Today a favourite friend from Mumbai brought to my lensed eyes tears,
By bringing back nostalgic memories of my happy yesteryears.
She scanned and e-mailed me letters, I wrote to her eons ago,
When she went on holidays with family,
to her native place Mangalore.
It brought back memories of the good old days,
When we were young, so innocent and naïve.
Memories of us 'Musketeers' of three,
they'd take the rickshaw to college and I'd follow on my black scooter happily.
Memories of our various trips before Accounts and Tax classes to Shiv Sagar,
Relishing the different dosas, juices and idli sambar.
Or missing lectures and going to Patwatdhan park,
Sitting on swings there sharing gossip and a few loud laughs.
Memories of being the first customers of Mac Donalds,
Standing outside their gates at 10 am before they had even opened.
Memories of our numerous crushes and blushes,
And Jai's buttery masala toast which gave us adrenaline rushes.
Memories of our walks to Joggers Park,
Where instead of walking we'd sit on a bench and admire handsome nature that passed.
Or of traditional day of us decked up in sarees,
we'd make a transition from t-shirts and jeans to typical bharatiya naris.
Memories of us eating hot 'bhutta' in the rain,
And being there to comfort each other when we went through our bouts of heart aches and pain.
Memories of our tiffs and fights
And how we'd forget them as fast as the speed of light.
Memories such as these in our hearts embossed will stay,
Three Musketeers we always will be even though we are far away.
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