~~FIRST YEAR~~
I walked through the
gates as my dad stood aside;
It’s the Ladies Hostel Bhai!
How could a man step inside?
The gate was so low, leaving
me to wonder:
was it designed for dwarfs or was it to slow down an intruder?
I stepped over the iron
bar and held my neck down;
lest I stumble and fall
like a circus clown.
It looked like a jail,
though I was no criminal,
It was only for four years yaar;
why get sentimental?
The hostel Supri wasn’t bad;
just an obedient man,
who followed his wife’s every
command.
The kind of questions
she asked, even a mother would never;
But it didn’t matter, in
the very first year;
All we cared was whom to
fear, and whom to revere.
It didn’t take long for
our outdoor interests to be curbed,
a new form of bird
watching, around us, had developed.
The popular ones of LH mingled
outside the gate;
While we, the simple
ones, drank tea and were made to wait.
Sitting on the steps of
LH in our nightee,
we ogled at the visitors
and the visitee.
Pilamane…., I tell you it’s no laughing matter.
I was not the only one
who’s not sought after.
~~SECOND YEAR~~
We breezed into the
freedom of second year;
LH still the exotic
destination, was what we hear.
A father visited his
daughter, one burning summer day;
He wanted to come in,
but Hostel rules were at play.
We rebelled – what the hell! We are no fresher!
Han han! We can take care of
this matter!
We commanded our junior
to bring her father inside,
And any problems, we
said, we’ll handle in our stride.
Why didn’t we think of
this approach before?
Will this be the
beginning of a riotous uproar?
We could bring down the gate
or maybe a window rail;
Through which, not air
could pass; it was worse than Tihar jail.
We ushered the uncle
into our rooms, and parted with a grin;
Aarta Bhai, the guard and the caretaker, panicked and rushed in.
Na na Apa, Semiti Kari
Habani
We ignored him and savored
the moment,
There was so much hope
and yet so much to lament.
Aame Kahaku Darinu, we said aloud;
For, a father must be
treated with respect, and not be looked as a lout.
In a matter of minutes,
the Supri came over;
Asking for an
explanation, for such a blatant takeover.
The junior said, Sir! You must consider! After all, it’s my
father.
The Supri was clear,
And sans any rage, he
kept his composure;
With all of us as his
witness, he showed no regret;
As he uttered these
words, which none of us will ever forget:
“Sie sina tamara Bapa,
sie kana samastankara Bapa?”
(He is your father. But is he everyone’s father?)
We stared at each other
in utter fright,
Thinking in our mind, Did we just hear that right?
How could we agree, to
such a thought?
Even at nineteen, we
knew what was right and what was not.
~~THIRD YEAR~~
Third year brought out,
all the fun and some
clout.
A few were drafted into positions
of power,
others called the shots,
from the shadowy cover.
We got a new Supri and
this time it was a “her”.
We kept our fingers
crossed for someone better.
She talked sweet and put
flower in her hair;
Our hopes arose; we
said, “Finally things will be fair”.
We thought to ourselves,
she will understand,
Girls are also humans, and
should not have to withstand.
These suffocating rules
and restrictive hours,
which don’t apply to
boys, shouldn’t just be ours.
Gadhha Pilla!
LH is still LH! Not your
uncle’s villa.
The new Supri was no
different from the one before,
and treated us like
street urchins, furthermore.
Complaints about food
fell into deaf ears;
The front gate still
remained closed for visitors.
Freshers that year, were
a pack of daring girls,
they followed few rules
and dared to break the shackles.
We looked like angels in
front of the newbees;
They broke the curfew,
letting in the fresh morning breeze.
We fought less and less
for our LH rights,
because what we wanted, was
right in our sights.
All that mattered were our
friends and their friendships,
within those jail walls,
we were prepared for all hardships.
~~FINAL YEAR~~
We were, now, like the
cream floating atop,
Life was casual, like a cozy
flip-flop.
Khaali Maja! Ooo Hooo!
As desperate boyfriends
delivered letters and flowers,
the gang gathered
around, discussing into the wee hours.
We spent countless time on
Linda Goodman’s “Sun Signs”,
matching each of our friends
with possible valentines.
Even the day scholars
had, by then joined in,
after all the real party
was, about to begin.
We spent nights-outs,
singing songs of Jagjit,
life had become a sweet
ghazal, us fully lost in it.
Hai Bhagwan! My grades had again slipped!
My dad got miffed and asked
me for my transcript.
“In second semester, you were the topper.
What happened to you this year?”
I promised to pick up
pace,
But found the going
tough, as life was such a haze.
Our hostel woes didn’t
get any better,
we left the juniors to
deal with the matter.
We bunked classes,
ignoring the profs advice,
we were constantly
hanging out, with tea in our hands and dreams in our eyes.
We worried, from time to
time, about our future jobs,
But more important was
laughing with friends, and our daily hobnobs.
Chhodo Na Yaar! Something will pan out
eventually, we rationalized;
The last few months at
LH had become the most precious, we realized.
We valiantly held on to
those sweet memories,
Spending long nights on
the rooftop, sharing many intimate stories.
It’s not graduation but
an adulthood transition,
we weren’t ready to
embrace the full impact of this notion.
Would we survive without
each other?
Was this really over?
How we wished there was a year or another.
It’s like sand slipping
through our fist;
as the inexorable time
passed, bit by bit.
Aah! We sighed and wished it wouldn’t end in pain,
though we knew it was a wish in vain.
Oh LH! Our beloved castle!
What wouldn’t we give to stay there again, just for a little?
The bonds that we made
at LH are here to stay;
The memories through the silver years, will help
start a golden day.
Interested in reading my other blogs?
How about my ode to old Hindi film music? Which is here --> THE GOLDEN AGE OF HINDI FILM MUSIC.
The first episode is HERE.
Or my eulogy to one of the greatest playback singers of India? SP BALASUBRAHMANYAM.
