People talk about having a great college life. Mine is difficult to put into words. That place shaped my soul, and I left a piece of it there forever. I get to find that piece when I go back. Unfortunately or fortunately, I have to return that piece to Ghurdauri, and leave without it again. Yet what I carry back stays with me. It brings me back to everything good and pure in me. Everything that sits behind the drive.
On certain occasions, when memory comes strong, I choose to set that time down in the form of poems. Maybe it will stir an echo of your own college and friends. For people from Ghurdauri, it will bring a lot more.
The Place Called Ghurdauri
I originally wrote this on February 21st, 2017, as a part of Alumni corner section for the GBPEC newsletter.
With the morning dew, the journey for epitome dawns.
With the twinkling stars, comes the inexorable urge to rise after the dusk.
Covering the ends comes the roads.
Now and then beavering your mind, Now and then elating your soul.
Now and then indolent, now and then ardent.
Pivotal is to feel the wind, the jovial wind of magic, the wind gushing in the place.
The place called Ghurdauri.
My Commute to my Abode
Originally written on February 7th, 2018. I revisited campus in December 2017, and it took me a while to truly leave that place behind. Then one day arrived when pulling out a pen and letting it meet paper finally helped.
Once again, I find myself standing at the rustic bus stand
A backpack on my shoulder and a bag in my hand
Far away from the obstreperous fusses
My eyes beseech for the word ‘Pauri’ among the buses
Once, some strange roads which are not strangers anymore
I find myself on the course which would take me to the place
I call my abode
The voices have long been asking me to relinquish myself
For this bucolic journey is the ceremony to those who seek thyself
I try to discern some students from the place
In them lies my cloudy image
I search for some amicable faces
To my bad luck, all of them are new aces
The journey is quite acerbic to them
Contrary, it would take me to my stem
Once, some strange roads which are not strangers anymore
I find myself on the course which would take me to the place
I call my abode
The commute begins with the convoluted road
Lined by mountains as if the almighty himself did the code
A satiating feeling of joviality gives me a warm-up
No exorbitant price can buy this up
It is difficult to fathom the tranquillity it holds within
As if waiting just to pass it to you like none akin
I try to hold up some placid scenes with my eyes
But I cannot pace up as it revises
Once, some strange roads which are not strangers anymore
I find myself on the course which would take me to the place
I call my abode
An indolent kid lies inside me
So I renounce sleep rather than see
For I know this obscure and dubious nest
Is an incessant source of this jest
I woke up once or twice, glancing at the view
Or by someone doing his spew
The snowy mountains do their cheering
Masqueraded in the mist, welcomes me this place of engineering
Once, some strange roads which are not strangers anymore
I find myself on the course which would take me to the place
I call my abode
I leave the bus and drop my bags out
Trying to contain my rhapsody as my heart shouts
Among the newer figures lies everything old
Ghurdauri, an affable emotion which still keeps me ahold
Once, some strange roads which are not strangers anymore
I find myself on the course which would take me to the place
I call my abode
I return. I remember. I leave again. These poems are what I carry when I cannot carry the place itself. And so I fold the page. The wind continues. If the winds in these lines reach you, let them. They always know the way back.