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.
My HP Poem #1998
©Atul Kaushal
