Cycle Expedition To Secunderabad

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The only times I enjoyed cycling at National Defence Academy Khadakvasla as a cadet were the umpteen ups and downs of the vast stretches of empty roads from the Equestrian arena to the Gol Market. With the road relatively empty and near absence of the thunderous Academy Appointments or the dreaded Ustads, I loved the feel of the cool breeze caressing away the beads of sweat from my forehead while the mean machine between my legs was usually at its speeding best. During other times, it used to be only a race against time, with the cycle either on my head or beside me, seldom under me to perform its designated task. 

To The Tune Of His Bugle...

Some people leave an indelible mark, etched deep in our memory during our childhood days. One of them was Nasser the bugler, during my days at Sainik School Bijapur.
All but a mere five feet tall in his shoes, even at the age of about 45, he struggled to cross the mid 40s mark on the weighing scale and looked much like a weak sibling of Johnny Walker of the "Sar jo tera chakaraye..." fame. But with the bugle in his hand see the transformation. He evoked memories of Lord Krishna, sounding the famed 'shankha-naad' at the Dharmakshetra Kurukshetra.

A bugler that he was, was the pace setter of all the School activities.
To the tune of his bugle, a thousand sleepy eyes opened, many of them unwillingly.
To the tune of his bugle, watches kept pace.
To the tune of his bugle, the teachers scampered to the class, lest the prying eyes of the Head Master catch them unaware.
To the tune of his bugle, the children rejoiced to see the back of the teachers going out of the class grudgingly.
To the tune of his bugle, the children sprinted to the mess happily.
In short, he was like the Pied Piper, to whose tune everyone played, from Principal to the peon, or masters to the matrons. Everyone went to bed feeling reassured that, even if the cocks fail and clocks trail, there was Nasser to set the pace for the next day.
Here is a poem penned by me in honour of Nasser, the Bugler.
Hope you will like it. 
 
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NASSER THE BUGLER

 Nasser the bugler
A frail lil demeanor,
Our school pace setter
Time in him a prisoner.. 

Cocks may fail
Clocks may trail,
The Sun may often pale
On the dot, Nasser on the aisle... 

A five and a quarter
Dreams so dear,
His bugle a blaster
Love to hate this character... 

His ink refills taught writing
A reason for short outing,
His circulars endearing
An opening for chit chatting... 

Drill or mass PT
Always on duty,
Think of him as deity
As class becomes a pity... 

Nasser ever so affable
Smiling and so lovable,
Erect with his slung bugle
Stuff you are worth a fable.. 


Love you Nasser....... 


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