I was a child then.

A great summer vacation slipped away in the midst of childhood pleasure.

I was at dadi’s place;

But a reluctant me had to come back home.


The train came and stopped at the station;

My Mama’s children cried holding Dadi’s hands.

The platform, the trees tried to pull me back; 

But father said ‘We have to go back home’.


The train broke the magnetic pull; 

The wheels got a roll.

Day- long plays, night- fairy tales, dadi and siblings, 

All were left behind;

I sat thought-occupied.


Time passed on the train.


I saw him for the first time;

He was in the seat in front. 

He saw me, 

I saw him, 

We were friends. 

The rest of the journey became joyous again.


We played with toy-gun,

We saw grazing cows, 

We shared peanuts,

We talked about passing fields, 

 We became hunters of those innocent pleasures. 

Life was just this for me.



Time whistled disembark. 

He reached his station.

In an uneasy pain I looked at my friend; 

He signalled a separation.


I showed him a mole on my nose, 

He pointed out dimples on his cheeks;

We silently agreed to meet again,

Mole and dimples, our future signs.


For the next 20 years I have seen dimples-plethora;

He must have seen moles-ample;

Thus some people we meet

to never meet them again.

Dadi- Grandmother

Mama- Maternal Uncle

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Anitosh Om

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