Knock knock....knocking on Heaven's door.

It wasn't just another day. And there was a reason why I did not call up the others. A faint connect with the feeling that I was one of the headbanging fans in the moshpit, vying for a single eye contact with the rocker singing on the stage.I wanted to absorb it in, in its pure, untouched avatar, like the moment I was standing atop a hill, with my arms spread out like an eagle's wings, embracing the cold rush of the winds against my body, & taking in each gasp of air, as if it were my last. My rocker this time was FORE.

(This has got be THE compliment my college has ever received, beating all the damned college ratings it has climbed, & no, I haven't lost my marbles :|).

Walking down the corridors, canteen (yes, it was called CANTEEN, because we at B-schools had better stuff to think about than the coolness quotient of the name of our eating place, unlike the flashy, heavily accented 'caffeteriazzz' of the DUites), IT lab (our saviour, half an hour before paper submissions), library (our refuge before the 2'o' clock exam, or when it was too hot to go outside, or when you were a rare visitor to college during a weekend for some event prep), the pentagon ( that sweet five-sided place that saw many a hesitant introduction, a charming banter of utter uselessness, or a shouted conversation between the ground floor & the floors above), the classrooms ( the place we couldn't stand to enter during college time, & can't seem to leave NOW), the TT room ( my escapade from the rest of the mess, a place that let me be myself between the playing & the watching, & the longing to play again), the khokhas outside for catching up on a fag, chai, or just a conversation, panditji ka dhaba that has stood defiantly against many a curse, or the narrow lane along the park (a jilted lover of people who forget it after college, for the flashy cars they come in, years later), the terrace (my ex-committee meetings & birthday celebrations)...It was like a treacherous climb, that takes every ounce of your energy, but keeps you going till the end. 

As I walked through the verandah to my classroom, I almost heard the patter of feet of my batchmates, coming for yet another drone of a lecture. And then it struck me hard, the days gone by..as I sat gazing on the blank board, in my favourite corner seat, to pen some thoughts, lest I lose them. And somehow, this felt as the tribute to my classroom of 2010, that witnessed many a cheer, presentations, a heartbreak, an exam. I watched a reel play, & replay was the button I could've given an ear & tooth for. It was the longest half hour of my life, even longer than the lecture of  'dearest' Prof. Chawla, & as I stood up to bid adieu to the remnants of my batch of 09-11, I brushed my hand against every possible thing from the seat to the bulletin board to take a bit of it with me, brushed the tears against my cheeks, swallowed the lump in my throat, & promised myself  to never let the floodgates open again.