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……………………
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