How would you REACT if
A child probably not more than 8 yrs in her soiled school uniform on her way to school stops in front of you and asks you for money?
You are on the silent evening beach with friends and beer, a few feet away a guy is being beaten up by some thugs and the guy being beaten up is crying for help. These hoodlums then confront you and ask you to leave?
An old lady seeking alms at the bus stop asks you aloud if you don’t eat every day, because you told her you gave her money only the previous night?
A software engineer working for one of the software giants, his identity card around his neck tells you so, is totally drunk and lying on a platform on your walk home?
A girl who proposed you recently, was once in your room with your room mate?
It is raining heavily and a girl is walking in the rain. Her dress is drenched to a very awkward proportion, with only a plastic folder that she’s holding close to her bosom, she is visibly very queasy, you offer her your friend's leather jacket and she gives you a cold stare?
Inside a crowded bus you see a man may be in his early 20s pushing himself against a girl, her face is turning angles but she’s silent, a lot of people around you are looking at it, but are silent?
You recently made friends with a tart; she feels so close to you that she cries to you. One fine night at 11.00pm she calls you up and asks you start to a place 3 hours away, that very moment because she was leaving home once and for all?
You simply told your friend that you would be passing by her town while on a train to another place and she turns up at the station at the wee of the night waking you up?
I smiled and walked off most of the situations, except for these
I got the software engineer inside an auto-rickshaw, saw him walk by me the next day with no hint of recognition.
I stood between the girl and the guy inside the bus for the next half hour.
I did not travel the three hours that night, she hasn't spoken to me in 8 months and I do not know where she is.
The Police story, part II
My phone rang even as I was rushing to my evening classes from my office. It was my friend Jai, calling me after a while and from an all women police station.
I quickly got in to an auto-rickshaw, trying to recollect what Jai told me over the phone. He had been picked up at a famous eat-out by police women while he was returning his former girl friend's mobile phone to her brother.
I barked at him for having taken Maha's phone, for only a fortnight before she had ditched him citing family reasons only to be seen with another guy the very next day. The day before he had met her and for some reason snatched her mobile and she had left the place running.
Although this was not the first time I was visiting (or made to??) a police station, my heart beat was so loud I heard it, my legs we shivering and my black shirt didn't help the situation. I was called by my friend as a witness to the fact that Maha had in fact been his girl friend once, interestingly Maha had claimed that she had met Jai only thrice all her life and that Jai was forcing her to marriage. I had to smile, because not very long before she had cried to me, scared that Jai might ditch her!!
I walked very uncomfortably in to the station, and was offered a seat by a stern faced Inspector. The Inspector asked me a string of questions, all of them trying to ascertain the relationship, I barely mouthed words though my head shakes answered her as a smiling Sub-Inspector joined her. I was relieved when they asked me wait in one of the waiting rooms, by then two more of my friends joined me, we sat down.
I could see Maha and her parents in the waiting room, she wasn't looking at me. She was sober yet beautiful as ever but for so many other reasons I wanted to confront her, their 5 year relationship for one. Another older woman in a khaki saree (the others wore shirts and pants) bent towards me and whispered that the commissioner was a relative of Maha's and she suggested Jai be a little more regretful. She also walked two floors to fetch us a bottle of water; police women aren't what the movies portray!!
We were called back to the Inspector's room; Maha was inside. Only after, a few Photographs of Jai and Maha together and some letters she had written to Jai, were produced did the Inspector's face lose its wrinkles. Maha was only looking at the police woman, the woman was unforgiving now, telling Jai precisely and men in general to be careful about girls, I didn't like the generalising but sat tight, Maha's face was turning red while jai tried to be at least verbally regretful.
The Sub-Inspector gave us a piece of paper for a statement that we/Jai wouldn't disturb Maha, she smiled when I asked her for a pen, though she lent one.
Respected madam,
We are not/will not be responsible/ the reason for the troubles that have been/may be caused to the concerned person.
Signed.
I didn't know how correct was the sentence actually/grammatically, but we signed.
Even as we were leaving the station barking and howling at Jai, we heard some one shout my name hard, I turned back it was the sub Inspector. I slowly walked to her, she got her hands towards me hard, on my instincts I had a hand on my face in defense, my friends laughed with her while she slowly pulled her pen out of my shirt pocket.
I quickly got in to an auto-rickshaw, trying to recollect what Jai told me over the phone. He had been picked up at a famous eat-out by police women while he was returning his former girl friend's mobile phone to her brother.
I barked at him for having taken Maha's phone, for only a fortnight before she had ditched him citing family reasons only to be seen with another guy the very next day. The day before he had met her and for some reason snatched her mobile and she had left the place running.
Although this was not the first time I was visiting (or made to??) a police station, my heart beat was so loud I heard it, my legs we shivering and my black shirt didn't help the situation. I was called by my friend as a witness to the fact that Maha had in fact been his girl friend once, interestingly Maha had claimed that she had met Jai only thrice all her life and that Jai was forcing her to marriage. I had to smile, because not very long before she had cried to me, scared that Jai might ditch her!!
I walked very uncomfortably in to the station, and was offered a seat by a stern faced Inspector. The Inspector asked me a string of questions, all of them trying to ascertain the relationship, I barely mouthed words though my head shakes answered her as a smiling Sub-Inspector joined her. I was relieved when they asked me wait in one of the waiting rooms, by then two more of my friends joined me, we sat down.
I could see Maha and her parents in the waiting room, she wasn't looking at me. She was sober yet beautiful as ever but for so many other reasons I wanted to confront her, their 5 year relationship for one. Another older woman in a khaki saree (the others wore shirts and pants) bent towards me and whispered that the commissioner was a relative of Maha's and she suggested Jai be a little more regretful. She also walked two floors to fetch us a bottle of water; police women aren't what the movies portray!!
We were called back to the Inspector's room; Maha was inside. Only after, a few Photographs of Jai and Maha together and some letters she had written to Jai, were produced did the Inspector's face lose its wrinkles. Maha was only looking at the police woman, the woman was unforgiving now, telling Jai precisely and men in general to be careful about girls, I didn't like the generalising but sat tight, Maha's face was turning red while jai tried to be at least verbally regretful.
The Sub-Inspector gave us a piece of paper for a statement that we/Jai wouldn't disturb Maha, she smiled when I asked her for a pen, though she lent one.
Respected madam,
We are not/will not be responsible/ the reason for the troubles that have been/may be caused to the concerned person.
Signed.
I didn't know how correct was the sentence actually/grammatically, but we signed.
Even as we were leaving the station barking and howling at Jai, we heard some one shout my name hard, I turned back it was the sub Inspector. I slowly walked to her, she got her hands towards me hard, on my instincts I had a hand on my face in defense, my friends laughed with her while she slowly pulled her pen out of my shirt pocket.
Alumni
I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again, after a long time, the 'long' meant seven years. The bus ride from the last big town to the village which is almost occupied by a 200 acre school campus, was the same as I had felt it almost a decade before.
This time I was an alumni getting back to high school for a meet, I couldn't accept the fact that I had grown older, though I haven't much. I seemed to even remember the smell of the place as the bus crossed through the same green patches and little land marks.
There were times when I hated to get back to school, because that meant half an year of seniors mastering my every move, uniforms even through nights, the same menu all week long, not being able to visit my house and more importantly solitude as I made very little friends the first few years. But today there was longing, a kind of hollowness below my chest that wanted the school days back, my breath wasn't smooth as the bus drudged towards my school.
I pushed my face to the window of the bus, trying to see as much as possible through the little window; it was just like old times, only the once big hills and the once giant trees seemed to have grown smaller.
Vast playfields and trouser clad cadets with hockey sticks were the first things I saw of my school, well old school. Even the once majestic arch in front of the school was looking small. The hockey coach was as usual getting back from the fields he has been manning since, I don’t know when, the bald man was balder, but his impeccable English was intact. A few words with him, he had his expletives bag ready and I enjoyed it for may be the first time.
Nothing about the school had changed, seemed like it was like the way I had left it, untouched. We walked the distance I once marched all day long, to the Mess that catered almost a thousand people. We were almost ten from my batch now, large for a recent pass-out, though it was seven years since we passed out.
Ironically we were accommodated in the hostel that we had stayed at, during our first year at school; the vicinity had not changed in 15 years. That night I visited all the rooms that once was my home, I sat on the beds that I once slept upon, some strange small kid was sleeping on each one of them; I couldn't believe I would have been so small anytime in my life. Inside the cupboards of my last year room, was still the graffiti that I once made “Great men are great, because we are on our knees ". I smiled.
We must have slept for may be an hour, when the school was up and running- literally, it was the morning run that was a must for everyone, everyday and for all seven years. I decided to skip this part but my friends thought otherwise and got their shoes out and I slept for an hour more.
Bread, butter, boiled eggs and coffee, the breakfast was the same that Saturday and I did not understand why I hated it once. Khaki uniforms, maroon berets, polished black shoes and belts welcomed me to the huge assembly hall. I was wearing a formal white shirt and black pants, this time I envied the people in khakis. I occupied one of the last benches as was the custom while the older, greyer heads occupied the chairs in the front, some of them could have been almost my father's age.
The teachers paraded in soon to the stage, in long flowing black coats, each one of them reminding me of something or the other. Some very familiar faces were missing and some very unfamiliar faces were on the stage.
After the assembly, I walked the class rooms, I could not remember the benches I occupied in the years I started, but I identified some of them that came later by the caricatures and sculptures that I had left on them. In the midst of all this I met the man I owe so much; my English teacher and idol, he didn't remember my name, it hurt. He took me to the language lab, the one I remember had microphones, head sets and an audio cassette player; the lab now had computers on every table and sir was using 'Adobe flash MX' to teach.
It was lunch when I, at last met some one who called me by my name; it was the head waiter at the Mess. Through the buffet I met almost every teacher who taught me, not many remembered my name and ones who recognized me were the ones I had always been indifferent to, like my dance teacher.
The afternoon went past while I tried playing and only fumbled, entertainment lit up the evening stage while I danced amongst the audience, the night soon went and it was the Sunday morning, reminding me of the end of a beautiful weekend.
I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again; I held back my tears, it started to rain.
Love story III
Long, long ago there were two small children attending the same grade school, fiercely fighting for the marks all the years. The fights were all they had in common, a short haired, chubby Maha was in stark contrast to the fairer, lanky Jai and while Jai excelled on the play fields, Maha lit up the stage. Albeit involving in innocent combats for their first 5 grades, they made good friends.
When the Years moved on, they too did, Jai to a boarding school, where his hockey skills flourished at the expense of his books and Maha to a girls' school where her love for the books and stage continued. In the mean while, their families had also moved away from the little town that had brought them together.
