I was young and naughty,
Like all other kids I was.

Of the school Matador,
The minibus,
I was a commuter.

Nirmal Public School,
Was all but a
Normal Public School.

For it was a strung off
From the highway
And was my first school.

In the Matador,
The last window was
Ajar.

It was already dangling,
My friend joked,
"You can't break it."

His comment,
Me it motivated,
I sought to prove I can.

I pushed it intentionally,
And the last nuts,
They became undone.

The window went thrashing down,
And the driver-conductor duo,
Me they punished.

It was overcast that afternoon,
And they made me crouch akin to a ****,
It started raining down.

Then the math teacher came,
And she vouched for my innocence,
"It was already dangling."

The bus crew,
They argued,
"But it was still there."

I was young,
Just 7 years,
And cute too.

The bus crew,
They softened up,
And let me go.

Ma'am, do you now remember me?
You travelled by the same bus,
For you lived in the same campus.

The National Dairy Research Institute,
Its residential campus we both called home,
I miss those days when I was young.

She had introduced me,
To Hello Poetry.

'Twas a day like none other,
I reached Amritsar for her.

Accompanying me that day,
Was my kind physiotherapist.

Yes, the very same physiotherapist,
Who I dubbed physio the ******,
For the pain used to be unbearable.

But no,
'Twas necessary for my betterment.

Coming back to Amritsar,
She was pleasantly surprised.

For she thought I'd play a prank,
Just like she had played one on me.

Giving me a false hope that she'll come,
Anyway, I went to her home.

I wished her on her birthday,
My physiotherapist went away.

I tuned her guitar as E A D G B E,
Eddy Ate Dynamite, Good Bye Eddy.

They laughed, her friends.
For who eats a Dynamite!

Well, that's the standard tuning,
Now I played a few songs.

Her friends were impressed,
Of me, she was proud.

I presented her a pen drive,
A Gaņesha adorned drive.

She loved it,
And thanked me.

After the party, she insisted that I stay,
I slept beside her father.

She shook me awake, and I was like,
"Who are you," she put her hand.

"Shh, it's me," she whispered,
I understood and relaxed.

She kissed me again at 3:30 a.m. on 24th,
This time I was awake and gave her my warmth.

Later, before sunrise, I went to the Station,
I had united with my Physio The ******.

I hugged her for one last time,
And we climbed on the train back.

Now nothing remains but memories,
Bitter ones to be more precise.

She cheated on me in 2015-16,
When I couldn't go to Amritsar.

My former best friend capitalised,
The ******* induced the breakup.

But that girl, who got so easily seduced,
She Wasn't Sad — Droņa Wept Like Kids.

And the immortal Droņa died,
Unable to trust anyone again.

I recall that girl,
Happy & healthy,
Always with a chill,
Always with a thrill.

I remember that I had promised,
That girl from Chandigarh,
I had promised...

I promised to sing,
So, in her memory, I sing...

I promised to smile,
So, in her memory, I smile..

I also promised to laugh,
So, in her memory, I laugh.

For you,
From my terrace garden,
I bring a bouquet.

Of daffodils,
And
Of daisies.

He was on a training mission down south,
There, his landlady told him to get married.

He hesitantly agreed to flash a matrimonial,
He anyway did so in a local newspaper.

She responded to his call in the newspaper,
She was attracted by his description.

They got married in a minimalist manner,
Saving money for a combined future.

The first demand she had surprised him,
She asked him to maintain a moustache.

With time, when he grew that mouser,
She was impressed with his manliness,

"I've seen denser moustaches,
None looks as elegant as yours."

Then they went to his home in North,
For the honeymoon, they went to Kashmir.

I am going to forget your memories from my heart,
It's as if I'm going to erase my own existence.

This fiddle 🎻 I play so passionately as an art,
It's as if I'm going to shatter it down piece by piece.

I am going to forget your memories from my heart,
It's as if I'm going to erase my own existence.

May these clouds cry their shower along me,
For today, I'm going to weep like grown-up babies.

Fingers hurt, especially the ones in my left hand,
As they slide vigorously on the violin's neck.

Let me rub my regrets onto this rebec's neck,
Ah! The friction on the strings pierced my fingers.

This violin's strings become undone by my ferocity,
I'll sleep, knowing that I can't be loved by any.