Who said it's over?

Do you know a great thing about life? It never gets over, except only once. Before that you can always feel it keeps coming back with the same or different hues and tints. You feel it's all over, yet it becomes the start; u feel u have failed, yet u realise it's the chance to start afresh n u really think the road is blocked, u find there is a tool aside to remove the boulder.
So where do I move from here on? The big CAT, my idiosyncrasies, learning words, skipping classes,
remaining in fantasies, watching nonsense stuff, reading poetries..the list goes on. But still it's my life. Very different from others n in itself, a great delight. Probably prabs never thought it could be so involving sometimes.So living with it as life lives with me (wink).

And now time for writing something literary. Another poem, this time a different one:-

The India that I live in

Leaning against the wall
And jostling for the space
It was getting really difficult
To keep myself on my legs

Such was the rush on that day
In the Puri-bound Utkal Express
That an incomer had to climb
Over the rest to gain an entrance

Wedged in amongst the people
I prepard myself for the pain
"Why the hell, did I board
General Bogie of this damned train"

All stowed with people, the train
Did leave the New Delhi station
Bringing in the much-needed draught
And a general sense of elation

Gradually the squeezed in populace
Distended themselves to cosier postures
Scowling at the callousness of the
More fortunate seated passengers

I too manoeuvred myself into
A more standable posture
With my nose sticking out into
The squalid kurta of a commuter

The fetid aura was odious
And made my head go dizzy
But as the time trickled
I started feeling somewhat easy

I peered at my ambience and was
Struck by the nonchalance of others
It seemed I was the only one
Dishevelled and confined by fetters.

They were all of various ilk
Workers, potters and menials
Going through the motion
As if inured to such ordeals

Some sagacious elderly minds were
Rueing the depravity of Indian polity
While a young ruffian was busy
Leering at a newly wed lassie

Muslims talked to Hindus and vice versa
Without the much televised rancour
Quite often there were lewd jokes
Followed by the usual banter

Destinations kept coming by and
People gave way to new members
But India as it seemed kept moving
On the rails of the chambers

Having remained cooped up in my
Own world of gambol and gales
It was an unusual episode for me
To experience those rending travails

Travails- but only for me
For them it's the usual travel
And they keep moving as if
On order from a judge's gavel

My station, Gwalior, came and
I too moved out with my luggage
But with a strangely developed
Homely connection with the carriage

I reached my hostel, carrying
An unfathomable mix of emotions
But immediately got on with my chums
Raving in those usual passions

I had my dinner, and then
Got snug inside my cosy quilt
Again hiding away from the
Real India that I live in.