Language compelled Maha and the seas beckoned Jai when they graduated, Maha continued to do her doctorate in English even as Jai was getting ready to safeguard the coasts. In all the while, Jai and Maha had flashes of each other’s face grinning in their minds though their careers allowed little time for anything else and fifteen years passed. Curiously enough the ever nomadic Maha's family had moved to a place only 15kms from Jai's house.
Maha still has the same short hair and isn't chubby anymore and Jai stopped growing after school. Jai, despite his famed self, is a shy loner and Maha was nick named ruffian for her daring ways at college. Jai's fair, tall stature and his exploits on the fields had made faces turn at college and Maha had no dearth for proposals herself but none of them stood time.
One fine day Maha's curiosity bumped her on to Jai online and after a few days together online, they decided to meet. The once tall skinny Jai was a handsome young man, and once the fat, short haired girl was a beautiful young lady but the meeting was mostly awkward, with neither of them having enough words in a sentence.
After two days of talk, a lot of smiles and a few tear drops, Jai 'the loner' proposed Maha looking at the sky and Maha 'the ruffian' gave her consent looking at the ground. All that Maha wanted was someone who understood her character and Jai promised he would. All that Jai wanted was Maha with her hair long and Maha said she could.
Maha's family had no problems but Jai's parents disapproved of the relation. Upon Jai's insistence, Jai and Maha soon exchanged vows at a private ceremony amidst her family and close friends, one of them, their old grade school class mate.
Jai stays with his parents but is mostly away on ships and Maha stays at her house both hoping to find favour with Jai's parents someday!!
When the Years moved on, they too did, Jai to a boarding school, where his hockey skills flourished at the expense of his books and Maha to a girls' school where her love for the books and stage continued. In the mean while, their families had also moved away from the little town that had brought them together.
Language compelled Maha and the seas beckoned Jai when they graduated, Maha continued to do her doctorate in English even as Jai was getting ready to safeguard the coasts. In all the while, Jai and Maha had flashes of each other’s face grinning in their minds though their careers allowed little time for anything else and fifteen years passed. Curiously enough the ever nomadic Maha's family had moved to a place only 15kms from Jai's house.
Maha still has the same short hair and isn't chubby anymore and Jai stopped growing after school. Jai, despite his famed self, is a shy loner and Maha was nick named ruffian for her daring ways at college. Jai's fair, tall stature and his exploits on the fields had made faces turn at college and Maha had no dearth for proposals herself but none of them stood time.
One fine day Maha's curiosity bumped her on to Jai online and after a few days together online, they decided to meet. The once tall skinny Jai was a handsome young man, and once the fat, short haired girl was a beautiful young lady but the meeting was mostly awkward, with neither of them having enough words in a sentence.
After two days of talk, a lot of smiles and a few tear drops, Jai 'the loner' proposed Maha looking at the sky and Maha 'the ruffian' gave her consent looking at the ground. All that Maha wanted was someone who understood her character and Jai promised he would. All that Jai wanted was Maha with her hair long and Maha said she could.
Maha's family had no problems but Jai's parents disapproved of the relation. Upon Jai's insistence, Jai and Maha soon exchanged vows at a private ceremony amidst her family and close friends, one of them, their old grade school class mate.
Jai stays with his parents but is mostly away on ships and Maha stays at her house both hoping to find favour with Jai's parents someday!!
Love story - II
Maha is a tad dark and with her protruding nose she doesn't make a great picture at first. Though not very attractive, Maha doesn’t definitely look her age, 30. But for some people though, Maha is one of the few beautiful people they will ever see.
Before 11-12 years Maha was the usual high school girl of my town, trying earnestly to enter a medical college and Jai came to her life. Jai had to quit school at a very early age, courtesy his father who to date hasn't found a permanent job and he started working as an electrician. Maha is from a middle class family, her father works in a government office and her mother a house wife. Jai was the only son of a careless father and a faithful house wife, a lower middle class family.
It was around that time that they started seeing each other. I have no idea how he met her, but from what I have heard, it was a good three months and a loss of business before Jai could make a mark with Maha.
Soon I was seeing them smile at me every time I saw them together in the barren land behind my house. Jai was never a keen sportsman, his younger days were lost in work, but he was always present at the cricket field during our twilight games. When Maha was around he always pretended he knew the game and Maha seemed proud every time the ball hit his bat and he repaid us with something that night.
Jai was going through probably the greenest patch of his life. After years of working under someone, he started working on his own and sometimes hiring people under him. He was soon setting up the electric systems of whole buildings; a long way for someone who had started with rewinding motors. And of course he had Maha; sometimes he even attributed his career turn around to her, though he always ended up in a free-for-all when he said that with his friends around.
Jai’s parents were aware of the two getting along but Maha’s never knew or pretended they did not. Maha did not seem to care and but Jai was concerned.
Interestingly Maha did not get an admission to a medical college, not even an engineering college, which was then an automatic second choice. She joined a local college and stayed closer to home and Jai.
It was during one of those days that Jai passed away doing what he did all his life, setting up an electric connection. He had accidentally come in contact with a transmission line while working on a newly built house.
10 years since, Maha hasn't married yet. Talks of marriage only bring a mad rage in to her and no one talks about it these days, not her parents and not Jai's friends.
She doesn't want to let it go, like Jai is always there some where behind those barren lands, some where under a tree near the cricket field, somewhere...
Before 11-12 years Maha was the usual high school girl of my town, trying earnestly to enter a medical college and Jai came to her life. Jai had to quit school at a very early age, courtesy his father who to date hasn't found a permanent job and he started working as an electrician. Maha is from a middle class family, her father works in a government office and her mother a house wife. Jai was the only son of a careless father and a faithful house wife, a lower middle class family.
It was around that time that they started seeing each other. I have no idea how he met her, but from what I have heard, it was a good three months and a loss of business before Jai could make a mark with Maha.
Soon I was seeing them smile at me every time I saw them together in the barren land behind my house. Jai was never a keen sportsman, his younger days were lost in work, but he was always present at the cricket field during our twilight games. When Maha was around he always pretended he knew the game and Maha seemed proud every time the ball hit his bat and he repaid us with something that night.
Jai was going through probably the greenest patch of his life. After years of working under someone, he started working on his own and sometimes hiring people under him. He was soon setting up the electric systems of whole buildings; a long way for someone who had started with rewinding motors. And of course he had Maha; sometimes he even attributed his career turn around to her, though he always ended up in a free-for-all when he said that with his friends around.
Jai’s parents were aware of the two getting along but Maha’s never knew or pretended they did not. Maha did not seem to care and but Jai was concerned.
Interestingly Maha did not get an admission to a medical college, not even an engineering college, which was then an automatic second choice. She joined a local college and stayed closer to home and Jai.
It was during one of those days that Jai passed away doing what he did all his life, setting up an electric connection. He had accidentally come in contact with a transmission line while working on a newly built house.
10 years since, Maha hasn't married yet. Talks of marriage only bring a mad rage in to her and no one talks about it these days, not her parents and not Jai's friends.
She doesn't want to let it go, like Jai is always there some where behind those barren lands, some where under a tree near the cricket field, somewhere...
Love Story - I
I liked Maha the first time I saw her, she was pretty, she was shrewd and I enjoyed her company, her humour to be precise. After spending only a few minutes the first time I saw her, I was longing to see her again. Only her being one of my best friends Jai's girl did not help my cause.
My friend had first seen her from some 'Learn English' school and his language skills never got any better. Soon Jai was in love with her and she had responded in green. It was good to see them together.
Having brought up in a family that never gave the, as she often said, warmth that she expected, her possessiveness wasn't a surprise. Somewhere along the course I noticed she was losing her nerve too soon and that she preferred speaking to listening, every time. The one thing that I once liked in her, possessiveness was also to a disastrous extreme. Our common friends seemed to share similar thoughts. I never tried to suppress my feelings about her with Jai, he was in no mood to listen; sometimes he even said, I was jealous. Was I? I don't know.
These instances never dented the liking I had for the two of them, not until they were married with only the consent of Jai's parents, not until they shifted to a small but pretty house and started living themselves, not until they had two beautiful daughters and not until that day when I tried to surprise them and I was surprised myself.
I had been home after a while and visiting them was as usual on my list of priorities. I wanted my visit to be a surprise and it was in more ways than one. When I reached their house, I just heard a few indistinct noises; soon I was sure there was a fierce quarrel. She went to the extent of blaming him for spoiling her life. My face silenced them but I couldn't stay there for long; that was the last time I saw Maha.
Jai was a different man when I spoke to him the next day, he seemed to have aged more than what his years should have. Life and love after marriage had taken a 90 degree turn for him. No day had passed without a conflict of interest. He doesn't remember the last time they had a good day or a good night. I hugged him for no reason and may be for the first time in the 8-10 yrs I knew him. I only left when he seemed a little lighter; it was close to three hours. I very soon lost touch with both of them as they had shifted out to a nearby city.
I saw Jai after almost two years at a common friend's marriage; he was with his two beautiful daughters. He smiled even as his elder daughter ran towards me. The elder one is just like her mother, funny and shrewd. The younger daughter is like her father of the old times, naughty but silent. I liked them together, the three of them, they seem to have a resonance that I wouldn't expect of a single father.
The children didn't seem to miss having a mother, not even the younger one; she was barely a year old when her mother succumbed to the third degree burns she inflicted on herself.
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Jai is actually my brother's friend, and the above incidents are actually my brother's narration.
Despite the compulsions and requests of his family and friends, Jai hasn't married again. Jai now runs a photo studio at a nearby town, his elder daughter is in school and his younger one grows up mostly at the studio.
My friend had first seen her from some 'Learn English' school and his language skills never got any better. Soon Jai was in love with her and she had responded in green. It was good to see them together.
Having brought up in a family that never gave the, as she often said, warmth that she expected, her possessiveness wasn't a surprise. Somewhere along the course I noticed she was losing her nerve too soon and that she preferred speaking to listening, every time. The one thing that I once liked in her, possessiveness was also to a disastrous extreme. Our common friends seemed to share similar thoughts. I never tried to suppress my feelings about her with Jai, he was in no mood to listen; sometimes he even said, I was jealous. Was I? I don't know.
These instances never dented the liking I had for the two of them, not until they were married with only the consent of Jai's parents, not until they shifted to a small but pretty house and started living themselves, not until they had two beautiful daughters and not until that day when I tried to surprise them and I was surprised myself.
I had been home after a while and visiting them was as usual on my list of priorities. I wanted my visit to be a surprise and it was in more ways than one. When I reached their house, I just heard a few indistinct noises; soon I was sure there was a fierce quarrel. She went to the extent of blaming him for spoiling her life. My face silenced them but I couldn't stay there for long; that was the last time I saw Maha.
Jai was a different man when I spoke to him the next day, he seemed to have aged more than what his years should have. Life and love after marriage had taken a 90 degree turn for him. No day had passed without a conflict of interest. He doesn't remember the last time they had a good day or a good night. I hugged him for no reason and may be for the first time in the 8-10 yrs I knew him. I only left when he seemed a little lighter; it was close to three hours. I very soon lost touch with both of them as they had shifted out to a nearby city.
