Skip to main content

IIFT Diaries #106: One last time


The corridors are empty
The lights are dull
Over a sea so vast
Fell a saddening lull

As I look back in the rear-view mirror
Memories do shine
The rush that heralded the day
Every morning in C9

Omar, Kangla and I boarded an auto in a hurry
Desperate times, desperate measures, not a luxury
Sheets unbalanced, forced STP
An hour into the lecture, the doors bang open
Then entered TP

Slides transited, words flew around
The battle for AC was fought in the background
The warriors of Section A
An enthusiastic Hermione Granger against a sadistic Severus Snape

Sameer’s doubt,
Never understood what it was about
Weaving magic with her words, the girl in the blue scarf
Joined the class only after the first half

The story of this section
You’ll hit a member of Mad House if you
Hurl a stone in any random direction
A Bong marketer found his love for trade
"Now Soumojit will answer", when someone said


I sensed a movement behind me
As I walked the kala ghoda infested lane
We’ll never know getting mugged was a reality
Or the guy was insane


A guy horsed around on second floor
While SOS partied behind a shut door
On the third floor, there’s a blackbird
Singing in the dead of night
And his roommate involved in a game of swaps
Left and right

Next door I find a shudh sanskari boy
His roomie, disappointed in me, somehow
The one who after a sip of Sangria
Shouted GoIIFTGo in Espana

So much hue and cry after Trump got elected
We chose a psycho killer as our President
Nobody ever objected
Down the corridor, a boy dreamt of only one thing
IIFT’s presence in the top-10 B-schools ranking

On fourth floor prowled a phantom in a shawl
And a Faridabad boy, disgruntled with Mélange
Now spreading happiness with SportsComm
We gathered around, after pulling an all-nighter
For Diwaan Sahab’s bun maska with extra cheese and butter
Then and there we had no choice
But to listen to Adhyyan jokes or Ramneek singing in his orchestra voice

A journey started on 30th June 2016,
D’artgnan arrived in Paris
Took him a while to find Athos, Porthos and Aramis
Now that journey is done
Regrets, sometimes many
Sometimes I have none

Low on GPA and concepts brief
I’m Manish Ranjan from BiharSharif
27A
Hoping we’ll meet again
Somewhere along the way!


Read more here:

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

LIFE AND LIES #17 | Fancy a Haircut

Snip-snip, clip-clip Despite its monotonicity, the sound has a certain ring to it. If I concentrate a bit harder, it almost sounds like a well-placed tune. Or maybe I have been listening to it for too long. Nevertheless, the sound has a sense of power because it remains upbeat in spite of the consistent murmur. Then it pauses. A brief silence follows. The boy at the start of the line scuttles to the most demanded chair in the room, to fill the momentous vacancy. A sense of relief is evident on his face. Following this, a wave ripples throughout the line. Everyone takes a few steps ahead and then comes to a stop. Another down, three more to go , I count. The snapping of scissors resumes. The murmur follows suit. My legs ache. I had jogged all the way to the barbershop, after taking a hasty lunch. There, to my dismay, a long queue was already in place. Patiently, I stood at the end. Awaiting my turn, I had spent the past hours shifting my weight from one leg to other, taking se...

LIFE AND LIES #67 | The Shortest Story

Dedicated to a friend of mine who is no longer in this world. ********************************* A friend had died. Still, the world  Hadn't come to a stop. Perhaps, it should have. Because I gave my presentation Smiling from ear to ear. And later at night, I drank to my fill To honour him. Because life is too fricking short, But at times, Feels too bloody long. If you google 'Shortest Short Story' You'll get the following result: "For sale: Baby shoes, never worn." Popularly attributed to Ernest Hemingway. Ernest, I'm sorry  But I ended up writing  Something similar myself. "Hang in there, my friend. He did." I'm not proud of what I wrote.  It is what it is. "Who is this about," my friend asked after reading my poem. "He was my batchmate in school," I replied. "He committed suicide yesterday by hanging." "Why? What happened?" "Nobody knows. He had cut himself off from everyone." "Was he i...

LIFE AND LIES #77 | The English Teacher

When we are young, the world is full of possibilities. We can do anything, and become anything. We antagonise anyone who even hints at thinking otherwise about us. It's probably why most of us have a story to tell where the villain was a school teacher. Even I do. I don’t remember exactly how I ended up in the Headmaster’s cabin that day. All I remember is that back then I blamed my House Master for it. It wasn’t just me who had bunked the STD XII Pre-Board exams. There were many. But he made a scapegoat out of me. And the moment, I set foot inside the cabin, I received a big slap from the Headmaster. My ears rang. But that wasn’t the worst thing that happened that day. The Headmaster instructed him to call my father. Tell him to come or his son would be rusticated. I wasn’t a notorious student. I was good in my studies and had no disciplinary complaints against me. Had this incident not occurred, I would have completed my schooling in a few months with a clean record. My fat...