An ode to my friends who made some of the best days infinitely better
Remember the first day we entered mystical Malviyaland,
Marking the beginning of four years in that wonderful quicksand.
All of us looking shy, well almost demure,
The ragging week with giggling, crying and depraving of the pure!!!!
We dealt with homesickness pangs and such sundry pressures,
And then the finale with us singing Jo jeeta la la la at the freshers.
The first year of having “cycle loads” of fun,
As we regaled in the ratio of having thirty for each one.
All of us getting into an auto, holding each other to prevent a fall,
As we go watch a pot boiler in a dripping cinema hall.
Or the Saturday special lunch and the damned drafter,
I mean who can forget the “call”ing guys and then the raucous laughter.
It was all about learning the special survival tricks,
Dealing with secret admirers and fans, the letters and the limericks.
The first year of making friends was all fun and game,
With everyone wondering would we ever be tame.
(Did I mention the guys who were “just friends”)
The second year promised to be much more exciting,
The possibility of ragging the facchis was truly nail biting.
Remember the faithful “Compus” we all pooled in for,
And the all night compu game wars vying for the highest score.
Discovering the maggi at nochus and the canteen chai,
While some of us were falling in love with the “guy”.
Cycling back madly after classes at four thirty,
Sharing everything that happened, the good and the dirty.
The generous swapping of clothes, shoes and ear rings,
I guess the friendship was worth more than just a few things.
It was not easy dealing with those Birla Bhaiyas and IT morons,
To top it all the professors were mostly clowns.
Carrying ourselves in that jungle, sometimes clumsy but mostly with poise,
In the second year our hearts searched for the men amongst the boyz.
(Did I mention that you all made everything a cakewalk and loads of fun)
The third year brought us at the cusp of change,
We were calming down, now wasn’t that strange.
There were more serious heart to hearts in the courtyard,
Planning for the future and working really hard.
Of getting used to the constants of the years,
The “ooncha” rickshaws, Kashiytara and after evening fears.
I know don’t jump, how could I forget,
The delicious Aaloo Parathas and butter that would just melt.
Falling in love with the
Getting less annoyed everyday by the goons and the louts.
It was not always exchange of sweet sound bytes,
There were times of serious disagreements but mostly silly fights.
Three years down we had finally quit tryin,
We would never study in time to save nine.
(Did I mention I think the third year was the best)
The fourth year started with us leaving beloved principal quarters,
And moving into a lightless, lobby-full hostel that was admittedly hotter.
There was our tryst with PPTs, stupid tests and the occasional interview.
And the weekly CAT & Mouse PT test rendezvous.
It was a year of nostalgic farewells and a filmy “sangeet”,
An end to the bitterest cold and the torrid heat.
Putting up a final fight for a “just” cause we thought.
It was good to know the “fire” was not completely doused out.
The hurried trips to fave nooks and crannies in the last few days,
And the million pictures we took marking the end of that phase.
Finally they were teary goodbyes and poignant adieus plethora,
Yes little women it was the end of an era.
(Did I ever say sorry I did not handle failure well)
I learnt as the years after that unfurled,
You taught me to revel in being a woman in a man’s world.
You all were not just “friends for having fun”
But each one of you was, is a “loved” one.
Let me admit lately I often struggled to understand,
Where does our friendship today stand?
I often wondered why our paths cross so rarely,
Why we meet, laugh and remember each other so rarely.
But then I saw: actions of the present and the future will have to spare,
Maligning the beloved past that we all share.
It actually requires no toil and zero perspiration,
I know “true love” can survive in “suspended animation”.