I saw Jai after almost two years at a common friend's marriage; he was with his two beautiful daughters. He smiled even as his elder daughter ran towards me. The elder one is just like her mother, funny and shrewd. The younger daughter is like her father of the old times, naughty but silent. I liked them together, the three of them, they seem to have a resonance that I wouldn't expect of a single father.
The children didn't seem to miss having a mother, not even the younger one; she was barely a year old when her mother succumbed to the third degree burns she inflicted on herself.
--------------------------------------------------------
Jai is actually my brother's friend, and the above incidents are actually my brother's narration.
Despite the compulsions and requests of his family and friends, Jai hasn't married again. Jai now runs a photo studio at a nearby town, his elder daughter is in school and his younger one grows up mostly at the studio.
Long long ago..
There were only two kinds of people in my school, the famous and the infamous, others were almost nonexistent or were considered so. Since books and playfields rarely interested me, I quickly graduated to the infamous list although it needed some extraordinary courage and shamelessness.
Defiance of the rules, muddling the uniform, frequenting the TV hall in wee hours (just to prove) and marking my absence at every gathering pushed me to the ranks, but I was not complete, not without an escapade to the next town.
A residential public school with a military back drop that rarely allowed real world expoure wasn't the only thing that stood in my way and the next town. It also included,
1. Dodging the security, that involved changing in to civilian clothes inside one of those dense wild shrubs.
2. Stopping a bus, raising no alarms and not giving away the identity with my crew cut for the next half hour of the journey.
3. Watching a movie or hanging around the town very often infested by the school staff.
4. Reversal of steps one and two. For Javed too it was a virgin act.
Javed was a rich man, meaning he had a hundred rupee note and I was worth only a quarter of it.
Scene 1
I was changing clothes in broad day light and inside a shrub with one of my best friends; a surprise visitor would have doubted our orientation. Javed was dirtying his face with sand, must be some tips from the older guys I thought and I followed suit. The tallest shrub protected our uniforms.
We spent an hour behind a tree before a bus stopped; we found the last seat empty and ducked our heads for the next half hour. When we reached the movie hall running and gasping for breath, the ticket sales had already closed down.
Having no other option other than to roam around the town, the first thing I did was call my mother at her office. I was talking to my mother after three long months and I pretended I was talking to her during an official trip.
The telephone bill was an exorbitant forty rupees; visibly angry Javed reluctantly slipped his hands inside his pant pockets. I was pawned at the phone booth and Javed said he would return in an hour, he had forgotten his 100 rupee note inside his uniform.
Scene 2
Javed is nervous and is sweating overtly, grabbing the attention of the vicinity. Some stranger strikes a conversation with Javed trying to make him comfortable, Javed is relaxed but almost crying. The stranger helps him with some money after hearing a rather bizarre story.
Although the guy at the booth was trying his best to comfort me, I continued sweating. To my relief, Javed returned in twenty minutes I was traded back, phew.
Scene 3
Only stage four was remaining but our heads were already drooping. Lady luck must have been taking a real long break, for when were about to board the bus, we were met right on face by the big mustached English teacher Mr. Jeyaraj. With no valid reasons for us being in the town, we had the right to remain silent.
We were again at the last row and it was showbiz for us. We had the undivided attention of the almost all passengers, hearing our histories and watching him play with our ears (he was known for his long finger nails and his fondness for ears).
I was afraid, the tragedy could prolong if we were handed over at the school gates. It meant public humiliation and a complete Khaki outfit with leather shoes at all places (play field included) for another week. Mr. Jeyaraj stopped the bus exactly where we had boarded only a few hours before, and said "run, you stupid buggers" with a smirk on his face. We lived the expression, "running for lives" till we reached the tree where we had started it all. The uniforms were missing.
Scene 4
We walked inside the hostel, making up faces that brimmed with pride.
Voila! we had done it, well almost.
Defiance of the rules, muddling the uniform, frequenting the TV hall in wee hours (just to prove) and marking my absence at every gathering pushed me to the ranks, but I was not complete, not without an escapade to the next town.
A residential public school with a military back drop that rarely allowed real world expoure wasn't the only thing that stood in my way and the next town. It also included,
1. Dodging the security, that involved changing in to civilian clothes inside one of those dense wild shrubs.
2. Stopping a bus, raising no alarms and not giving away the identity with my crew cut for the next half hour of the journey.
3. Watching a movie or hanging around the town very often infested by the school staff.
4. Reversal of steps one and two. For Javed too it was a virgin act.
Javed was a rich man, meaning he had a hundred rupee note and I was worth only a quarter of it.
Scene 1
I was changing clothes in broad day light and inside a shrub with one of my best friends; a surprise visitor would have doubted our orientation. Javed was dirtying his face with sand, must be some tips from the older guys I thought and I followed suit. The tallest shrub protected our uniforms.
We spent an hour behind a tree before a bus stopped; we found the last seat empty and ducked our heads for the next half hour. When we reached the movie hall running and gasping for breath, the ticket sales had already closed down.
Having no other option other than to roam around the town, the first thing I did was call my mother at her office. I was talking to my mother after three long months and I pretended I was talking to her during an official trip.
The telephone bill was an exorbitant forty rupees; visibly angry Javed reluctantly slipped his hands inside his pant pockets. I was pawned at the phone booth and Javed said he would return in an hour, he had forgotten his 100 rupee note inside his uniform.
Scene 2
Javed is nervous and is sweating overtly, grabbing the attention of the vicinity. Some stranger strikes a conversation with Javed trying to make him comfortable, Javed is relaxed but almost crying. The stranger helps him with some money after hearing a rather bizarre story.
Although the guy at the booth was trying his best to comfort me, I continued sweating. To my relief, Javed returned in twenty minutes I was traded back, phew.
Scene 3
Only stage four was remaining but our heads were already drooping. Lady luck must have been taking a real long break, for when were about to board the bus, we were met right on face by the big mustached English teacher Mr. Jeyaraj. With no valid reasons for us being in the town, we had the right to remain silent.
We were again at the last row and it was showbiz for us. We had the undivided attention of the almost all passengers, hearing our histories and watching him play with our ears (he was known for his long finger nails and his fondness for ears).
I was afraid, the tragedy could prolong if we were handed over at the school gates. It meant public humiliation and a complete Khaki outfit with leather shoes at all places (play field included) for another week. Mr. Jeyaraj stopped the bus exactly where we had boarded only a few hours before, and said "run, you stupid buggers" with a smirk on his face. We lived the expression, "running for lives" till we reached the tree where we had started it all. The uniforms were missing.
Scene 4
We walked inside the hostel, making up faces that brimmed with pride.
Voila! we had done it, well almost.
Mary Ebenezer
The frail old man on the next bed passed away despite the last-ditch efforts of at least four doctors and even more nurses. It was hall 201, the emergency ward,
The next day morning, the doctor on duty prescribed a flurry of tests which included blood tests at three different places, a cranial CT scan and a bladder scan. The blood tests took a lot of time, there were at least 25 people at each counter, and I was almost alone amongst the mostly female queue, each of them holding at least two tubes of brick red blood.
When I reached the counter for the CT scan, the man at the counter was deep asleep on his PC's black keyboard. At least 10 minutes passed before he woke up with a yawn and asked me check out the timings for the scan with the lab. The lab is the last room inside a building that resembles a haunted house, with hanging wires, battered walls and a half lit verandah, I could hear my heart beat every time I walked to the lab alone.
A middle aged woman was lying on the floor in a night gown in front of the lab; another woman sat crouching on the floor beside her. A dark Lab attendant was howling “If you talk rules once again, you will never have your scan done". The crouching woman mumbled she had been waiting for over an hour beside her sister who needed a pelvic CT scan. A younger woman was holding a few months old child in her hands, the child's head was completely dressed on one side. Two more middle aged women sat with their teen aged children. We were asked to be at the Lab at 07.30pm that evening.
The next day morning, the post graduate student-duty doctor wanted the CT scan results, but the results were only to be available in the evening. My brother was refused the report by the same dark attendant. Armed with a written request from the doctor he went to the lab again for the scan and the reports, this time he was offered both but the report was priced at 100 rupees. When he came back he only had the scan in hand.
On the sixth day my cousin was discharged from the hospital as his legs had found some movement and more importantly there was a dearth of the available beds. I wished our neighbors a fast recovery and as I was leaving, I saw the ever smiling Ebenezer walk inside the ward for her night shift. For some reason I said "See you Madam".
"Don't ever say 'see you' when you leave a hospital, always say goodbye, Now good bye, I have people to look after" she retorted.
Before I could bid her bye she was already walking away trying to silence the noise inside the ward. For the first time in almost a week I had a smile on my face.
May be It was..
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I was never so frustrated at least in the recent times. I pay, never mind if my friend does, 3000 bucks for a New Year bash and what was I supposed to do? Watch some wowow babe dance with some one who made me feel I was a handsome prince. That was not all, we had to watch them from a balcony standing all the while, not minding the trampling legs (some moron had combat boots on), because the place couldn’t seat more than 25 people and we had 100 single men for the bash. Although the number of single men around helped me resurrect my confidence levels, some how I thought I needed blood pressure pills.
It was supposed to be 'the night', with my school buddies around some of them after almost a decade, I could only grumble. We had already swigged two rounds of a drink that I had only heard of, from people used to shopping at the airports and holidaying in tax free zones. My friends aren't grumblers; soon I was outside silently watching an animated conversation between my friends and some official looking butterball. A faint smile was beginning to appear on all their faces.
We marched in to another place all the while being watched by people who seemed so interested in my white T-shirt and jeans. Was I hallucinating? I am not sure. Not that it bothered me, but being in a dimly lit hall again seemed to increase my comfort levels. The music inside was loud and blaring, obvious indications of 'this was not a room made for a dance floor'. It was a conference hall, which we soon found out from a plaque carelessly covered with a blind. Not one inside looked like he/she has ever danced in his life before. Throw your hands up in the air, jump move around, don’t even bother about the beat and yes bump someone, and what do we have?? A new year's dance floor, yuck.
One fat girl/ lady was looking like a total freak shaking her long hair like Shakira doing her pelvis. The other guy must be living in a joint family for he was doing things with his wife (I suppose) my father would have called lewd, given the situation and vicinity. We tried dancing a little in the one corner that seemed empty, only to be pushed off the dance floor in a few minutes by a gang of four girls and one 'I am rich and dumb' looking guy. So much for the arguments and the dance floor, we were only gulping up the foreign brand, breaking our previous records and trying to make up for the paid sum the next half hour. One of my friends even shrugged of an interested dancer of the opposite gender.
