A school usually looks like a haunted place when there are no students on the campus. It's all the more so when it comes to a residential school with a fairly big campus.
My students have left for their summer vacation. And I work in a residential school. With a fairly large campus. In the capital of the largest democracy in the world.
Isn't the land worth much more than the returns to be gained from a school? Even the parking lot in the city gives much more returns in terms of money! What else matters? So why not convert the campus into a parking lot, for example?
Or a star hotel? Or something equivalent to that for the people who matter? If an entrepreneur is tempted by this campus, no one would be surprised.
What about an ashram? Wow! A swami would be tempted too.
It's a tempting campus. I'm not advertising my school, by the way. Just recording something. For posterity.
|Home of the Parrots|
I have always been fascinated by the greenery on the campus. And now the gulmohars are in bloom. The green parrots used to sing in them till a few weeks back. Where did they go?
Did they go on a vacation too?
But the red of the gulmohars keep fascinating me.
I was recording them this morning.
For memory's sake.
For posterity's sake.
|Destined to be mere echoes of hollowness?|
Some things have to be recorded. Because they are going to be history. They may be going to give way to parking lots. Or to echoes of hollow words resounding in man-made wildernesses.
When I was clicking these photos, one of the sweepers who has not lost his job yet asked me, "Why didn't you come a few minutes ago? You would have seen the dogs weeping."
I didn't understand him. I'm no fan of Maneka Gandhi. I don't love animals except from far.
"The dogs were weeping," he said. "For those people whose jobs were terminated when the school closed yesterday..."
I understood what he wanted to say. I can afford to admire the beauty of the gulmohars. Do I know the meaning of their red flowers?