Remembering a College Bus

D. Ranga Rao

Sweet Annapurna! thou lovely Medical College bus of Guntur town!
Accept thou, this my simple song of gratitude dedicated unto thee
For ever the medicos remain indebted, girls and boys borne by thee
Hail or storm, rain or sun, over the rugged Guntur roads up and down.

Colour thou wert of lovely olive green, and seemed immortal!
Snug, slim and pretty thou wert at first seen, I pride to tell
A ton of man, paunch and all, for driver hadst thou at the wheel
A real jolly old lad made rotund with many a hearty meal.

True to thy name, O Annapurna! carried thou untiringly their daily lunch
To college from men’s hostel, propelled by Bhim Rao, a veteran actor,
Steaming sambar, spicy curries, tasty chetnies, sweet curds and papads to crunch
In akshayapatras big, nutritious food for many a hungry would-be doctor.

Darting forth from the hostels, with gusto on the dot,
Stopping for none, come what may, and making no halt,
Always on time, thou surely wert punctuality personified,
If thou were late, it was the erring students’ fault unqualified.

Honk, honk, honk, honk, thy hoarse horn lustily croaked,
Frightening pigs and pedestrians as thy way thou groped,
Bursting with giggling girls and buzzing boys, and forth,
Hostels to college, hospital to hostels thy route went for troth.

With a stout heart, to and fro, you made the journey bold,
Creaked and groaned and sweated under thy heavy load,
While idle hands and nimble fingers plundered thy alluring charm
Until you looked old and haggard, utterly tattered and torn.

Age began to bow you down and break your gallant heart,
Many a time and oft the medicos whined in great despair,
For many a time and oft thou wert hospitalized for repair,
And as they walked, prayed for thy sight and cursed their fate.

“You will have a new bus, nay not one, but two ere long”
Their elders assured repeating cunningly their favourite song,
Days and weeks, months and years, on and on and on rolled.
“Old is gold” their well meaning elders wisely them consoled.

At last, the gods their prayers heard, silenced their concerted fuss,
Presented them Apsara, an absurd name doubtless for a college bus,
Clad in lily white and golden yellow; her mate, doubly enchanting Mohini,
Light blue and green, Apsara’s twin, joined the fleet in red hot Rohini.

Fled are thy charms, Annapurna dear, and you grew old,
A thing of the past thou art, though made of matchless gold,
Apsara and Mohini, thy sisters, pretty and comely lasses,
Will turn into old hags, for sure, I swear, before time passes.