A drink, a bit of dance, anothar dirnk and soime more or dlance, a litkle mire drijnk and likkee nore dsance (alright, alright I copied it from a joke!!). It went on until all our previous records were broken, our clothes drenched, the old year gone, my friends out of their jackets and I saw this cute small girl dancing all to herself. Very often I had chased children away from my vicinity, even my brother's daughter stays a foot away when she talks to me. For some godforsaken reason this girl in black pants, rose tops and a black jacket was moving towards me smiling or was she laughing? I moved my limbs as if to dance, she mimicked my movements and we started to dance. Very soon she ditched me for my friends all of them playing her pair in tandem.
At her age, I would have most probably been tripping on my toes and here she was dancing like a ballerina (doesn't the word mean a beautiful dancer?), in sync with the beat and movements that made me go wow. I was kneeling most of the time to match my little girl's height; I still stood a few inches tall. We even played the movements we used a decade before at high school, a moment of nostalgia took over. Whenever we took a break for a breather she hugged me tight (because I was her height) and asked us come back soon. I wonder if I never smelt of the drink all the while because in the morning I had a breath a skunk would have frowned upon. Some more kids were starting to dance, her parents were so wonderfully enjoying the moment and in all the noise one of my friends bent closer and told me “May be it was worth all of it or was it more?”
The music was fading away and as I sat down, Sai-preetha leapt on to my lap and started to sleep, I am not very sure what I felt at that moment, I think it felt good probably very good patting the girl to sleep. We had danced close to two hours, it was soon time to go and Sai was awake, I got my first kiss this year and a long one. Though I talked to her parents a lot that night mostly to tell them they had the most beautiful daughter on earth, for some reason I did not take a number, or leave one. Even after two days we were still talking about her and my friend kept telling us “May be it was worth all of it and more eh?”.
It was supposed to be 'the night', with my school buddies around some of them after almost a decade, I could only grumble. We had already swigged two rounds of a drink that I had only heard of, from people used to shopping at the airports and holidaying in tax free zones. My friends aren't grumblers; soon I was outside silently watching an animated conversation between my friends and some official looking butterball. A faint smile was beginning to appear on all their faces.
We marched in to another place all the while being watched by people who seemed so interested in my white T-shirt and jeans. Was I hallucinating? I am not sure. Not that it bothered me, but being in a dimly lit hall again seemed to increase my comfort levels. The music inside was loud and blaring, obvious indications of 'this was not a room made for a dance floor'. It was a conference hall, which we soon found out from a plaque carelessly covered with a blind. Not one inside looked like he/she has ever danced in his life before. Throw your hands up in the air, jump move around, don’t even bother about the beat and yes bump someone, and what do we have?? A new year's dance floor, yuck.
One fat girl/ lady was looking like a total freak shaking her long hair like Shakira doing her pelvis. The other guy must be living in a joint family for he was doing things with his wife (I suppose) my father would have called lewd, given the situation and vicinity. We tried dancing a little in the one corner that seemed empty, only to be pushed off the dance floor in a few minutes by a gang of four girls and one 'I am rich and dumb' looking guy. So much for the arguments and the dance floor, we were only gulping up the foreign brand, breaking our previous records and trying to make up for the paid sum the next half hour. One of my friends even shrugged of an interested dancer of the opposite gender.
A drink, a bit of dance, anothar dirnk and soime more or dlance, a litkle mire drijnk and likkee nore dsance (alright, alright I copied it from a joke!!). It went on until all our previous records were broken, our clothes drenched, the old year gone, my friends out of their jackets and I saw this cute small girl dancing all to herself. Very often I had chased children away from my vicinity, even my brother's daughter stays a foot away when she talks to me. For some godforsaken reason this girl in black pants, rose tops and a black jacket was moving towards me smiling or was she laughing? I moved my limbs as if to dance, she mimicked my movements and we started to dance. Very soon she ditched me for my friends all of them playing her pair in tandem.
At her age, I would have most probably been tripping on my toes and here she was dancing like a ballerina (doesn't the word mean a beautiful dancer?), in sync with the beat and movements that made me go wow. I was kneeling most of the time to match my little girl's height; I still stood a few inches tall. We even played the movements we used a decade before at high school, a moment of nostalgia took over. Whenever we took a break for a breather she hugged me tight (because I was her height) and asked us come back soon. I wonder if I never smelt of the drink all the while because in the morning I had a breath a skunk would have frowned upon. Some more kids were starting to dance, her parents were so wonderfully enjoying the moment and in all the noise one of my friends bent closer and told me “May be it was worth all of it or was it more?”
The music was fading away and as I sat down, Sai-preetha leapt on to my lap and started to sleep, I am not very sure what I felt at that moment, I think it felt good probably very good patting the girl to sleep. We had danced close to two hours, it was soon time to go and Sai was awake, I got my first kiss this year and a long one. Though I talked to her parents a lot that night mostly to tell them they had the most beautiful daughter on earth, for some reason I did not take a number, or leave one. Even after two days we were still talking about her and my friend kept telling us “May be it was worth all of it and more eh?”.
Hyundai Accent
That day I saw one of the new Hyundai cars commissioned to the Chennai city Police department, it was a welcome change from the stale Blue-black jeeps, I thought. What I didn't know at that time was, I would, the very day be intercepted by one of those shiny white vehicles.
3.00 am that night: I am not sure if having a cup of tea at this hour of the night is a crime under the Indian penal code But When I and my friend were just about leaving the shop on a Pulsar, I heard a siren whine loud and clear.
"Pondy registration Pulsar, vandiya niruthunge " blared a megaphone, along with the whine. simply meaning " You morons on the Black pulsar stop the vehicle".
I, at first did not remember that the bike's registration number started PY 01 and continued working the accelerator. My friend's hands gripped my shoulders but it was sometime before I realized the graveness of the situation and came to a screeching halt a feet away from the new shiny white Hyundai. The car was perpendicular to the road. The police man's face inside was redder than the indicator on the top of his car. He came out with a scrap pad and a pen in his hand and so did his driver.
The cop: what is your name?
Me: Kumar.
The cop: and yours?
My friend: Ram
The cop: didn't you guys hear the siren?
My friend: yes we did, but...
The cop: at least the yelling over the megaphone?? What do you guys do? Software Engineers? Call centre?
Me: Sir, I am a Power electronics Engineer, with...
The cop: you are a what??
Me: I am an Electronics (He was lost...) I am a software Engineer..
The cop: and you?
My friend: I am running a consultancy.
The cop: running a what??
My friend: Business consultancy, staffing and setting up of BPOs(Obvious reaction of I did not understand a thing on the cops face!!!) er.. I am running a call centre.
Even as the driver was adding more scribbles on his pad, his walky went out loud. “Control room, Control room calling, (number and name of the station were pronounced )"
Control room: “Sir, one more on the list sir”
The cop: yes.
control room : " Male, wheatish, acne marks on face, alleged name Sekhar, mole on mid forehead, left chest, last seen with long hair(couldn't get a few words because of the noisy walky) wanted for theft and extortion, over.
The cop: okay. I only have a Kumar and Ram here, anyone’s on wanted list with these names??
(I and my friend simply looked at each other suppressing a smile)
Control room: Not anyone I know of let me check sir, over.
The cop: over.
I felt I almost fit in Sekhar's shoes whoever the hell he was. My reason of being on the road at 3.00 am was probably not convincing, we were asked to empty our pockets, checked for drunken driving, and were asked to hand over the bike's keys. We were soon inside a Toyota Qualis on the way to the police station, while some Policeman rode the Pulsar.
That was the first time I ever went inside a police station. There were at least five half-uniformed men, only one of them was awake. After another 15 minutes of answering another set of questions which included audacious ones like "if I had my underwear on and if I was in to drugs" and serious ones like "If I had my license and an NOC for the vehicle " (I neither had a license nor a NOC, I simply shook my head in the negative), we were allotted a wooden bench on one corner of the room. .
The station was neat, the big binders and papers, the weapons, tables everything was in order. Pictures of yesteryear leaders adorned the walls in symmetry. The wandering of my eyes stopped when I saw two young men in only their boxers crouching inside one of the cells, I started to sweat. After sometime we were offered tea by a boy of probably 15-16, which I gleefully accepted while my friend preferred to sleep sitting upright on the bench.
It was almost 5.00am and a good one and half hours of looking at the wall, when one of the older uniforms summoned us. The cop who had brought us to the station was sleeping on his table with a snore. The old man jotted down only our names and asked us to collect the vehicle at 8.00 am sharp in the morning. We walked almost a mile to my house.
When I woke up it was 8.00 am already. I woke up my friend and we were on another bike very soon in rumpled clothes, half brushed and half made up. The old man was almost leaving his table when we rushed in. He simply gave us the keys and more importantly with no questions. The two men inside the cell were still crouching as they were 3 hours before.
As I got out I saw the Hyundai Accent parked in front of the station, like an angry kid I wanted to break at least one of those shiny glasses.
3.00 am that night: I am not sure if having a cup of tea at this hour of the night is a crime under the Indian penal code But When I and my friend were just about leaving the shop on a Pulsar, I heard a siren whine loud and clear.
"Pondy registration Pulsar, vandiya niruthunge " blared a megaphone, along with the whine. simply meaning " You morons on the Black pulsar stop the vehicle".
I, at first did not remember that the bike's registration number started PY 01 and continued working the accelerator. My friend's hands gripped my shoulders but it was sometime before I realized the graveness of the situation and came to a screeching halt a feet away from the new shiny white Hyundai. The car was perpendicular to the road. The police man's face inside was redder than the indicator on the top of his car. He came out with a scrap pad and a pen in his hand and so did his driver.
The cop: what is your name?
Me: Kumar.
The cop: and yours?
My friend: Ram
The cop: didn't you guys hear the siren?
My friend: yes we did, but...
The cop: at least the yelling over the megaphone?? What do you guys do? Software Engineers? Call centre?
Me: Sir, I am a Power electronics Engineer, with...
The cop: you are a what??
Me: I am an Electronics (He was lost...) I am a software Engineer..
The cop: and you?
My friend: I am running a consultancy.
The cop: running a what??
My friend: Business consultancy, staffing and setting up of BPOs(Obvious reaction of I did not understand a thing on the cops face!!!) er.. I am running a call centre.
Even as the driver was adding more scribbles on his pad, his walky went out loud. “Control room, Control room calling, (number and name of the station were pronounced )"
Control room: “Sir, one more on the list sir”
The cop: yes.
control room : " Male, wheatish, acne marks on face, alleged name Sekhar, mole on mid forehead, left chest, last seen with long hair(couldn't get a few words because of the noisy walky) wanted for theft and extortion, over.
The cop: okay. I only have a Kumar and Ram here, anyone’s on wanted list with these names??
(I and my friend simply looked at each other suppressing a smile)
Control room: Not anyone I know of let me check sir, over.
The cop: over.
