Sit back, look back.






Sit back, look back.
Oh my friend,
Do you remember?
First day you stepped into college.
The nervous glances, awkward intro's,
seeking comfort ,finding friends, blending in.
Do you ? Do you?
Don't you remember?
That girl with the strange name,
And that guy with the goofy laugh.
That hot senior your friend couldn't take her eyes off.
That lame teacher whose pj's you couldn't get over and,
That adorable teacher whom you couldn't help but swoon over.
Don't you? Don't you?

The despicable internals,
the long list of assignments,
those class tests, those semester exams...
them cake fights, the lectures we bunked,
the inside jokes we cracked,
the code names we created.
All the things we did together,
All the situations we faced together,
All these experiences build up like a sand castle,
streaked by glittering colors, adorned by sea shells.
A gigantic wave from the ocean so vast...
may hit the shore and return our castle to sand.
But, the sea shells will remain dispersed,
Just like the wistful memories etched in our hearts.




This gives you something to look forward to,
oh my friend, something to look back at.

Sit back, look back.
We have come a long way...
Haven't we?
The time you got caught eating in class.
Uncountable times you got screwed by lecturers.
The time you locked eyes with your crush,
felt your heart flutter with the grace of a butterfly.
The day it rained cats and dogs,
and you got soaked to skin.
The time you failed a sem exam,
all thanks to you...VTU.
The times of silly fights,
unabashed laughs,
chagrined cries and
funky groufies.
These are the times.

Sit back, look back...Oh my friend,
This is a souvenir of the first year
of engineering.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Vacuum Cleaner for thoughts

Image
Mr.Blob is this dusty spot on the lens of my specs who is situated at an angle of elevation of forty-fucking-how-did-you-get-here degrees. He gets a real kick out of playing pee-ka-boo at obstructing my vision and sometimes getting on my nerves by making me squint to see properly. With time, I got used to him. I let him stay on and he became a part of the lens. On good days, when the sun rays hit Mr.Blob in the right mood, there would be a kaleidoscopic glare that I claimed to hate but if I were being completely honest I liked it quite a bit. Today, I picked up a cloth and an optical lens cleaner and wiped my lens clean, bidding goodbye to Mr.Blob. Having put this off for so long and so often, I must say this goodbye was long overdue. During the bus rides back home in the night, from project classes in final semester I would think about it frequently, this word, this degree, this designation – Engineer. It’s hard to explain the feeling it evoked. There was sure to be a h
Read more

Analogy / The Woodcutter

Not black, not white. On a greyscale, A shade more on the darker side. Light hearted clouds in camaraderie, out for a cotton candy break. Condensed molecules of vapour no longer weighing them down. A drop that claimed to be distant fell upon a leaf who believed his claim. Sparks of callous connection trudged deep. How, why, what or when are questions for entropy (to answer). Entropy - who took on the role of Cupid, for an evening. He resigned that post, that very night. They began to dance, a slow waltz. Orchestrated by winds - carefree and young. The raindrop making his way through her veins. Wondering if they were real, she gazed into his eyes. In the drop was a reflection of a different time. He had stopped listening while her insides were still singing. As unexpectedly as he'd come, he left too. Slipped away with the ease that fluids do. The leaf tried to justify her drop. ( hers, was he ? ) She did, for quite some time. One day she took off
Read more

Drapetomani

Deep and darkening galore of dilapidated sheds. Treading on diligent dullness, lives the man I call master. The grass on his side greener, the smile on his face familiar. Whiff of fresh paint. Built on an elevation is his decadent abode. To the door ajar, do my bovine eyes wander. “...a flood hits northern parts of...” “...but I still love you...” “...new version is available for just Rupees...” Disrupted voices boom from channels being switched listlessly, on a TV aged six. Here comes master says Dhena, the milch cow. Tethered to a pole, I am. Master's will, the halter around my neck. I am. Here comes master dragging along his baggy clothes. Here comes master wearing a hat as old as him. Circles I draw. Confined by certain circumference, I draw. Defined by length of rope of master's choosing, I withdraw. Babhru's ruminating. Wasn't much of a talker, that one. His kind, the ploughing ones usually aren't. Master's limp
Read more