Memoirs Of My Old Diary

Memoirs Of My Old Diary
I remember, I remember…..
Those sweet days in my school diary,
days of nectar and sugared schedule.
When I wore half-trousers and was creeping to school,
when my morning breakfast expensed at eight annas.
When I had numerous men, who loved me and my family.


I remember, I remember
When I wore Khaki half-trousers, cotton white shirt
washed dutifully by my mother.
My little mouth sweetened by ten paise mellow,
brown saccharin balls,
sold by a dirty man on a four wheeled push-cart,
right outside the school gate.
The morning sessions swifted, till those
sweet balls melted in my pocket, dripping, wet, greasy, oily, sticky…….
(those stains lasted for weeks after several washings)


I remember, I remember those days…………..
When independence day meant handful of sweets,
small tri-colour flags pinned to my chest
(sadly it tore off in the afternoon)
The grade I teacher who wore leather topi,
The grade III Master had tonsils operations
and became mute for a month,
his thoughts spoken through the Head-boy, a human mouth-piece.


I remember, I remember
When I got transferred to English medium High school,
walked six kilometers a day
Those sweet eighties marred by Christian teachers
(Mr. F. D. Rathnam and Mr. Noah Selvaraj) who spoke
colonial servants' English
putting me to pedagogical torture
through hectic, periodical, terminal tests
of all names and myriad lessons.


As I browse this memory diary,
wet thoughts fill a liquid well in my dark eyes.
My school remains there,
a concrete memory to
my honeyish innocence and days of pleasant past.
My town today, peopled by
unknown new faces
and several extensions, streets numerous……………………

Ramesh Iyengar