Its like the lull after the 10th standard farewell party.The school is vacant.Empty walls stripped of all the beautiful art works. No footsteps in the main hall. No tune whistled in the corridors. No varied music from the studios,merging to make a symphony. A collarge of nationalities and choices.
No familiar, friendly faces. No “Hola”. No back slapping. No sound of the drilling machines from the tool room. No banter in the kitchen. No laughter in the courtyards. Paint stained tables sit alone with vacant chairs and empty Ash trays for company. No smell of paint or varnish.No Empty cups in the sink. All cleaned and put away neatly. Too neatly. My tin cup with my name fading on it. Filled with a tasteless Vaccum.
Too much silence. Too much order. Too much emptiness.
I sit in the courtyard one last time having my tea from my 3 month old tin cup. My name scratched on it. I take in the sun light, the white walls, the smells, the sound of the fountain. The water in the pond sounds like it’s moving to some place new. But It stays here mirroring all the new faces that come here,absorbing them. Traces of each one mirroring in its glassy gaze. Lawrence too is quite. (Well I haven’t heard him talk ever. What is the sound a turtle makes anyway?)
As i press the main door code for the last time I remember my first morning in school. My welcome was warm accompanied with the code for the main door and the back door. I was shown around the school the white walls the cold unpolished floor, the warm corridors. All exactly as I would like it. I remember I was late for class. I walked into a room with lights off and the projector on. Illuminating outlines of strangers who would soon be friends. And of my tutor. I couldn’t see much but could hear his gentle voice explaining the world of information crackling on screen. In the break some students and then the tutor introduced themselves to me. Some made me feel welcome immediately and some were busy working on their immediate presentation. I remember having an introductory session with my tutor. I felt warmed. Not in class but this warm white courtyard with the kiln in it.( which I didn’t know I’d use someday.)
I remember every single detail of that day and most days.though I’m not going to rerun my itinerary for you but I sit here with each day etched in my heart.
All our lunch breaks, everyone carrying their own cuisine. So many tutorials in the sun. The grungy,strong tool room and workshop with machines that could create wonders. And tools That repeatedly left cut marks on my fingers.The green house with light spilling through the roof. The kiln, secretive until it fired up one of my imaginations and creations. The main hall with it’s uncomfortable but secured chairs, so many of us choosing to sit on the floor listening to assemblies,typing in class codes in our phones for the upcoming classes. And then rushing back to our group or individual tutorials. Brainstorming with our tutors,a million vivid ideas bursting forth,mostly wild and insane and difficult to achieve but not impossible. ProblemS,Suggestions,opinions,options and solutions. And then my me time in my studio which I didn’t use much. Except to keep a stock of masala chai and shedded clothes as the day got warmer.
There are so many memories I’ve collected in the last 3 months. Much more than 90 days.
I get up to leave crossing the small arch with a broken stone wall. I walk through the corridors and into the kitchen and the main hall towards the reception. But I’m not yet ready to go. I go back to my studio and do what I’ve never ever done before.I write my name in the corner of the studio wall and on the floor. Hoping someone remembers me as much as I remember them.