i.
I’ll start this off with some context,
A pre-narrative to my narration,
And the random thoughts that will fill this creation.
I hold no loyalty to any colours,
Nor to a particular flag,
And contrary to my Graduation speech,
About my time in high school, I’m not glad.
But let’s step away for a minute,
And go back in time:
Let me take you on a journey,
A story leading up to my prime.
ii.
I remember bright red shorts.
My white shirt tucked in,
And Scholars over my heart.
I remember white shoes,
Those I outgrew, month after month,
Multiple trips to Shoe Mart.
I remember Merit Cards,
Badges, and, Pins,
I remember hating my lack of athletic ability.
Not receiving a medal was a Sin.
I remember teachers who guided me,
Taught me painstakingly to write,
Play hockey, and shake,
With my left hand.
Mentors who coached me,
My own two feet I could rely on and stand.
I remember my lies,
Without reason,
That went from white to black in a moment,
My forgery comparable to treason.
I remember my parents,
Signing my Diary,
Keeping track of my Homework,
Hiding Books,
Much to my chagrin.
But I can’t blame them:
Not when I threw omelets in the bin.
I remember Class Parties,
Field trips, to the Mall, and to the Beach,
And how I could sing,
How my mom made me teach.
And how I cried went I left,
In beige shorts, not red,
Knowing that in every move,
“God Grant Me Kindly Thought”,
I bled.
iii.
My first memories are broken glasses,
A punch, and marks on my neck.
Being called a nerd,
Understanding that my lingo needed to be kept in check.
I recall picking up American slang,
Calling them “zees” not “zeds”,
Going to the tuck-shop, eating Jolly Ranchers,
Having to relearn my Alphabet.
I recall never studying,
My grandmother climbing up stairs:
Only to discover,
That behind my Tricolore:
Lay Harry Potter, and his wonders.
I recall being annoyed with false patriotism,
Discovering my love for the tricolor,
Becoming an Eagle, when I once was a Falcon,
But never soaring, for I only stuttered.
I recall appreciating that I left,
Leaving no trace behind,
Just as I was taught on those “Leadership Camps”,
Where heartbreak on Skype Chats
Destroyed me inside.
iv.
I failed my entrance test,
Of that I am sure.
I knew nothing in Chemistry, or Physics,
And that Math paper was a bore.
But I cried during my interview,
Told Ma’am I wanted to become Head Boy,
Got into 8’B’ a few weeks later,
Welcomed by Orange and Blue,
Some familiar Ahoys.
I started to MUN,
Something inherently fun.
I loved how academic things were, but, also
How much scope there existed for my puns.
I looked like a cat-in-the-hat,
A potato, also, of sorts.
My voice creaked on every alternate syllable,
As I picked up Hindi, this journey I didn’t want to abort.
I met my favourite teachers,
Who later became my second mothers,
Watching me cry,
And consoling me with an Umbrella,
To protect me from my own tears.
I met my best friends,
Who I regret not speaking to anymore,
There was such good banter,
So many memories,
What I loved more was that no individual was branded,
Everyone was a brander.
I loved steering my Falcons,
Doing well on exams,
But nothing compared to the thrill of public speaking,
Holding a Dark Blue flag,
Posting it into the ground, but first,
Onto a stand.
My singlehood reached it’s peak,
My parents are only finding out now,
The mocking continued,
I responded with comments,
Tongue-in-cheek.
I took it slow in my final year,
Tried to hold on to things to take with me,
Soon, I realized that egos were at play,
That tomorrow, I was history.
I became history that never made the textbooks,
Things that went untaught,
My Batch was a step in the ladder,
But our rung, they forgot.
Not just when they painted walls,
Created posters,
Or sent e-mails.
Also when they spoke to us,
As if we were nothing,
But ghosts: haunting them, and pale.
v.
That concludes this piece of poetry,
I do hope you enjoyed,
Be back for some more tomorrow,
Maybe it’ll be filled with more happiness,
Less regret and sorrow.
Tejas Rao 