I felt I almost fit in Sekhar's shoes whoever the hell he was. My reason of being on the road at 3.00 am was probably not convincing, we were asked to empty our pockets, checked for drunken driving, and were asked to hand over the bike's keys. We were soon inside a Toyota Qualis on the way to the police station, while some Policeman rode the Pulsar.
That was the first time I ever went inside a police station. There were at least five half-uniformed men, only one of them was awake. After another 15 minutes of answering another set of questions which included audacious ones like "if I had my underwear on and if I was in to drugs" and serious ones like "If I had my license and an NOC for the vehicle " (I neither had a license nor a NOC, I simply shook my head in the negative), we were allotted a wooden bench on one corner of the room. .
The station was neat, the big binders and papers, the weapons, tables everything was in order. Pictures of yesteryear leaders adorned the walls in symmetry. The wandering of my eyes stopped when I saw two young men in only their boxers crouching inside one of the cells, I started to sweat. After sometime we were offered tea by a boy of probably 15-16, which I gleefully accepted while my friend preferred to sleep sitting upright on the bench.
It was almost 5.00am and a good one and half hours of looking at the wall, when one of the older uniforms summoned us. The cop who had brought us to the station was sleeping on his table with a snore. The old man jotted down only our names and asked us to collect the vehicle at 8.00 am sharp in the morning. We walked almost a mile to my house.
When I woke up it was 8.00 am already. I woke up my friend and we were on another bike very soon in rumpled clothes, half brushed and half made up. The old man was almost leaving his table when we rushed in. He simply gave us the keys and more importantly with no questions. The two men inside the cell were still crouching as they were 3 hours before.
As I got out I saw the Hyundai Accent parked in front of the station, like an angry kid I wanted to break at least one of those shiny glasses.
I love you Dad
The first day I saw him he was in his starched white clothes, very odd for that dingy, cramped place. He kept looking at me anxiously while I drank at the local wine shop, I thought he was one of those drunkards who have a few rupees less for their second drink. When I was just about leaving, I gave him a few coins. He asked me what I wanted and I blinked. It was actually the first day at work for him.
I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.
The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.
He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.
When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.
Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.
I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.
I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.
I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.
The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.
He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.
When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.
Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.
I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.
I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.
Ever felt like..
I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.
We must have started from Chennai at about 7.15 pm that day. Muru and Param were on a Yamaha RX 135 and I was on the pillion of Vicky's black Pulsar 150 cc, it was our friend’s marriage the next day. The traffic kept a check on the speedometer until we were on the national highway. We filled gas at about 10 kms from the start and had the Yamaha checked for air.
At about 25 kms the Yamaha had a flat tyre and we had to push it a good distance till we found a repair shop. While the vehicle was attended to I found a shop that sold cold beer. I bought two bottles for just the pillion riders, Param and me; the two beers were divided in to 4 equal parts.
After some distance the highway was looking clean and tempting, we were soon touching the 80 kmph mark. There was a gentle drizzle, I lifted my hands up, let the cool air strike my face, mmm... bliss. In a few minutes the dial was showing 85 kmph.
"On a dark desert highway, Cool wind in my hair..." I was whistling the Eagles number with my hands still in the air when we touched 90 Kmph, ever felt like God? I did.
All through this we were trailing the Yamaha and Vicky on his first long ride was enjoying every moment. The Dial now read 95kmph.
I thought I saw a 'take diversion --->' sign a few feet away and when I turned straight, I heard Param shout "shit ..", the Yamaha was in the air.
The next Instant I too was..
I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.
I was on the speedometer, the rear view mirror of the Pulsar inside my pant pocket. I couldn't move for a long time, my heart was racing and my mind was crowded with thoughts. I desperately tried to move, I couldn't. After sometime all three of my friends were standing around me, I smiled and Vicky helped me stand.
"Cigarettes please " It was me..
"Can I call the ambulance ?" it was Param
"ungo... ", an obscenity, Muru. We laughed and heartily.
I had fallen on the Pulsar, Vicky a little away and Param on Muru. Only Muru had a helmet on, the helmet had cracked. The fine gravel had cushioned us to only a few bruises. The Pulsar was half inside the pile of gravel, its blinkers gone, scratched all over and the gear lever bent to an awkward angle. The Yamaha's blinkers too were missing, the break pedal was shaky and the helmet had to be disposed.
Vicky was struggling to ride when we started, my legs hurt and we sat down on one side of the highway. Param was giving my legs a massage when I heard my mobile ring. It was my friend in Chennai, after a minute of my silence he disconnected. I kept the phone beside me and continued to wince.
Five minutes later we were on the road again, the speedometer read 45kmph, Param was riding the Pulsar. After a while I thought I heard my phone ring, I searched for the phone and we turned back. Just about a kilometer on the way back, it started to rain. An hour of searching my mobile only drenched us.
We reached the Marriage hall at about 12.15 am, the next day. When Vicky woke us up in the morning, it was 7.30; my friend had been married for two hours. It was a Thursday and I was supposed to be at my office, we spent the day at Muru's home. We started back in the evening, with the speedometer reading 65kmph, it was warm and sunny.
After a while, dark clouds cast the sky, there was a gentle breeze and the traffic seemed thinner than the previous night.
I looked at the dial it read 80 kmph, ever felt like God?
We must have started from Chennai at about 7.15 pm that day. Muru and Param were on a Yamaha RX 135 and I was on the pillion of Vicky's black Pulsar 150 cc, it was our friend’s marriage the next day. The traffic kept a check on the speedometer until we were on the national highway. We filled gas at about 10 kms from the start and had the Yamaha checked for air.
At about 25 kms the Yamaha had a flat tyre and we had to push it a good distance till we found a repair shop. While the vehicle was attended to I found a shop that sold cold beer. I bought two bottles for just the pillion riders, Param and me; the two beers were divided in to 4 equal parts.
After some distance the highway was looking clean and tempting, we were soon touching the 80 kmph mark. There was a gentle drizzle, I lifted my hands up, let the cool air strike my face, mmm... bliss. In a few minutes the dial was showing 85 kmph.
"On a dark desert highway, Cool wind in my hair..." I was whistling the Eagles number with my hands still in the air when we touched 90 Kmph, ever felt like God? I did.
All through this we were trailing the Yamaha and Vicky on his first long ride was enjoying every moment. The Dial now read 95kmph.
I thought I saw a 'take diversion --->' sign a few feet away and when I turned straight, I heard Param shout "shit ..", the Yamaha was in the air.
The next Instant I too was..
I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.
I was on the speedometer, the rear view mirror of the Pulsar inside my pant pocket. I couldn't move for a long time, my heart was racing and my mind was crowded with thoughts. I desperately tried to move, I couldn't. After sometime all three of my friends were standing around me, I smiled and Vicky helped me stand.
"Cigarettes please " It was me..
"Can I call the ambulance ?" it was Param
"ungo... ", an obscenity, Muru. We laughed and heartily.
I had fallen on the Pulsar, Vicky a little away and Param on Muru. Only Muru had a helmet on, the helmet had cracked. The fine gravel had cushioned us to only a few bruises. The Pulsar was half inside the pile of gravel, its blinkers gone, scratched all over and the gear lever bent to an awkward angle. The Yamaha's blinkers too were missing, the break pedal was shaky and the helmet had to be disposed.
Vicky was struggling to ride when we started, my legs hurt and we sat down on one side of the highway. Param was giving my legs a massage when I heard my mobile ring. It was my friend in Chennai, after a minute of my silence he disconnected. I kept the phone beside me and continued to wince.
Five minutes later we were on the road again, the speedometer read 45kmph, Param was riding the Pulsar. After a while I thought I heard my phone ring, I searched for the phone and we turned back. Just about a kilometer on the way back, it started to rain. An hour of searching my mobile only drenched us.
We reached the Marriage hall at about 12.15 am, the next day. When Vicky woke us up in the morning, it was 7.30; my friend had been married for two hours. It was a Thursday and I was supposed to be at my office, we spent the day at Muru's home. We started back in the evening, with the speedometer reading 65kmph, it was warm and sunny.
After a while, dark clouds cast the sky, there was a gentle breeze and the traffic seemed thinner than the previous night.
I looked at the dial it read 80 kmph, ever felt like God?
Autograph
After a very long time I found myself walking through the streets of my hometown today. I had to, as I was in search of a tablet for my father. The walk took me to K.A Street, the place that had been so much a part of my growing up. It had at least been fifteen years since I was there and the street did not resemble anything of what my memory could recollect. Tall buildings stand where huts and thatched roofs once stood, Shops cramp the places that had once been barren.
My Barber's shop is still at the beginning of the street as it was before, but it’s called a parlour now. I always addressed my barber, sir, because my father addressed him that way. I saw sir, he was wielding his scissors just like he used to a long time ago, only he was a lot older with wrinkles filling up his face and his hair almost silver.
There was a cylinder blast at the end of the street in the mid 90s and sixteen people were killed, I remember that incident because that was the first time I ever saw my hometown featured in an English newspaper. May be that was why Commercial tailors was not at the place where I remember it stood. I found the shop a little away and the older man I knew (I do not know his name) was not seen. His son stood cutting a piece of cloth, his hair graying up around his ears.
The state bank of India still stands at the same place in front of my school; it looked old and tired.
My heart almost skipped a beat when I saw my school but 'Immanuel, English, Nursery and Primary school' was almost unrecognizable, sandwiched between two big hardware shops. The paint had worn out and the name wasn't even clear.
I couldn't pull myself to walk in to the school although it was a working afternoon. For a moment I had those days coming back to me, Asirvatham sir my school correspondent and once my Mom's professor, Manjula Madam, Sasi madam, the black boards and the wooden tables, the store room under the stairs that helped me sleep, the big brass bell I was once the in charge of, Christmas celebrations when I was the Inn keeper once (Jesus was born in my Inn!) and one of the three wise men the other time, the temple beside the school, Prathap's moped, Sunny's fancy bags, Satheesh's handwriting, Yuvaraj's jokes, Maha.... A honking black car startled me.
Asirvatham sir had passed away a long time back and Sunny I learnt very recently is also no more.
The old lady at the end of the road still busily sat, making Vadas, with her son. Her son, the small kid I remember now looks a lot older than me. I tried a vada; at least nothing had changed about the taste.
Gupta Medicals was at the same place on the other side of the road and the once dark handsome guy now sat bald, tired and darker. When I went up to the shop, I saw someone very familiar standing in front of the shop. It was Shyam, Sunny's brother; he was only a few years older to me at school and looked almost like Sunny. Just beside him stood a beautiful, pregnant lady clinging on to his shoulders. He didn't seem to remember me, not that I wanted him to and somehow I didn't want to ask him about Sunny either.
I didn’t find the medicine today but when I left the street I thought I heard the old brass bell ring.
My Barber's shop is still at the beginning of the street as it was before, but it’s called a parlour now. I always addressed my barber, sir, because my father addressed him that way. I saw sir, he was wielding his scissors just like he used to a long time ago, only he was a lot older with wrinkles filling up his face and his hair almost silver.
