I opened the only notepad I own currently. My last company’s notepad given to me by a colleague friend. The notepad opened on an already written page. It contained a list. Bread, brinjals, tomato puree, black cumin seeds. Oh. The groceries list.
For a moment I was lost. And confused.
The Fashion Drawing class instructor’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned the page till I got a fresh page.
A fresh page. A fresh beginning.
I sat among the odd bunch of younger (very young) students. Being used to be the youngest of the lot, being one of the oldest was…. awkward. But here, no one cares. People from all races, age groups and backgrounds come to study the same courses for different reasons. A cosmetologist leans sewing and patternmaking for hobby. An elderly lady learns the same thing because she is already so good with sewing at home. Some people can barely talk English. Some are peculiar. In fact, each person is peculiar for the other. To be true, no one really cares.
And this encourages me to open up quicker and more easily.
We are told about course contents, grading patterns, assignments (weekly, by the way) and a whole list of hundreds of equipment, material and supplies needed. Whoever led us to think that Fashion Designing is glamorous and fun was joking with us. I cannot imagine myself as a clever prospective designer everyone will envy. I visualize myself running around from sewing machine to sewing machine, trying to put pieces of cloth together, looking at fantastic designs of other students, perspiring, fretting, not having eaten anything since ages because there is no time to save my life, and going totally blank in the end.
I will learn to make such illustrations in my Fashion Drawing class. Possible?
After years of listening to lectures (rather, staring at the professor blankly), this seems like real hard work. There are scary looking machines, peculiarly shaped instruments, 20 types of pencils, pens and markers, dangerous life-threatening sharp equipments and a confusing array of paper. All of these threaten to kill my dream, my passion. Suddenly my good taste in fashion and excess wardrobe seems so meaningless.
While I spoke to few classmates to gather information and exchange opinions, I spent all my free time wandering about the building (the cold and wind made it all so tough). I looked for a place to have my lunch (a simple home made sandwich), spoke to At and read a book in that 1.5 hours break. I spent some time wandering about the empty corridors. So silent was this building that one could hear each approaching footstep clearly. In the evening, after sunset, the place looked almost eerie.
Despite the intimidating lab and unnerving course outline, the dream in my eyes hasn’t died. Applied Arts and Sciences. I read this heading above all doorways I passed with pride. I am a part of the Arts department, I thought, my heart swelling with pride. Cheer up, I told myself. This is where you always wanted to be.