Desires

Note: This is the first guest-article on this blog. The story is written mostly by Rupsha Bhadra, a woman of myriad talents (I'm whipped) who took a paragraph I had written and gave it a plot. She refused to share the story herself, for some inexplicable reason, which is why it finds a place here. Check out her blog here. 

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Love. A strange word indeed.

Suchitra was tongue-tied. She tried to tell him, but she was too shy. Her mind conjured up all possible responses that would amount to rejection on his part. At the same time, she knew now was as good a time as any to tell him how much she loved him; how long she would wait each day for him to arrive just so they could travel the remaining distance together; how the sound of his voice was music to her ears. “I love you, Sid”, she whispered. Its easy, she told herself. She’d practiced this way too many times already.

Have you ever been in love?

“Have you ever been in love?”

Clinching, isn't it? Put yourself in my shoes. Imagine being asked that question at three in the morning. Oh and that isn't all. Imagine being asked that question by a very cute girl who you hope likes you back. Yeah, I know you feel for me.

”Yes” is pretentious, “No” is blunt, and “Maybe” is ambiguous. Where do you hide then? There is no correct answer. In comes the reign of “umm” and “err” and “mhmm”.

An Outgoing Student Remembers

“I know that these will all be stories someday, and our pictures will become old photographs, but right now these moments are not stories. This is happening. And in this moment , I swear, we are infinite.”

Don Bosco School, Park Circus, is a shining example of how close a second home can get. In the fourteen short years that I have spent under the Bosconian shelter, I have felt a sense of belonging and a sense of pride like never before. The school has been my sole identity, be it within or without the campus.

The four-year-old who entered this institution cried his heart out, and looked back longingly at the freedom that lay behind the gate. The eighteen-year-old who leaves, I assure you, will once again cry his heart out and look back longingly at the fond memories that lie on the other side of that very same gate.