We Were There

By Nyoikhaw Pansa

We started as strangers.

The hostel, a home away from home for us.

Awkward hellos, unsure smiles.

Somewhere between borrowed pens and whispered jokes,

between laughter echoing through academy hallways,

and those relentless stubborn bells,

we became friends.

We made memories so bright,

they etched into my brain so vividly. 

I swear they’ll echo in me for a century.

I still see us, eyes red and swollen,

pretending not to cry when the last exam ended.

Said I'm fine,

but I was breaking inside.

That moment?

More heartbreaking than any farewell I’ve ever known,

I swear.

Those chaotic march-past rehearsals,

in baggy tracksuits and uniforms, we used to do,

for Republic and Independence Days.

Waiting for samosas and laddoos like they were treasure.

At the back of the hostel, 

after-dinner dance practices till 2 am,

acting like those cultural programs were the Oscars.

Maybe, to us, they were.

Girls clapping, teasing, cheering for the boys,

especially during football matches.

Our voices hoarse,

our hearts in every shout.

Waking up at 5 am for PT,

grumbling at the teacher’s stick,

then laughing about it later,

because we were together.

Library periods weren’t for reading.

We tore pages from magazines and newspapers,

pictures of our favorite celebs,

hiding them in notebooks and pockets,

acting all serious over some article about global warming.

(haha…)

Computer class? Coding?

We didn’t learn much,

just how to feel everything.

Googling K- actors, Selena, Taylor, Bieber, Jonas...

writing song lyrics in the margins of our notebooks.

Young and reckless, and in love with pop stars.

Prayer songs in the morning assembly

and pujas, we sang it together,

banging drums loud enough to make our hearts pound.

The rhythm still lives in my bones.

Exams made our hearts race.

We stayed up late under bright lights,

sharing candles, secrets, and last-minute notes.

Dancing on the terrace to We Found Love,

believing the world was ours.

And for a moment, it was.

We'd count down to winter breaks, every year,

dreaming of home, Christmas, New Year’s.

Writing birthday wishes in greeting cards,

handing out slam books to each other like time machines.

Holding on to every little tradition,

as if it could keep us from falling apart.

The girls' dorms, always busy.

Birthdays, Raksha Bandhan,

long list of chocolates and sweets to order.

Buckets in hands, 

we queued up to fetch water,

for seniors, for ourselves.

Evenings meant a jug full of milk tea,

50-50 biscuits, mimi, pakodas.

We sitting in circle, arms touching, knees bumping,

trying to freeze time with our laughter.

On Holi, we wrote jokes about teachers in chalk

on the walls:

“Bura na maano, Holi hai.”

Oiled each other’s hair,

before we smeared colors and joy,

and wild laughter everywhere.

Picnics by the river,

barefoot dancing,

following whoever knew the steps better.

Photos with an old reel camera,

hoping it would capture us for a lifetime.

We collected ferns from the jungle nearby,

cooked Maggie in a borrowed pot,

and did things stealthily like pros.

Electronics weren’t allowed,

we hid 5 MP Nokia phones under pillows, nevertheless.

The rules?

We broke them like promises, together.

Uniforms, white PT shoes.

Smiles that didn’t know heartbreak yet.

We were so damn innocent.

It was rare.

Sometimes I still taste the milk tea,

but it doesn’t taste the same without you.

I hear our laughter, see us, 

in the back of my mind,

and I still f**king miss you, dost.

It was rare.

We were there.

Now I'm here,

flipping through the photo albums,

reminiscing it all.

We were there.

It was rare.

I remember it all too well...

...and I really miss you, dost.

By Nyoikhaw Pansa