In the morning, I needed to go to my college to get some application forms signed. I put on my blue denim shirt ,the same I wore yesterday when we went to visit a mall to kill our time, and the same rugged blue white shaded jeans that is tighter than others that I bought to hold the tongue of those who made me double-think about my jean fitting. Got my applications printed and reached to scooty stand in hostel parking. As foreseeable as it could be, I found its seat covered with those filthy, muddy and slender limbs. I loathe those creatures. But in spite of that I worship one of them. I rubbed it with a piece of cloth. With each effort they became more and more obscure and finally enough to press my butt against it and ride my way to collage. I parked it in collage parking in front of second block still being skeptical and quashing my desires to park it beneath the trees.Because that area was wet enough to drown me four inch into the mud due to an untimely drizzle in the morning. After four months, I was walking on the same land, same grass, same gravels, same cobblestones, same pavement block and i felt nothing.Then I heard a car horn honk and I turn back. I’m still thinking what did I expect some girl asking me to hop in and offering me a quick trip to the north campus before entering dull, tedious and weary schedule of south campus. Its not possible.Schedule is over and I had already finished that schedule seven months back after following it for three and a half year. What then nostalgia. No that’s not possible either. Because those things never happened. Whatever this feeling was, i needed to reach my training office where I have been going for four months. I needed to hurry up. So I went into the office and asked madam to get it signed and stamped by HOD.She assured me she will get it done perhaps assuming it a work of infinite window. Well It was not.I need it by tomorrow. But I tell her this.
After nine miles of journey, horrible security screening and grim scanning of my belongings, I reached inside the training campus. After covering few hundred meters and skipping the HR office, there came an aisle having two entry points. Each side of the aisle is surrounded by lawn. The Flowers,trees and plants I can’t tell names of. I entered through one of the entry points discerning those black and white pavement blocks leading to the canteen. As I looked ahead, my view caught a series of flower baskets hanging in an unending sequence. And when that aisle ended, one flower pot was missing. I guided myself to the canteen door and got myself on the first floor above the canteen only to find the student sitting area, a temporary dwelling place for all those interns who are themselves shirks or their mentors are, closed. In my case,we both are. Now I needed to reverse myself back to the HR office.
As I came back treading on the same path or aisle, I again noticed that one missed flower pot and gratuitously looked for it. Stepping on those black and white blocks, I ended up with a familiar skepticism at the same point when the way scissored into two. Trying to choose my way out, I realized for the first time that none of that scissors’ hands ends at HR office front but cleverly bent around it. It was like someone paused a clapping hand while wrists touching and palms and fingers wide open and office front in the middle ready to get squeezed. And then I saw a flower. I kept looking at it. It wasn’t a flower. It was a puddle which reflected my past happenings and not-happenings.
writerspit 