End of Days

A solemn cloud floats in the distance as if orphaned from the rest of the clan. The branches chatter away in unspoken words as the wind blows south. I stare out from the third floor of my hostel as the last evening trudges its way past the dusk. And I want to live through it all once again. Do everything I did in these two years in this one night before I leave.

Friends part only to meet again, but at this moment I wonder if the person who wrote that was a lunatic. On second thoughts, probably he was too optimistic in the moment of departure. The two years seemed like an overture to the life as a student.

The two years here have given something that my hometown could never give me. The freedom to live and the zest for travelling. An undying desire to satiate my appetite for seeing new places. Living life on my own. It was a two year long hiatus from the hustle of the city and the travails of luxury. But this place exudes a charm that no city can give you. You crib about this place but eventually fall in love with it.

Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
Relax said the nightman
We are programed to recieve
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave

Only I wish it was that way. Nights out drinking with friends, no care for any day but this. We all dread the day we have to leave. The final walk into the department we studied for two years. That last bend on the road that led to our hostel. The 2.2 kilometres of track I spent endless nights walking with the girl I loved. The late night snacks at Chhedis and the arguments we used to have over sutta and chai. All the gossip sessions and the mail-wars added some spice to an otherwise mundane place. The laughs we had at the cost of the people who taught us. The 40 winks session in the class while the professor droned on and on. Sneaking out of the class when bored and the rush for the attendance.

And half and hour later we packed up our things
We said we’d send letters and all those little things
And they knew we were lying but they smiled just the same
It seemed they’d already forgotten we’d came

Now we’re back at the homestead
Where the air makes you choke
And people don’t know you
And trust is a joke
We don’t even have pictures
Just memories to hold
That grow sweeter each season
As we slowly grow old

But I take with me memories that will last me a lifetime. Habits that I love to hate, but still keep them. Voices of the same old friends shouting out from their balconies. Late night sessions when we could talk about anything under the sun. Those wrestling bouts we had for fun and the aftermath of those. The drunken nights handling a few drunk people and sometimes getting drunk yourself (in my case, I used to get drunk mostly and was the master entertainer). Seasons will come and go and we’ll grow old. But these names and the memories that they gave me will always remain. So long my friends. I’ll see you all again.

Same dances in the same old shoes
Some habits that you just can’t lose
There’s no telling what a man might lose,
After the thrill is gone

The flame rises but it soon descends
Empty pages and a frozen pen
You’re not quite lovers and you’re not quite friends
After the thrill is gone, oh,
After the thrill is gone

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