Place in the past

 You walk down the same lane canopied with giant trees.  The bird-songs and the sun rays that had greeted you, still look the same. The same soothing breeze blows across, playing with your hair. Your hand goes up to defend the work of comb strokes from the wind, but to no avail. You greet that sameness with a smile and for a moment think you are the twelve-year-old girl who used to walk this way.
You enter the school gates despite the questioning glances of the security personnel. You give them some excuse or the other, and hurry your feet to venture inside. You catch a glimpse of the playground, glorying in the evergreen coat of grass-you suppress the urge to roll down on the inviting greenness like you had done countless times.
You walk down the familiar lab corridor and hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the Bunsen burners. You peep into the Bio lab and see the familiar bottles filled with medicated carcasses of snakes and different stages of fetus. You stop for a moment when the teacher who is conducting a lesson turns from the green board to look at you. You remember her very well because she marked you down in one assignment. With an acknowledging smile you realize the anger you felt at that moment hasdied down and there’s something else in its place, something closer to respect and love.
You pass the Sports Room and see your grade 7 class room. You see a huge cupboard moved into the place where your desk used to be; the broken grills being replaced by modern looking windows. You peep further to catch a glimpse of your class teacher, but end up smiling at a stranger who looks at you with her eyes full of same kindness. With a nod, you walk towards the cafeteria, where hundreds of yummy smells waiting to greet you. You find the place being renovated and the choices of delicacies have grown with time. You run to the counter, with hope of buying a packet of spicy ‘murrukku’ which was once upon a time, your breakfast, only to find, ‘murukku’ was banned along with other junk food.
Disheartened, you find your way to the office, passing the western music room. You almost feel the old grant piano calling your name, and the saplings you grew around the green room singing at your touch.
Finally you climb the old colonial staircase, coming to terms with the change the school has undergone after you left it. The old trees that have gone to the axe and the little saplings grown into youthful trees, familiar buildings painted in unfamiliar colours and the new teachers who mark their way to the staff rooms-everything tells you that you have missed so much.

Behind the majestic doors the sturdy figure of your Principal greets you with her careless tone- “My daughter, you are 30 seconds behind the schedule.” With tears in your eyes, you smile at the feeling of smallness you feel in front of her and wonder how some things never change.