There was a cylinder blast at the end of the street in the mid 90s and sixteen people were killed, I remember that incident because that was the first time I ever saw my hometown featured in an English newspaper. May be that was why Commercial tailors was not at the place where I remember it stood. I found the shop a little away and the older man I knew (I do not know his name) was not seen. His son stood cutting a piece of cloth, his hair graying up around his ears.
The state bank of India still stands at the same place in front of my school; it looked old and tired.
My heart almost skipped a beat when I saw my school but 'Immanuel, English, Nursery and Primary school' was almost unrecognizable, sandwiched between two big hardware shops. The paint had worn out and the name wasn't even clear.
I couldn't pull myself to walk in to the school although it was a working afternoon. For a moment I had those days coming back to me, Asirvatham sir my school correspondent and once my Mom's professor, Manjula Madam, Sasi madam, the black boards and the wooden tables, the store room under the stairs that helped me sleep, the big brass bell I was once the in charge of, Christmas celebrations when I was the Inn keeper once (Jesus was born in my Inn!) and one of the three wise men the other time, the temple beside the school, Prathap's moped, Sunny's fancy bags, Satheesh's handwriting, Yuvaraj's jokes, Maha.... A honking black car startled me.
Asirvatham sir had passed away a long time back and Sunny I learnt very recently is also no more.
The old lady at the end of the road still busily sat, making Vadas, with her son. Her son, the small kid I remember now looks a lot older than me. I tried a vada; at least nothing had changed about the taste.
Gupta Medicals was at the same place on the other side of the road and the once dark handsome guy now sat bald, tired and darker. When I went up to the shop, I saw someone very familiar standing in front of the shop. It was Shyam, Sunny's brother; he was only a few years older to me at school and looked almost like Sunny. Just beside him stood a beautiful, pregnant lady clinging on to his shoulders. He didn't seem to remember me, not that I wanted him to and somehow I didn't want to ask him about Sunny either.
I didn’t find the medicine today but when I left the street I thought I heard the old brass bell ring.
Three coffees and a sweetmeat.
"Be a man," my friend told me.We were both lying on the terrace of my hostel looking at the star-studded sky. It was just about three months since I had joined college and I thought I was in love. Maha was beautiful, my first girl friend after seven years at a residential boys' school. Three months around her I was almost convinced I was in love. I even carried her photograph wherever I went. I had told my friend about it. He was more excited than I was and he was her best friend too.
"I think she loves you more than you think she does, go ahead let her know what you think" continued my friend, "In a few days time we are going on a vacation, aren't we? I will arrange for a rendezvous and you are proposing her!!! ", it was almost a command and he stood up and walked away. The cold night was getting warm.
The next four days were hard to move. I skipped classes on two of those days and slept in the classroom on the other two days as I had not slept in the nights. Just a day before I called up my mother and told her I was proposing a girl. I was disappointed when she simply said, " You still have a day to think about it".
It was the day and I wore my favorite black pair of pants with a borrowed cream-colored shirt and shiny black shoes (borrowed of course). All the three of us left my college to the Bus station where she and my friend would take a bus to their hometown. There were a good three hours left for their bus and we went to a coffee shop.
I ordered for a cup of coffee and a sweetmeat I thought was fresh, while they sat sipping teas. When we left it was almost an hour, I had had three coffees.
She wanted to make a call. We had to go to a telephone booth and while she went inside one of the cabins, my friend silently left telling me "f*** you man, all the best ". I was all alone and sweating when she came out and looked for him, my friend.
"Maha.. " I started "Yes, Kumar" she continued. "I think.... I thi " I couldn't continue.. "You think what? And where is Joe? ".
I couldn't stand it any longer, I mustered up all the courage I could and I started "I.." . She wasn't even looking at me when she said impatiently " I what?" something’s wrong with you Kumar?? ". I couldn’t look at her.
"I think I like you more than you think I do! " I finally said, " and what does that mean?" she asked without a wink. "I mean.. I think.. Maha to live with you all my.., I mean I think I am in l.. l.. ", no it never came out of my mouth. I tried looking at the wall posters around, Heavens why were all the theatres running ‘B’ grade movies?
"So this is what the fuss is all about! Kumar, I think you are mistaken because I never had such a thing towards you ", Maha sounded indifferent.
I was feeling uneasy; three coffees with sweetmeat are definitely not good for your stomach when you propose.
"You are such a good friend and I would always..." she went on but I couldn’t listen to her anymore.
Joe was smiling at me when he returned.
"Is there a washroom around " I asked him. "Yes there's one around the corner, but is something wrong?" he retorted.
"Yes, think I need to retire", I did not wish them good-bye.
I should call Mom very soon, I thought as I left.
"I think she loves you more than you think she does, go ahead let her know what you think" continued my friend, "In a few days time we are going on a vacation, aren't we? I will arrange for a rendezvous and you are proposing her!!! ", it was almost a command and he stood up and walked away. The cold night was getting warm.
The next four days were hard to move. I skipped classes on two of those days and slept in the classroom on the other two days as I had not slept in the nights. Just a day before I called up my mother and told her I was proposing a girl. I was disappointed when she simply said, " You still have a day to think about it".
It was the day and I wore my favorite black pair of pants with a borrowed cream-colored shirt and shiny black shoes (borrowed of course). All the three of us left my college to the Bus station where she and my friend would take a bus to their hometown. There were a good three hours left for their bus and we went to a coffee shop.
I ordered for a cup of coffee and a sweetmeat I thought was fresh, while they sat sipping teas. When we left it was almost an hour, I had had three coffees.
She wanted to make a call. We had to go to a telephone booth and while she went inside one of the cabins, my friend silently left telling me "f*** you man, all the best ". I was all alone and sweating when she came out and looked for him, my friend.
"Maha.. " I started "Yes, Kumar" she continued. "I think.... I thi " I couldn't continue.. "You think what? And where is Joe? ".
I couldn't stand it any longer, I mustered up all the courage I could and I started "I.." . She wasn't even looking at me when she said impatiently " I what?" something’s wrong with you Kumar?? ". I couldn’t look at her.
"I think I like you more than you think I do! " I finally said, " and what does that mean?" she asked without a wink. "I mean.. I think.. Maha to live with you all my.., I mean I think I am in l.. l.. ", no it never came out of my mouth. I tried looking at the wall posters around, Heavens why were all the theatres running ‘B’ grade movies?
"So this is what the fuss is all about! Kumar, I think you are mistaken because I never had such a thing towards you ", Maha sounded indifferent.
I was feeling uneasy; three coffees with sweetmeat are definitely not good for your stomach when you propose.
"You are such a good friend and I would always..." she went on but I couldn’t listen to her anymore.
Joe was smiling at me when he returned.
"Is there a washroom around " I asked him. "Yes there's one around the corner, but is something wrong?" he retorted.
"Yes, think I need to retire", I did not wish them good-bye.
I should call Mom very soon, I thought as I left.
Cigarettes
It was around 10.00 pm when we got out of the bar. Alex wanted cigarettes; I waited beside his black Pulsar while he went to fetch some.
At the other side of the road there was this pretty girl in black, with an obvious reaction of waiting for someone.
Triplicane shelters almost half the bachelor population of Chennai, predominantly men. There are lodging houses everywhere cheap, unsafe, unclean, and cramped but people live, well at least.
A young girl in a flowery green dress was walking with two boys, laughing and playing. That thing around her neck told me she was married, too young I thought.
Alex was already puffing up a cigarette.
Professionals, Working men, Tourists, Students, Businessmen, Job seekers, tarts (find the meaning on your dictionary), and the original residents keep the lamps burning until after midnight and get to life before even the sun does. Languages, Ethnicity, origins, profession don't matter, life moves on.
I felt someone hug me from behind; I turned around to see not a man, not a woman, a transsexual (I don't even know if the word is derogatory). She left me, giggled and walked away.
She should have taken only moved a little away when, someone kicked her on her groin and She crouched in pain. I didn't move, I stood there blinking and helpless. Finally I found the courage to go towards her. She got up holding my hands and slapped me on my face. She walked away nursing her groin, it didn't hurt my face.
My friend smiled at me and lit another cigarette.
Just beside the shop there was this unkempt guy in rags eating from beside a litterbin. I saw someone get off his car and give him a fresh packet of food but he continued eating. I went near him; he looked at me, wiped his hands on his already murky clothing and ran away clutching the food packet.
I saw the girl in green slapped by someone. He must be her husband and he must have been drunk, for he was trying to hug her on the road. She was avoiding him and he slapped her once more.
I asked my friend about the girl in black on the other side of the road, she had been there for almost ten minutes now. He told me she was a tart and lit another cigarette.
She was cute damn it, she can't be a tart, I mean, we can't just imagine, she could even be waiting for her friend, thoughts were filling up my head may be because I had never seen one.
This time the guy's hands found her stomach and she screamed in pain, Alex was getting restless. He stubbed his cigarette with his shoes and kick started his auto start Pulsar, I sat behind him. He stopped the bike beside the girl and her husband. The guy backed off a little, when we both got off the vehicle, the guy moved away.
He lit up another cigarette. I borrowed one.
I saw the girl in black talking to an older man, Alex looked at me smiling, I still was not convinced. The guy in rags was crouching beside the litterbin again. We stood there until the cigarettes were over.
We reached his lodging house a little away from where we had stood. I turned around, I was just seeing shadows, but I was sure the girl in flowery green got slapped again.
I lit up the last cigarette.
At the other side of the road there was this pretty girl in black, with an obvious reaction of waiting for someone.
Triplicane shelters almost half the bachelor population of Chennai, predominantly men. There are lodging houses everywhere cheap, unsafe, unclean, and cramped but people live, well at least.
A young girl in a flowery green dress was walking with two boys, laughing and playing. That thing around her neck told me she was married, too young I thought.
Alex was already puffing up a cigarette.
Professionals, Working men, Tourists, Students, Businessmen, Job seekers, tarts (find the meaning on your dictionary), and the original residents keep the lamps burning until after midnight and get to life before even the sun does. Languages, Ethnicity, origins, profession don't matter, life moves on.
I felt someone hug me from behind; I turned around to see not a man, not a woman, a transsexual (I don't even know if the word is derogatory). She left me, giggled and walked away.
She should have taken only moved a little away when, someone kicked her on her groin and She crouched in pain. I didn't move, I stood there blinking and helpless. Finally I found the courage to go towards her. She got up holding my hands and slapped me on my face. She walked away nursing her groin, it didn't hurt my face.
My friend smiled at me and lit another cigarette.
Just beside the shop there was this unkempt guy in rags eating from beside a litterbin. I saw someone get off his car and give him a fresh packet of food but he continued eating. I went near him; he looked at me, wiped his hands on his already murky clothing and ran away clutching the food packet.
