sure, you get the looks— more pointed now than ever— but you also catch a few smiles and compliments. And that’s when it hits you: you didn’t buy the big bottle for anyone else. You bought it for yourself. You’re at Ashoka, not Ashoka inside you.