Kissa kursi ka

chair

Let me tell you a tale,

Of a heroine of yesteryears,

That lovers reminisce about till today,

With adoration, longing and tears.

She was the MAMC library chair,

Always sought after, with lovers abound,

A medico could write for her, a verse and a song,

With a love declared openly, passionate and profound.

 

Beautiful, modest and strong,

And no matter how battered and worn,

The burden of our burgeoning weights,

She had always lovingly borne.

Barely strung together,

And sometimes missing a leg,

We held on to it with all our might,

Sprawled upon it like a scrambled egg.

A little shift here, and a little one there,

To catch up with the center of gravity,

We’d miraculously balance on to the chair,

Vowing never to let go of that concavity.

For she was the means, by which one could manage,

To grab a few prized inches, on the library desk,

And make the non – chair holders, go green with envy,

While they eyed, those with chairs, with looks hungry and grotesque.

 

Hour rolled by sitting on it,

Gazing at the empty space,

Pretending to read while day dreaming,

Or catching a nap, down on face.

Tee-hees on someone’s hair,

Tsk- tsks on the fashion blunders,

Exchanging meaningful looks,

Looking smug and giggling under.

Casting sidelong glances at the crushees,

And at the same time gagging,

At the love struck couple at the table,

For the public display of affection unflagging.

Catching once in a while, the avid reader,

Walk in with a truckload of hitherto unknown books,

As the room broke into psst – pssts and smirks,

With eyebrows reaching the ceiling and horrified looks.

 

We held on to the chair till we could hold no more,

And let it go, now and again, we had to, and we did,

To attend a call from ward, nature or a growling stomach,

Or to go to the reference section, to check out the movies grid.

And when we returned, we found to our horror,

That the chair had been stolen, nay kidnapped,

Taken away stealthily, the nanosecond we were out of sight,

While our friend – turned – security guard napped.

No ransom notes, no ransom calls,

And no remorse shown,

Just an unknown, heartless wretch who snuck behind your back,

To snatch your beloved, now claiming her to be his own.

 

Such had been the public ardour for the chair,

That even if we reserved her with a bag, like on an interstate bus,

Public declaration of the engagement, notwithstanding,

The cruel library dwellers would have separated us.

Nobody could ever come close,

To what that chair meant,

Oh, how she wooed us,

Moments cherished, and well spent.

Not a day passes by when we don’t look back,

No better a chair for ‘study’ designed,

We may have moved beyond med school,

But never such a superstar, did we find.

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