I saw the girl in green slapped by someone. He must be her husband and he must have been drunk, for he was trying to hug her on the road. She was avoiding him and he slapped her once more.
I asked my friend about the girl in black on the other side of the road, she had been there for almost ten minutes now. He told me she was a tart and lit another cigarette.
She was cute damn it, she can't be a tart, I mean, we can't just imagine, she could even be waiting for her friend, thoughts were filling up my head may be because I had never seen one.
This time the guy's hands found her stomach and she screamed in pain, Alex was getting restless. He stubbed his cigarette with his shoes and kick started his auto start Pulsar, I sat behind him. He stopped the bike beside the girl and her husband. The guy backed off a little, when we both got off the vehicle, the guy moved away.
He lit up another cigarette. I borrowed one.
I saw the girl in black talking to an older man, Alex looked at me smiling, I still was not convinced. The guy in rags was crouching beside the litterbin again. We stood there until the cigarettes were over.
We reached his lodging house a little away from where we had stood. I turned around, I was just seeing shadows, but I was sure the girl in flowery green got slapped again.
I lit up the last cigarette.
Smile.
My brother had called me up early that morning with the news and I prayed it was just a dream.
I have known Rajiv and his family from the time I started to remember things. We went to the same school just like my father and his father (Raghunathan sir) had in 1950s. Their family was always happy and laughing, like my mother once said, I think they even laughed in their sleep. Not that they had no problems, somehow they managed to keep smiling and made people smile.
I remember the days when his father, my father and one of their colleagues (Selvam sir) came together for a silent drink in our back yard only to get noisy after sometime. I remember when my father had a stroke in 1991, Rajiv’s family had prayed for him. When he recovered we had taken a procession to the church. I remember the times when our families were not in good terms and Raghunathan sir and Selvam sir still found the way to our backyard. My father still remembers the tiny frock he got for Raghunathan sir's daughter (she is now a mother of three children with the eldest one going to college).
It was a Sunday morning when my brother had called me up and I was not very convinced that someone I had known so well could die; Raghunathan sir was no more. I left for my good old hometown and even as I was reaching their house the place wore a festive look with crackers, music and wait, was it not supposed to be a funeral? It was a funeral and in Tamil Nadu funerals are held this way.
Raghunathan Sir still carried the smile on his face, only he was in a freezer box draped in a white shirt and dark pants. I placed the flowers I had gotten for him and if not for the crowd I would have said "Morning sir" and smiled at him as always.
For the first time in my life I saw Rajiv cry, his sisters and his mother cry. I did not say a word to Rajiv, for I did know what I was supposed to say at a funeral, this was my first. His mother hugged me with her big hands and said "Look at Daddy, can't take the smile of his face, can you? Wake him up, he's been sleeping for long", my eyes were wet, when I walked away after sometime.
My father was crying, Selvam sir was, my mother was, my brothers were, my grandma was and the whole place was. Only Raghunathan sir's seven-year-old granddaughter was running around laughing with my brother's son. They both attend the same school like their grandpas did 50 years before. When my brother and his friends, who are closer to Rajiv than I am, came in with a garland that needed two men to carry it, they were dancing like mad men. When they reached sir they did not move for a very long time, when they did, they were crying and like kids. I had not known if my brother and his friends could cry.
It was time for the procession and I helped pull the cart that carried Sir a distance I would have frowned to cycle. After the rituals were over at the cemetery, it was time to place sir inside the coffin. I held sir in my hands, his body was very cold because of the freezer box but was he dead? I don’t know but in my hands he was so much alive. May he was just sleeping, may be he was even breathing, I wanted to feel his pulse, I wanted to feel his breath and all I did was to help him inside the coffin.
Sir was still smiling when his thick glasses were removed and I was asked to loosen up his shirt. Rajiv and sir's grandsons were crying unconsolably even as the coffin was being closed. I saw sir, I saw them close the coffin and I cried.
My brothers friends were there in Rajiv's house when I went there the next day. After a cup of cofee when I left Rajiv was forcing a smile at me.
May be he will smile in a few days.
I have known Rajiv and his family from the time I started to remember things. We went to the same school just like my father and his father (Raghunathan sir) had in 1950s. Their family was always happy and laughing, like my mother once said, I think they even laughed in their sleep. Not that they had no problems, somehow they managed to keep smiling and made people smile.
I remember the days when his father, my father and one of their colleagues (Selvam sir) came together for a silent drink in our back yard only to get noisy after sometime. I remember when my father had a stroke in 1991, Rajiv’s family had prayed for him. When he recovered we had taken a procession to the church. I remember the times when our families were not in good terms and Raghunathan sir and Selvam sir still found the way to our backyard. My father still remembers the tiny frock he got for Raghunathan sir's daughter (she is now a mother of three children with the eldest one going to college).
It was a Sunday morning when my brother had called me up and I was not very convinced that someone I had known so well could die; Raghunathan sir was no more. I left for my good old hometown and even as I was reaching their house the place wore a festive look with crackers, music and wait, was it not supposed to be a funeral? It was a funeral and in Tamil Nadu funerals are held this way.
Raghunathan Sir still carried the smile on his face, only he was in a freezer box draped in a white shirt and dark pants. I placed the flowers I had gotten for him and if not for the crowd I would have said "Morning sir" and smiled at him as always.
For the first time in my life I saw Rajiv cry, his sisters and his mother cry. I did not say a word to Rajiv, for I did know what I was supposed to say at a funeral, this was my first. His mother hugged me with her big hands and said "Look at Daddy, can't take the smile of his face, can you? Wake him up, he's been sleeping for long", my eyes were wet, when I walked away after sometime.
My father was crying, Selvam sir was, my mother was, my brothers were, my grandma was and the whole place was. Only Raghunathan sir's seven-year-old granddaughter was running around laughing with my brother's son. They both attend the same school like their grandpas did 50 years before. When my brother and his friends, who are closer to Rajiv than I am, came in with a garland that needed two men to carry it, they were dancing like mad men. When they reached sir they did not move for a very long time, when they did, they were crying and like kids. I had not known if my brother and his friends could cry.
It was time for the procession and I helped pull the cart that carried Sir a distance I would have frowned to cycle. After the rituals were over at the cemetery, it was time to place sir inside the coffin. I held sir in my hands, his body was very cold because of the freezer box but was he dead? I don’t know but in my hands he was so much alive. May he was just sleeping, may be he was even breathing, I wanted to feel his pulse, I wanted to feel his breath and all I did was to help him inside the coffin.
Sir was still smiling when his thick glasses were removed and I was asked to loosen up his shirt. Rajiv and sir's grandsons were crying unconsolably even as the coffin was being closed. I saw sir, I saw them close the coffin and I cried.
My brothers friends were there in Rajiv's house when I went there the next day. After a cup of cofee when I left Rajiv was forcing a smile at me.
May be he will smile in a few days.
Passed .. out
Me: hello?
Voice over the phone: (a female) is this Mr. Kumar? (huh!! not another credit card !!!)
Me: ya, tell me.
Voice over phone: We are calling from (some MNC) Hyderabad; Remember I had called you yesterday Mr. Kumar? Are you ready to take your interview Mr kumar?
Me: (shit!!) of course ya, I mean yes ma.. Madam
Vop: Kindly hold on for a moment, Mr. Kumar, (some music played)
Me: (I was breathing like I had asthma! ran to the 'C' programming book that was on my table)
Vop: Mr. Kumar?
Me: Yes sir,
Vop: I am (some name) and also here with me there is Mr (some other name), can we proceed on Mr. Kumar?
Me: Yes Mr mm???(My!! what was his name?), i mean err.. Yes sir
Vop: All right, what is your current profile like Mr. Kumar?
Me: Sir actually My company is an organization working on.. (I went on blah blah, must have been impressed he he)
Vop: what exactly do you do?
Me: Sir I am a design Engineer,
Vop: Software or hardware?
Me: I the.. I do both.. I do the coding, the hardware design
Vop: so there are no team members?
Me: Yes, I mean No, there are
Vop: what do they do?
Me: both software and hardware..
Vop: and you?
Me: (blink blink!!)
Vop: that’s fine Mr. Kumar, before moving on.. How much do you think you can rate yourself in 'c' out of 10?
Me: (bah..) sir may be 5 , 6 , I think 7 sir
Vop: that is interesting Mr. Kumar, can we proceed?
Me: YES sir (confidence!! you see)
Vop: All right tell me what is the difference between a structure and an union?
Me: memory allotted for an instance of an Union would be only the.. Blah blah (and the answer was correct, I told you 7 didn’t I?)
Vop: good Mr. Kumar (thank u).. Okay, what is a void pointer?
Me: (rush the pages on the book.. where the hec.. ahh! time is running)
Vop: Mr. Kumar? Are you with us?
Me: ye..s sir(where the hell?) i mean.. a void poi
Vop: can we go to the next question?
Me: (page not found!!!) a void pointer points to Null (please don’t ask me what is null)
Vop: mmm... So what is a null pointer?
Me: f**k !! (Did i say the 'f' word?) Oh shit!! (Great! i also said the 's' word), i am sorry sir ... I mean
Vop: (could hear them laughing, I was thinking of cutting the call), its okay Mr. Kumar..
Me: sir.. Vop: do you know Telugu by any chance?
Me: (breathe easy ooh..): I think I can talk a little Sir..
Vop: Äh+îQ_+ÄAƒ±»_+îD_+æEîm+6+_à-¦*&$# (something in telugu)
Me: Sir?
Vop: Äh+îQ_+ÄAƒ±»_+îD_+æEîm+6+_à-¦*&$# (the same thing in telugu)
Me: (silence, goodness me technical was better!)
Vop: That’s okay Mr Kumar, ha ha.. Telugu is not a prerequisite (a**), it was just to cool you down okay tell me, what does Malloc do?
Me: (some thing I know at last) The function allots memory dynamically.. During the run time..(Blah blah.. wow)
Vop: good, so what is the difference between 'C'alloc and 'M'alloc?
Me: (its over dear! I didn't want to open the book)
Vop: Mr. Kumar?..................... Me: yes sir 'C'alloc is ..er.. I don’t know.
Vop: Okay Mr. Kumar, what the difference between pointer to an array and an array of pointers..
Me: (I knew the answer and I do not know why, but I remained silent)
Vop: Mr. Kumar.. ................... Me: Yes sir
Vop: all right we will move on, how much can you rate yourself in C++?
Me: Sir, can we stop here?
Vop: fine Mr. Kumar, we will stop here and nice talking to you all this time, we will get back to you very soon.
Me: fuc..
Vop: yes Mr. Kumar
Me: Nice talking to you too sir..
Its been two years since ...!!!
Voice over the phone: (a female) is this Mr. Kumar? (huh!! not another credit card !!!)
Me: ya, tell me.
