We were put in, when we barely knew our names,
Or the difference between us and those dames,
When a smacking from a Maam, was all that we feared,
Yet among each other, we fought and again endeared.
When Sunday life meant, Rasna and Ravalgon chocolates,
And when we kicked and mauled our own benchmates,
And yet, the next day it would seem nothing had happened,
In between moments which in our minds are forever penned.
Anxious to leave school, at seniors across the wall we would stare,
Only to get there, and yearn again for the lost love and care,
After the dormitory, arrived the suspense of who was your roommate,
And the finding, that after all, things in this world had a rate.
Though the freedom was new, so were the restrictions,
The independence were new, but so were the conditions,
Despite growing up, one thing was definitely strange,
How despite a decade, some things can never change.
The same, sleeping in mandir, and flicking of sweets,
The same, bullying by seniors, and enthusiasm for sports,
Whether it was ‘Short Witch’ or ‘John’, the same nicknames,
And the never-ending, old boy – new boy superiority games.
Nobody can bring together, another group people so diverse,
And bond them together into an inseparable universe,
For all the temptations, of this world, and the next one sublime,
I wouldn’t choose to be born, on another day, in another time.