Welsh; A particular type of longing for the homeland or the romanticized past
You may take a day to wander around the three-hundred-and-thirty-six acres campus, and acquire the knowledge of its history, purpose, the legacy. You will stop to admire the beauty and architecture of each structure. Perhaps, you’ll wish to see your child wearing the uniform of this school someday. Or your cousins, if not your own offspring. You’ll click photographs for proof that you visited Mayo College, “The Eton of India”. But what your photographs will fail to communicate is that this place isn’t just a place.
Every path is a walk down memory lane.
It’s the stories of friendships, trust, first love, heartbreaks, broken bones and teeth too.
It’s tales of firsts and lasts, of addictions, and obsessions.
It’s all the mischiefs of childhood, the carelessness of youth, and the sense attained at the threshold of adulthood. It’s coming of age.
It is more than the history and legacy it symbolizes;
It is more than the Sun and Moon, the Bhil and Yodha, or the Panch Rang (‘five colors’);
This place is more than just its pierced arcades or its onion domes or the overhanging eaves exemplifying the Indo-Saracenic style of architecture.
If one listens closely, one can still hear the stairs resonate with sounds of shuffling feet, habitually running late for classes and lectures they’d rather not be attending at all.
If one sees right, one can see children aged nine to eighteen mastering the perfect golf-swing, or perfecting their dives and plunges.
Every now and then, one can hear the horses neigh, or the pages of books being flipped.
It’s the hushed anticipation before the clock strikes midnight on a birthday eve.
Its more than just buildings shrouded by the aura of magnificence.
Its what we were.
Its what we are.
Its what we will be.