Said they, he failed

Up and down the streets out there,

My wonder would be hot affair.

"No man behoved brute so tight.

Curse worse less, a beastly bite."

Said they, he failed.

Pray trust me for what I say,

Down there does the treasure lay.

"Everything's clear, black and white

Hail thy lord, who gave us light."

Said they, he failed.

Uff! I wander wrestle rue,

That I am wrong, could be true.

"Fool is he who works all night,

Folly fizz to prove his might".

Said they, he failed.

Seldom need me courier then,

Sing a song of merry when.

Cease not, shall I, ebb inspite,

Until I get the tower right.

Said he, they failed.

Ramkumar aka Freak aka Circuit Mandaiya, Barnabas Gavin Cangan (this name was designed for only for one person who is designed to design) and Sridhar had hours and hours of discussion about some war which happened somewhere in the middle of the tenth standard history book I hoped. Well, I tried hard to either contribute something (which never happened) or desperately change the topic (which they never allowed to happen). Finally one fine day I was handed over a sheet of paper on which Ram had written something with his beautiful handwriting: p . That is the lone inspiration for this post and yes, the conversations are not boring anymore. The link below would let you have a taste of it. And yes, you would like to give the poem another read after that.

IT'S OK Mr. EDISON,YOU LOSE

Across the hallowed hallways

2 August 2010

Today I had decided to be my very best. Have you ever noticed green clouds in the sky, I mean clouds green with envy? I did. It had drizzled the very first day in the year and gave a chocolate coating to my new green Bata pair. 1c was unusually crowded today. Gosh! The entire population of the world was packed in that small a place and everyone seemed busy unearthing a real big treasure right in the middle of this rickety bus. Just a small blow into the fragile framed conductor’s whistle, and I would have been launched into a positive parabolic trajectory of a projectile shot at an angle of forty five degrees to the normal and the flight would have been recorded the most unimaginable embarrassment. Thanks to my three sixty degree elbow that I somehow strained to manage at least half the portion of the pink 2” x 1” piece of paper dear enough to be the passport of bus travellers in the town. I must produce it to the grey beard, which would otherwise invite an unremitting pour of not-so-beautiful words the vernacular contained.

Seventeen rotations of the minute hand and the umpteen numbers of curses my bag would bear, it was Lawley Road, which I presumed to be a highly modernised version of pronouncing the word ‘lovely’- soon to discover it was the highest priority event of the day. A hasty stride on the narrow pathway five inches below the tar, and a four minute choke of breath by the awful stench that would churn the internal juices. Phew! The Golden Jubilee gate of 1995 – better life than all the elixir in the universe could offer.

I was almost there, just a few steps away. The wet breeze from the agri fields on my left had come to the rescue of my ruffled hair to set every strand of my mine to a smart partitioned concave across my forehead. At the countdown of the coconut trees that welcome every soul on the yellow carpet of flowers, I was nearing that important encounter of my life.

My mind would not ask – take the right and keep moving - an open space, a phantom deep. Forty more careful steps and there she was… A spotless face that would take eons to describe half the features on it, a sharp smile up the cheeks outlining the slender nose and a set of ten of the world’s most precious pearls on auction. Her mysterious eyes that hide under the thick clean-curved brows carried all the charm of the range of Alps. The yellow earring that twirled down her lobe, she sported a very interesting design that no common man could cogitate.

I heard people speak of her good-looks and charms and that the long queues of thousands awaiting her smile back were all rejected at once. Her father who is a professor in the college is a very strict man who has could not even tolerate a single crack on the wall that could cause his daughter the slightest visual discomfort. He is a bigwig in town, a genius, a perfectionist and a sensitive father. Goodness! I shall be one lucky in a million to have spotted her right in the morning. And she glared the million-dollar smile at me. Lost in the dreams I could faintly trace the trinkets of her dupatta rush in a sequence into the dark corridor where she sped. Thus began the routine of the thousand butterflies all talking off my stomach at the same time. She would everyday wait for me behind the intricately embossed pillar near the picturesque post office. Bliss! Just one sharp smile and she would dash into the long corridors of the ultra-gargantuan louring haunting enigmatic construction.

Life had taken one big turn. Changes embraced me and everything of mine. The tiring walk down Lawley road was now scaled effortlessly in no time and it was very important to be before the stroke of nine else I put a hundred muscles of her face to frown. The journey of the sun was magical…

It has been exactly three years and seven flips of the calendar pages. There hasn’t been a single day we never met. Sundays? Yes, the only day when her dad would not be around and she would gracefully walk down the path of golden hue from the hostels road and run towards this young chap holding a bouquet at full bloom. I would catch the same rickety bus just to join the only other soul apart from the driver and race the scorching rays of the sun else I disappoint her. From there we would walk briskly across the empty corridors and count every step of twenty eight that would take us to the first floor. And amazingly this magic number applied true to all the staircases, four in the corners and the one in the main entrance. Late in the evening we would stroll down the boulevard of brown leaves with the sun closing his eyes after a wearing day at the backdrop of a peacock that dances passionately on the Manchester made machine lying lifelessly in its late sixties. She had become an inseparable part of my life, She – my GCT.

Two more months and we will have to move on in life. The thought of separation sends a cold prick down my spine. Yet unable to accept the separation I am bound in hopes, tied in memories and the time we spent together will linger in my hearts for eternity. A degree is just two letters they say, but the lessons learnt are numerous to lay down.

Love of a GCTian

Gowtham

Smiles, Tricks and Shines

Hark now here, the year that was…

Smiles, tricks and shines.

Joy knew no bounds, a family esteem,

A comrade sent from the heaven above.

Blush-n-flush days to live, Happiness redeem.

Emerged the excitement, the trance unseen,

Sun and moon, pledged for a rumpus stun.

Ruffled the secrets of the Janus jilt,

Caesar had fallen, thus the legend spun.

Strange is the play of three sisters of fate.

Strived hard to sail the ship… Ahoy, Ashore!

Across a Bounty Bridge, his worth unearthed,

The sailor stood tall, stronger than before.

With hopes, with dreams, Up the memory lane,

He arises, towards the goals and lines,

To explore the terrains that wait for him.

Hark now here, the year that was…

Smiles, tricks and shines.