I am a first year student at Venky and my 3rd DSC paper has been withheld because I failed to maintain 50% overall attendance. College has issued a notice saying students with attendance grievances can meet the attendance committee. Is there any way by which they can allow me to give the exam?
(I am short by just 2 percent)
Got free from college a bit early today and randomly decided to visit Anand Vihar ISBT after almost 10 years. (Yes I am weird)
As a child, I used to travel from there to Uttarakhand with my family in those old UTC buses. Today I went there alone just to relive those childhood memories again as we rarely go by roadways bus now.
Sharing my experience in the form of a poem
Thirty Minutes at Anand Vihar
After twelve years
I returned
not to travel,
not to board a bus,
but simply to see
whether the old roads to home
still existed.
From the metro bridge
I searched through endless rows
of Uttar Pradesh buses
until, far away,
I saw them —
white and blue roofs
resting quietly at the edge of the station.
उत्तराखण्ड परिवहन निगम.
Suddenly
I was a child again.
Once, this bus stand
felt enormous.
I remember holding my father’s hand
as he walked fearlessly
through platforms and crowds
while I followed blindly,
wondering how he always knew the way.
But this time
I walked alone.
Counters 151 to 159.
Ranikhet.
Bageshwar.
Didihat.
Kausani.
Names painted beneath platform numbers
like memories refusing to fade.
I stood before a parked bus
with “दिल्ली – हल्द्वानी – रानीखेत”
written across its windshield,
and felt something strange —
pride, happiness, sadness,
all arriving together.
Nearby, a white Volvo waited silently,
the same kind
I once stared at as a child,
dreaming of someday sitting inside it
which I still do
Around me,
pahadi voices floated through the air:
“haan Anand Vihar pahuch gaya mai…”
“bus mil gayi Haldwani wali…”
“Garur wali ek ghante baad hai…”
For a moment
Delhi disappeared,
and the hills came closer.
But compared to childhood,
the platforms felt emptier.
No new buses arrived.
No songs played from the old stalls.
The magic felt quieter now.
Or maybe
I had simply grown older.
Before leaving,
I looked once more
at the parked Uttarakhand buses,
at the depot names in red paint,
at those familiar counters
where childhood once began every summer.
Then I turned away
and walked back toward the metro.
And while the train pulled away,
I wondered only one thing:
Will I ever again
read those route boards
with the same excitement
as the child
holding his father’s hand at night,
leaving Delhi
for the mountains?
(Refined with ChatGPT)