I recall that dusk, full of memories. We went to our high school one evening, some 6-7 years after we finished our schooling. I and Subba were visiting a place where we made deafening noise, when it was getting ready to sleep! Silence was unwilling to part ways with the shadow of the universe: night. We broke it here and there with our humming and memories.
As we entered through the gate, watchman asked unassumingly, “What do you want?” “Nothing we suppose!” was our answer. The watchman we knew had probably retired. The plants we planted were now trees. We sat bellow one of them, next to the rusted fence wires, where some of us used to piss during leisure! We talked about how our teachers used characteristic phrases like, “Whatever it may be”.
It was in that place I had missed all three attempts of disc throws! I had managed to make fouls in all the attempts religiously, in a selection throw event. It was here that I had broken my little finger trying to catch a shot-put ball. “Piles problem madam” was an answer I had given when I was asked to say why I was sitting like a monkey. It was here that this had happened and that had happened.
We would have taken as much time we spent in the school to talk about our memories! But. Personal perspective of the future has an end. So should the memories be. Subba pressed starter button of his newly bought motor horse. Stars giggled. Darkness sent us home.