On any given day at Ashoka University, there is a chaotic blend of impending deadlines, spirited debates, and intellectual pursuits that make the campus feel like a reality show, where everyone is a contestant. Yet, above all this hustle, a group of campus residents—the pigeons—silently observe the madness from their ledges. Unruffled by the chaos below, these birds are the true chroniclers of Ashoka's idiosyncrasies.
Unlike the students, they do not have to worry about 8:30 a.m. classes or where to sit in the mess. Observing college life from their perch, these pigeons take in the humour, the fatigue, and the silent fortitude. They cast an odd wisdom of their own back at us as they look down on our never-ending flurry, serving as a reminder that our little triumphs and daily difficulties, both ridiculous and charming, combine to form the strange fabric of Ashoka.
Perched high above Academic Block 4 (AC04), two pigeons, Romeo and Juliet (no connection to any Shakespearean drama, although this campus often seems just as melodramatic), are having their usual post-lunch gossip session. Romeo, always quick with a wing flick, gestures toward Residence Hall (RH6), where students are emerging from the construction dust like dazed explorers returning from an expedition.
“Bhai, what’s even happening over there? It looks like they’ve been building that place since the Mughal era,” Romeo clucks. “I’ve seen nests built faster in drainpipes!” Poor humans have been living in RH6 as if they’re paying five-star rates for three-star camping—dust everywhere, pipes leaking, and the occasional bat swooping in to say hi. As my bat friend Bittu, who is always perching on the 8th-floor balcony, puts it: “Bro, RH6 is basically an all-you-can-eat buffet of mosquitoes.”
Juliet nods sagely, her beady eyes tracking a group of students walking out of the chaos, dragging their tired feet and existential crises with them. "They're tougher than we give them credit for," she muses. "Imagine, living through construction noise, overpriced chai (tea), and all while pretending to enjoy a 5000-word reading on postmodernism! Aur woh bhi Delhi NCR ki sardi mein!" (in the winter of Delhi NCR)
The winter fog has settled over campus like a thick blanket, reminiscent of the notorious Delhi smog that makes even the pigeons grateful for their aerial view. The pigeons watch with amusement as students navigate through the misty labyrinth, their breath visible in the cold air as they huddle together for warmth. "Look at them," Juliet observes, "wrapped in layers like walking chapati rolls, still somehow making it to their 8:30 a.m. classes. Some genius finally figured out ki Uniqlo ki jacket ke neeche sweatshirt, uske neeche hoodie, aur uske neeche thermal – that's the real Ashoka uniform this season."
"The mess situation doesn't help," Romeo adds, watching students queue up in the biting cold. "These days they're surviving on rationed caffeine and lukewarm dreams. Remember when we used to feast on leftover paneer? Now even the pigeons are on a diet!" He chuckles, pecking at a forgotten piece of paratha. "At least they've mastered the art of jugaad—mixing three different curries to create something edible. Truly innovative!"
A group of students huddles near the HDFC library, their conversation a mix of Hindi, English, and that uniquely Indian blend of the two that would confuse any foreign exchange student. "Bro, kal ka assignment submit kiya?" merges seamlessly with discussions about feminist theory, while someone frantically WhatsApps their group about "urgent deadline extension needed, please yaar." The pigeons have front-row seats to the dramatic morning scrambles, which, from their vantage point, looks like poorly scripted chase scenes in a low-budget Bollywood movie.
Through the winter smog, students appear like shadows, sprinting across the frost-covered lawns, books flying, bags slipping, all while muttering half-hearted apologies to random gods in hopes they'll make it to class before the professor locks the door. "Bhagwan Ji, bus ek baar aur," (God, just once more) Romeo mimics a passing student's prayer.
"You know what's really entertaining?" Juliet coos, watching a couple huddled together on a bench below, sharing a packet of Parle-G dipped in cutting chai. "Their relationships. They meet in some dusty library corner, fall in love over a group project, and by week three, they're fighting over whose WhatsApp message didn't get a double tick. Their love lives are like something out of a Karan Johar movie, but with more academic references and less designer clothes."
Having witnessed countless campus romances, each with its predictable arc, Romeo nods knowingly. There is the hand-holding by the mess, the whispered arguments by the library, and, inevitably, the tearful post-breakup walks past the rat statue. "Met in a 3 p.m. philosophy lecture, fought over dinner plans, now they're having their 'serious conversation' walk," Romeo observes. "Give it a week. By next Wednesday, it'll be 'Tu badal gaya hai!' (You’ve changed!) outside the mess."
But beyond the drama and the daily struggles, the pigeons witness something truly remarkable: the vibrant pulse of campus life. They see students organizing cultural festivals that light up the winter nights, passionate debates that spark new ideas, and friendships forged in late-night study sessions fueled by Maggi and masala chai. The campus comes alive with classical music performances that echo through the cold evening air, impromptu Antakshari sessions in the common rooms, and spontaneous Bollywood dance practices that warm even the chilliest days.
Romeo tilts his head, observing the bustling activity below. "These humans, they're something else. If I had an 8 a.m., I would have dropped out a long time ago.” The Ashokan overcommitment to dance, drama, debate and other D words is nothing short of extraordinary. Sure, they are always rushing, always stressed about deadlines and society meetings. “But dekho how they support each other, how they create something beautiful out of chaos. Yesterday, I saw a whole group pull an all-nighter just to help their friend finish a project. Pure filmy solidarity!"
"And the way they find joy in the small things," Juliet adds. "A successful presentation, a friend's birthday celebration with midnight cake-cutting, even finding a sunny spot to sit during lunch—it's like they're collecting little moments of khushi between all the madness. And don't forget those random holiday celebrations—from Diwali to Christmas to random days they make up just to distribute sweets!"
Despite the winter chill and academic pressure, the students keep moving forward with remarkable resilience. Whether they are debating philosophy at midnight, collaborating on creative projects, or simply sharing laughs over a cup of kadak chai, they find ways to make the campus feel like home. The mess might serve bland dal, but someone's mom always sends enough homemade pickles to share with the whole floor.
As the fog settles in for another winter evening, the pigeons watch the warm lights of the academic blocks illuminate the mist like little diyas. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Juliet sighs. "All this chaos and creativity, struggle and success, wrapped up in one place. A perfect mix of old traditions and new dreams."
Romeo nods, frost glinting on his feathers. "And at least they've got one thing right—they know how to find warmth in the coldest days, literally and metaphorically.”
And so, the pigeons settle in for another night, ready to observe the next day's dramas and triumphs unfold. Because here at Ashoka, the humans may come and go—but the pigeons? They are here to stay, offering their silent commentary on the endless, messy, beautiful chaos that is campus life.
(Edited by Saniya Naik and Srijana Siri)
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