Revolutionary Road

 It's a road I've traveled often, criticised oftener. 7 kms off Diamond Harbour Road, past trees, eutrophied ponds, more trees, green fields. Oh yes, and cows. Cattel [sic] as some would say.

  And then came the 2nd of March. Currently I'm in a Guevarish mood with all the ragtag reminisces of a veteran revolutionary.
It began - cuz these things always have to begin with an "it began" - with Arko da punching the Princi. And then the kicks, punches, broken glass. Ripping apart the administrative block. Faculty and management locked inside from 11a.m. till 8 p.m. More broken glass. Battered shutters, riven locks.
Fan-blades in Picassoic positions. Police vans, INSAS rifles (I was fascinated by the transparent magazines), media and everything. A speck of colour (red or otherwise) in the drabness I've been bemoaning to all and sundry.

    This was another tale to which many are woven and many more will spring. My part ends here - student's forum formed, advocate arranged (Arko's dad of all ppl! bwahahahaha) , the omnibus FIR against 480 students dropped, unanimous decision to stick to non-violence henceforth and stick by the 90 accused of vandalism.
   Last look at Blue Eyes whose eyes are actually brown - the deep brown of burnt almond-skin.

 Adieu. My future does not lie here. Played my part, now for the path that goes on ahead. And doesn't wait.