When I sit in St. Thomas’s Hall for my class, at Madras Christian College, a peculiar thought crosses my mind—these benches have seen it all. They’re not just pieces of furniture holding students; they’re silent witnesses to decades, even centuries, of life within these walls.
The weight of history settles around me as I glance at the scuffed wood, the etchings of initials, and the grooves worn smooth by countless hands. How many students, professors, and dreamers have occupied this very seat? What conversations, secrets, and ambitions were shared in its presence?
These benches have been here long before me, long before smartphones, laptops, and the hum of modernity. They were part of an era when ink-stained fingers scribbled on yellowing pages and voices debated philosophies under the echo of colonial influences. They’ve seen MCC evolve from its beginnings as a modest institution into the vibrant academic hub it is today.
What strikes me most is the thought of the people who once sat where I now sit. Were they nervous, clutching their notes before a big exam? Did they dream of making a difference, oblivious to how their actions would ripple into the future? Did they laugh at silly jokes with friends who would one day become memories?
I wonder about the lessons these benches have witnessed. Not just the formal ones delivered by professors but also the lessons of life filled with heartbreaks, friendships, existential issues, and revelations that come with growing up. These benches hold the weight of more than just human bodies; they hold the emotions, the energy, and the silent whispers of generations.
Sometimes, when I run my fingers over the worn wood, I feel connected to an invisible thread of continuity. It’s humbling to realize that I am just one more link in this chain of lives that have passed through MCC's history. The benches remind me that while our time here is fleeting, the spaces we inhabit collect traces of who we are.
So, as I sit here, I like to imagine someone, years from now, sitting in the same spot, having the same realization. Maybe they’ll think of me, just as I think of those who came before. And in that way, these benches will continue to hold history—not just the history of MCC, but the history of every individual who ever paused to rest, learn, or dream within its embrace.
I will recollect this discourse whenever I sit on any bench hereafter. Loved your read.
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