Awakened, I am.

Awakened, I am.

P K Routray

 

 

A friend

me, did offend

with a classmate's right

and as an artist and a playwright.

Twice he edited my compositions

in a gap of five years, in my Alma –mater, the fun.

As is his memory so is his advice pointed sharp

“Same incidents repeatedly you continue to harp.”

It propelled me to introspect

the lapses in my tribute and respect

to my Alma-mater

and in her many a character

those blessed me to be capable enough

to brave the storms of life rough and tough.

“Are we only hidden in your pebbles and dust

unlike Sitaram at back post and Sharma at the check post?”.

They taught me " Love in commerce and tricks of the trade

but peep in me also Gupta, Panchu and a host others standing arrayed.

Gupta the book vendor served us during our stay.

Books to study aids from UK to USA were on his display.

Lent he books on loan with his memory serving to record

but thrived he smilingly, never waned his books stored

Many students paid him after being placed on jobs

though I could not see him amassing riches but I never heard his sobs.

The names of students present and past were recorded on his memory

“ Faith begets faith. Love begets love” is his theory.

To my demand for some rare books and instruments,

never he failed nor faltered in his commitments.

His expression of love for me is worth a poignant story.

Tears roll when the scenes scroll in my memory

To collect a duplicate to my lost call letter

to Ranchi, I was required to rush sooner.

While going to the bus stop, Gupta, I met on my way

to get his guidance on the routs and the hotels to stay

After giving the details he put his overcoat on me

“Unlike Rourkela Ranch is too cold to bear. You see”.

Tears well up in my eyes when I recollect his gesture

Ashamed I am, In the realities of life I forgot him altogether.

His teachings I have forgotten under the modern management lessons

“Life is short. Love and serve, Only profit should not be the ambitions.”

Panchu is another cherishing character

the ward boy in my first year I still remember.

Cleaning our rooms and filling an earthen pot with water

of my age he was, earning for his family bread and butter.

Smart, energetic he was but served with uncertain future

“Some of us would find him a job”- a hope, he did nurture.

After a permanent job he would marry,

as with this meager salary the family he cannot carry.

Forgotten I had everything under the frowning realities of life

Realized today I, comparing him with me the earthly woes and strife

Expenditure on his family how could he shoulder

after retirement, for him would the social security bother?

Panchu represents many boys serving us from canteen to cleaning

Hey Alma-mater! For them except gratitude, I could offer nothing.

Nageshwar, a smart youth from Bihar with the watch on the right wrist

carried our dirty clothes and returned after wash- a service never missed.

Later on joining Bokaro steel there, I found Nageswar with a shop of his own,

received me there as his missing brother, helped me to settle with elation.

Bondage at my Alma-mater had no dirt of class and ego

To pure love every storm, every adversity have to bow.

The banking system was introduced in the campus,

college remitting our scholarships directly there for us.

When money weighs heavier in pocket friend overspent

at cinema halls and at restaurants, later they used to repent.

The post office then reminds me it’s “Now and then” story

for mother’s letter, father’s money order was then our worry.

Some lured the postman to conceal their love letters

some managed to get an open letter to take credit among the peers.

No net, no mobile, no WhatsApp to support us

the post office with two staffs did creditably to serve the entire campus.

With two fifty under one roof and over seven fifty around

the common rooms, the garden in the hostel, the playground

a unique set up my Alma-mater offers a teenager to grow.

Thus to each of them individually and in group gratitude I owe.

Awakened in me the untouched side of my Alma-mater

besides her love, her blessings, her warmth we cherish forever

her grief, her ache, her longings that touched my heart

to all her alumni present and future I must here part.

She has none of her alumni who has become a Nobel laureate

nor a CEO of fortune seven companies of the world yet.

At this fag end of life to my dear Alma-mater, my heart opens out

with gratitude for own wellbeing and the frustration of being a man confused.

on prosperity and starvation, productivity and pollution and on true education.

With sincerity, I served the company that paid me the salary to swell its profit

Pardon me, in the process I forgot your teachings “Love and Serve” to every being’s benefit.

 

 

(N. B – Referring to my earlier writings on the Alma-mater I had dwelt on my memories repeating the stories of Sitaram. sharma, Old peanut seller with their teachings. My friend who edited my writings had a remark on my works on My Gratitude to my Alma-mater.that awakened some more from my heart. I am frank with it while expressing. Though it may be too big too boring but I thought it as my duty.

My alma-mater is REC Rourkela Orissa India. This poem is the second part of my poem “Gratitude”.)