They'd all be there in their usual place

Ranjit Raj

My bed,
the bathroom mirrors close to Dho-So-Aat,
the laundry with its laundry bags lining up to wash,
the senselessly fucked lift buttons of 2B,
the they-seem-dry puddles on the way to the mess,
the bellied billing guys from celeste café,
the plates at the centre,
and sometimes at right,
the queues that I take,
sometimes right and sometimes left,
the wash at the mess,
its mirrors,
the newly installed hair blower to welcome and bid me bye at the entrance of the mess,
the senselessly fucked road from the mess to library,
the path from the mess to the library,
oh my Gym,
ah my Gym,
ah the Library,
the pavement to the Library,
the steps I hop and the granite I watch my grip on,
the curved edge I walk to the Library,
the automatic door that has not once failed my stride,
the library guard who likes to waste my time,
the pointless entry books,
my favourite spot,
my favourite couch,
my favourite lights,
the evening,
my beloved library lady who knows me by my name (Nayana's Mom?!)
the faculty vans lined to leave campus,
the canopies,
the lamps of the canopies,
the grass of the canopies,
the Acad,
the bridge of the Acad,
the wind that blows through the bridge of the Acad,
Mama Enterprises (Or Rama?) their Cheeku Juice,
that Cheeku guy,
the circular patch of grass near it,
the roads back to my room,
the Mart,
the four stairs of flight to my room: Dho-So-Aat
Dho-So-Aat,
the bathroom mirrors close to Dho-So-Aat,
my Bed.
27 days and they'd all be there in their usual place.
Everyone and everything
but me.



Ranjit Raj is a 22 year old from Chennai. He likes to write, and to read good pieces of writing.




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