Blog | Friends, football and four staircases…
Memories good or memories bad . . . . always leave you longing and sad . . . .
It has been about a year that I came to college. But still cannot forget the
times that I had spent in my school. Fifteen years of my life that will always be special to me . . . . special in a way that nothing else could ever be.
I have made new friends but they do not feel as familial or as sweet as any of my pals back at school. In college, I have new teachers but I cannot help wanting to go back to my school-teachers again. In fact nothing seems to match those priceless moments that I had been cherished with for so many years . . . .
Thanks to Orkut I am still in touch with most of my partners in crime, all of whom like me are always resonating the same nostalgic lament — the want of going back to school. Going back to the heaven where we fought our sweetest quarells, laughed our funniest laughs, commited the silliest of petty crims and enjoyed every bit of it — in short, had the blast of our lives.
Each time I log on to Orkut, I am posed the same question by my friends : When are you coming home to Jamshedpur ? And then i just sit there helplessly smiling thinking what to tell them . . . .
Most of you, who have crossed the lovely phase of life called school-life, will know exactly what I am saying. Others might wonder what I am saying. To them I say : wait and you will know it yourself.
Here in college, I feel lonely like I am lost in a crowd of unknown identities, and each day I long to be back to those known times, to be back among those who I know and who know me. To be at a place I would give the world for. To be back to my friends , to be back to my school.
Those football challenges to each other and those rejoices and laments after the match; those recess times which always seemed short; that last bell of the day for which one waited for with utmost expectation; those amazing rides acround the town and those innumerable moments that we spent together and would never be again . . . . .
I wish I was back to that spring again . . . .