NOSTALGIA (contd)- At IIT KGP
A cold winter night, I stand on the balcony watching the sky. The moon has hid herself behind a misty veil but she appears more mysteriously enchanting in her half exposed beauty.
A knock on the door, I open. It is Murali hands in his pockets and a muffler covering his ears.
“ let us go and have some tea at chhedis” he says.
“whats the time”
“One thirty a.m”.
I lock the door and we wander off along the corridor. The light is burning only in Ranga’s room in the wing. We knock, but no response. I say “the guy is fast asleep, but he would like us to believe that he is studying hard”. I know that if we had kept on knocking he would wake up and open the door whistling some tune (out of tune of course).
We go down the stairs and reach the hostel gate. Two furlongs away we could see the light from Chhedis hut. There warmth awaited us . There is nothing like a hot cup of tea(Chai), at 1.30a.m on a cold winters night, that to inside a hut in the midst of wide open spaces. One could let ones fantasies fly as high as the moon.
“ I got to put in another hour to finish my sessionals . What about you, what were you doing” asks Murali.
“ what would you say if I told you I was looking at the moon”, I replied.
“ I would say you are loony.If you dreamt less and worked harder at your studies it would serve you better”.
“well spoken and like a topper”.
We sit inside sipping our tea under the light of the petromax lamp, immersed in the warmth of the hut. We talk of infatuations, imaginary loves and frustrations. We reach the moon and stay there, as we return to the hostel. Murali goes into his room promising to wake me up in time to attend classes. I know that he would stay awake to finish his sessionals and that he would wake up at 6.30a.m in the morning.
As for me I stay out in the corridor, in the darkness, for sometime, filling my lungs with the surrounding stillness. Back in the room I strum my guitar softly and sing. In the stillness of the night, each note, each chord seem to conjure up a thousand images before me. I feel at peace as I drift slowly in to that world of dreams.
I still remain a dreamer.
A cold winter night, I stand on the balcony watching the sky. The moon has hid herself behind a misty veil but she appears more mysteriously enchanting in her half exposed beauty.
A knock on the door, I open. It is Murali hands in his pockets and a muffler covering his ears.
“ let us go and have some tea at chhedis” he says.
“whats the time”
“One thirty a.m”.
I lock the door and we wander off along the corridor. The light is burning only in Ranga’s room in the wing. We knock, but no response. I say “the guy is fast asleep, but he would like us to believe that he is studying hard”. I know that if we had kept on knocking he would wake up and open the door whistling some tune (out of tune of course).
We go down the stairs and reach the hostel gate. Two furlongs away we could see the light from Chhedis hut. There warmth awaited us . There is nothing like a hot cup of tea(Chai), at 1.30a.m on a cold winters night, that to inside a hut in the midst of wide open spaces. One could let ones fantasies fly as high as the moon.
“ I got to put in another hour to finish my sessionals . What about you, what were you doing” asks Murali.
“ what would you say if I told you I was looking at the moon”, I replied.
“ I would say you are loony.If you dreamt less and worked harder at your studies it would serve you better”.
“well spoken and like a topper”.
We sit inside sipping our tea under the light of the petromax lamp, immersed in the warmth of the hut. We talk of infatuations, imaginary loves and frustrations. We reach the moon and stay there, as we return to the hostel. Murali goes into his room promising to wake me up in time to attend classes. I know that he would stay awake to finish his sessionals and that he would wake up at 6.30a.m in the morning.
As for me I stay out in the corridor, in the darkness, for sometime, filling my lungs with the surrounding stillness. Back in the room I strum my guitar softly and sing. In the stillness of the night, each note, each chord seem to conjure up a thousand images before me. I feel at peace as I drift slowly in to that world of dreams.
I still remain a dreamer.
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