We Indians do possess a penchant for hyperbolic comparisons—a curious blend of pride and whimsy that adds a certain flair to our mundane existences. To see the world through such a lens isn't so much a distortion as it is a reflection of our cultural exuberance. Sachin Tendulkar becomes our very own "Bradman," and suddenly, Ranchi dons the costume of Mussoorie. These monikers may border on the flippant, but as they say, different strokes for different folks.

Now, brace yourself for an unsolicited tale that serves no other purpose than to dredge up poignant memories and to provide the occasional chuckle. A tale that ends, as all good things do, in the pitch-dark humor of life's absurdities.

Once upon a time in the bustling bylanes of North Delhi (Mukherjee Nagar), I found myself beguiled by a captivating woman completing her Master's in Economics at Delhi School of Economics (DSE). It was a time of passion and academia, a time when I, too, was in Delhi under the guise of an internship. The internship was merely an excuse and thanks to my unparalleled talent for crafting excuses at work, life was beautiful with impromptu dates with this magnetic lady. Our limited resources ensured that the DSE canteen (sometimes Kamla Nagar market) became our social hub—a quirky combination of Café Coffee Day, Nirula's, and Connaught Place, all combined into one quaint establishment. Our gastronomic pinnacle? The budget-friendly 'Mutton-Dosas,' which fueled both our love and malnutrition.

During one of our many nostalgic walks, she pointed out an enigmatic gate adorned with Gothic motifs—forever locked and corroded by time. A shortcut to DSE, its perpetual closure made no sense to me. My inquiry triggered another life lesson from the one who would eventually slip through my fingers. According to the legends passed down by her professors, this "Gate to Nobel" would only swing open to welcome back a DSE alumnus graced with a Nobel Prize in Economics. Ah, a closed gate with grand aspirations—much like the two of us.

Time, that cunning sculptor, eventually carved canyons between our paths. We became two strangers bound only by the fragile threads of memories. A few years later, fate led me back to Delhi for work—a voyage that stretched into a reminiscing weekend. And there it was—the still-locked gate, now sporting a fresh coat of silver paint. Perhaps applied with a touch of desperate optimism, it waited for the day it could welcome home a laureate adorned with Swedish gold.

So you see, DSE remains a sanctuary for the study of economics in India. As for the other departments, I wouldn't venture a guess. But what I can vouch for is that the gate, like many of us, stands waiting—frozen in anticipatory glory, serving as a darkly humorous monument to life's grand plans and harsh realities.