Two pages stare, verbose and limp; I feel like a literary wimp.

Sujata would’ve given up on me

This piece was due last Friday, you see.

What do you write on ‘MIS Memories’ pray? Which one to hide, which one do I say!

I shot out lines in staccato phrases,

And gaped with a soulful gaze.

My limp lines, they were saved! Oroon came on the phone, Called me up on his own,

This was a first, this decade.

He remembered me for his eyes had swelled

Up, he said, while on a walk in School As dusk fell today, he had stood

In the old section, being rebuilt.

He thought of the cemented bin,

That we used to jump in, with great din. The Assembly Hall of yore,

And Other Places which are no more.

Of the Jungle Gym and lighter things,

Of time spent behind the Canteen wings. Or sitting atAssembly, thighs side by side Amused at how mine were dark, and his white!

We revert to the present, to catch up, to update.

And thus he remembers as well Another reason for his call was to tell Me that Riya was finally getting wed.

I am overjoyed, I want to tell her so much. But I have not her id or her number.

It is but my thoughts that reach farther, Further than we bothered to keep in touch.

I think of many who I have met with again, With spouses, children and pounds gained. In a fellowship of fateful fun,

We welcomed many, while we lost one.

I hear about most others doing well, some better. Pankaj runs marathons, Gautam still can play soccer! Akshay plays too, more for pride than prize,

Samrat surfaced once to tell us he’s married wise.

Lest the above list should be deemed ‘uncool’,

It bemoans some mention of the fairer sex.

Though fortunately oblivious of most of my ex-,

I admit I speak to Zeba more now than I used to in school.

I realize in vain my foray in such thought. For we cannot really stay for long Untouched by the need to throng

The sweet-sour lanes of rekindled memories wrought!

My eyes now glisten, moist in mush, Mind muddled, in memories lush, Of deeds, desires, waves of rush; Of unashamed, unrequited crush.

And I wonder if I could somehow visit again

Another birth, or even just fora season,

This time instead, to stop and to listen

To all who loved me for no real reason!