Voice over phone: We are calling from (some MNC) Hyderabad; Remember I had called you yesterday Mr. Kumar? Are you ready to take your interview Mr kumar?
Me: (shit!!) of course ya, I mean yes ma.. Madam
Vop: Kindly hold on for a moment, Mr. Kumar, (some music played)
Me: (I was breathing like I had asthma! ran to the 'C' programming book that was on my table)
Vop: Mr. Kumar?
Me: Yes sir,
Vop: I am (some name) and also here with me there is Mr (some other name), can we proceed on Mr. Kumar?
Me: Yes Mr mm???(My!! what was his name?), i mean err.. Yes sir
Vop: All right, what is your current profile like Mr. Kumar?
Me: Sir actually My company is an organization working on.. (I went on blah blah, must have been impressed he he)
Vop: what exactly do you do?
Me: Sir I am a design Engineer,
Vop: Software or hardware?
Me: I the.. I do both.. I do the coding, the hardware design
Vop: so there are no team members?
Me: Yes, I mean No, there are
Vop: what do they do?
Me: both software and hardware..
Vop: and you?
Me: (blink blink!!)
Vop: that’s fine Mr. Kumar, before moving on.. How much do you think you can rate yourself in 'c' out of 10?
Me: (bah..) sir may be 5 , 6 , I think 7 sir
Vop: that is interesting Mr. Kumar, can we proceed?
Me: YES sir (confidence!! you see)
Vop: All right tell me what is the difference between a structure and an union?
Me: memory allotted for an instance of an Union would be only the.. Blah blah (and the answer was correct, I told you 7 didn’t I?)
Vop: good Mr. Kumar (thank u).. Okay, what is a void pointer?
Me: (rush the pages on the book.. where the hec.. ahh! time is running)
Vop: Mr. Kumar? Are you with us?
Me: ye..s sir(where the hell?) i mean.. a void poi
Vop: can we go to the next question?
Me: (page not found!!!) a void pointer points to Null (please don’t ask me what is null)
Vop: mmm... So what is a null pointer?
Me: f**k !! (Did i say the 'f' word?) Oh shit!! (Great! i also said the 's' word), i am sorry sir ... I mean
Vop: (could hear them laughing, I was thinking of cutting the call), its okay Mr. Kumar..
Me: sir.. Vop: do you know Telugu by any chance?
Me: (breathe easy ooh..): I think I can talk a little Sir..
Vop: Äh+îQ_+ÄAƒ±»_+îD_+æEîm+6+_à-¦*&$# (something in telugu)
Me: Sir?
Vop: Äh+îQ_+ÄAƒ±»_+îD_+æEîm+6+_à-¦*&$# (the same thing in telugu)
Me: (silence, goodness me technical was better!)
Vop: That’s okay Mr Kumar, ha ha.. Telugu is not a prerequisite (a**), it was just to cool you down okay tell me, what does Malloc do?
Me: (some thing I know at last) The function allots memory dynamically.. During the run time..(Blah blah.. wow)
Vop: good, so what is the difference between 'C'alloc and 'M'alloc?
Me: (its over dear! I didn't want to open the book)
Vop: Mr. Kumar?..................... Me: yes sir 'C'alloc is ..er.. I don’t know.
Vop: Okay Mr. Kumar, what the difference between pointer to an array and an array of pointers..
Me: (I knew the answer and I do not know why, but I remained silent)
Vop: Mr. Kumar.. ................... Me: Yes sir
Vop: all right we will move on, how much can you rate yourself in C++?
Me: Sir, can we stop here?
Vop: fine Mr. Kumar, we will stop here and nice talking to you all this time, we will get back to you very soon.
Me: fuc..
Vop: yes Mr. Kumar
Me: Nice talking to you too sir..
Its been two years since ...!!!
One..
19.11.1982 0532 hrs,
Place: Christian medical college hospital Vellore, Kamala Nehru ward.
I was born after a cesarean. I was christened Kumar.
Some time during the early 1982,
Place: An obscure village in the Vellore Dist, Tamil Nadu
My Father's brother had a Baby boy. They called my brother Arul.
1985 July
I went to school; I don't know what Arul was doing then.
1985-1993
Every year during the summer I went to the village. And every time I went, I carried some old clothes for Arul. In turn I had the taste of the village life, running around with him to steal mangoes, to swim (although I never learnt), to fish, to..
1993 June 5
I was sent to a Residential Public School today. When I had been to the village this summer, Arul wasn't available for play; I spoke to him while he sat rolling beedis (cheap cigarettes).
1994-2000
By now I was rarely going to the village as I spent most part of the year at school, although Arul came to see me whenever I went home. We were both growing up and I always was a little taller than him but somehow he looked bigger than me.
1998 May
I had my 10th standard results, I was in the village and Arul had been sent of to work at a leather factory. I made 84%.
2000 May
I had my 12th standard and my services selection board interview results. Arul was back from the factory; he again took to rolling beedis. He had worked 12-hour shifts for a meager pay and had to almost runaway from the factory. I made 64% in my higher secondary exams and failed to clear the interview.
2000 August
I joined a college in Bangalore paying up. Arul now had learned to roll enough beedis to pay up some debts of his father.
2001 August, I don’t know the date
Arul married a beautiful young girl from the nearby village, chosen by his father, a drunkard. She was very young and looked no more than 16, my sister told me because I had stopped going to the village. I had learnt to smoke, drink and flirt.
2002 March 3
I proposed a Christian girl from another state. Around the same time Arul had a baby girl and the baby was beautiful my sister told me.
2003 February
I was placed in a private firm in one of the campus interviews. Arul had another baby girl around the same time.
2005 May 7
The last time I saw my girl friend. Arul had a third girl, his parents were supposedly unhappy with Arul's wife not giving a male heir to the family, Arul stood by his wife, but things weren't smooth in the family. Arul was sending his eldest girl to an English school.
2006 March 3
I was celebrating the day I had proposed before four years, drunk inside a bar. Arul's wife and all their three children were found drowned and dead inside a well even as Arul was playing cricket with his friends. Arul was beaten up by his wife's relatives and handed over to the police.
2006 May 7, My house 1100hrs
I was looking at the newspaper clipping that carried a photo of Arul’s wife and children lying young, innocent and dead when Arul had come to my house. He was on bail. Bearded and gaunt, for the first time he looked smaller and older than me. He kept telling me he was innocent and his baby was beautiful. I could say nothing to him, I cried with him.
2006 June 1, 1230 hrs.
I am writing a cold blog about Arul. Arul probably is in the court to mark his presence in a register, as he is supposed to every alternate day at 1230hrs.
Place: Christian medical college hospital Vellore, Kamala Nehru ward.
I was born after a cesarean. I was christened Kumar.
Some time during the early 1982,
Place: An obscure village in the Vellore Dist, Tamil Nadu
My Father's brother had a Baby boy. They called my brother Arul.
1985 July
I went to school; I don't know what Arul was doing then.
1985-1993
Every year during the summer I went to the village. And every time I went, I carried some old clothes for Arul. In turn I had the taste of the village life, running around with him to steal mangoes, to swim (although I never learnt), to fish, to..
1993 June 5
I was sent to a Residential Public School today. When I had been to the village this summer, Arul wasn't available for play; I spoke to him while he sat rolling beedis (cheap cigarettes).
1994-2000
By now I was rarely going to the village as I spent most part of the year at school, although Arul came to see me whenever I went home. We were both growing up and I always was a little taller than him but somehow he looked bigger than me.
1998 May
I had my 10th standard results, I was in the village and Arul had been sent of to work at a leather factory. I made 84%.
2000 May
I had my 12th standard and my services selection board interview results. Arul was back from the factory; he again took to rolling beedis. He had worked 12-hour shifts for a meager pay and had to almost runaway from the factory. I made 64% in my higher secondary exams and failed to clear the interview.
2000 August
I joined a college in Bangalore paying up. Arul now had learned to roll enough beedis to pay up some debts of his father.
2001 August, I don’t know the date
Arul married a beautiful young girl from the nearby village, chosen by his father, a drunkard. She was very young and looked no more than 16, my sister told me because I had stopped going to the village. I had learnt to smoke, drink and flirt.
2002 March 3
I proposed a Christian girl from another state. Around the same time Arul had a baby girl and the baby was beautiful my sister told me.
2003 February
I was placed in a private firm in one of the campus interviews. Arul had another baby girl around the same time.
2005 May 7
The last time I saw my girl friend. Arul had a third girl, his parents were supposedly unhappy with Arul's wife not giving a male heir to the family, Arul stood by his wife, but things weren't smooth in the family. Arul was sending his eldest girl to an English school.
2006 March 3
I was celebrating the day I had proposed before four years, drunk inside a bar. Arul's wife and all their three children were found drowned and dead inside a well even as Arul was playing cricket with his friends. Arul was beaten up by his wife's relatives and handed over to the police.
2006 May 7, My house 1100hrs
I was looking at the newspaper clipping that carried a photo of Arul’s wife and children lying young, innocent and dead when Arul had come to my house. He was on bail. Bearded and gaunt, for the first time he looked smaller and older than me. He kept telling me he was innocent and his baby was beautiful. I could say nothing to him, I cried with him.
2006 June 1, 1230 hrs.
I am writing a cold blog about Arul. Arul probably is in the court to mark his presence in a register, as he is supposed to every alternate day at 1230hrs.
Another night, another place, another journey
Stranded drunk in a railway station in the middle of the night was not a new thing for me. I tried ‘India today’, Sidney Sheldon, coffee and grapes for company. That night I had neither the choice of trains nor the class I was supposed to travel, all I had was a general ticket to Bangalore in my shirt pocket. The Nizamuddin express that was supposed to come in at 10.30 to the Miraj Junction was, like the ticket vendor said, ‘as usual late by about two hours’.
When the train came in at last one general compartment was looking like a gas chamber of the nazi period, packed to the maximum. People were everywhere, on the benches, on the luggage rails, on the floor and at the door. Another compartment was already latched from inside, knocks and bangs on the door evoked little response from the mostly Muslim, burka clad inmates who went on with their squabble.
The compartment I had to get in had some space for only my legs just beside an old woman who was comfortably lying on the way to the washroom also in a torn old brown burka. I looked in to the compartment to see so many burkas and kufies (white caps) that, for a moment I thought if Muslims were really a minority in India.
I must have stood in the same posture for about an hour until I felt my bag was weighing me down. A thirty looking man, with a black baseball cap, helped me stuff the bag under a bench. By now some boys looking no older than teens and sitting at the door started sharing a pack of tobacco, I wanted to say something, but then I remembered I was drunk. The boys were now speaking in Urdu, and their names said they were all Muslims. I muttered “Muslims”, it must have been loud because the black cap was smiling at me.
The black cap asked me something in Kannada, I replied him back in the broken Kannada I knew. We spoke in Kannada for some time of which the only thing that I understood was I never knew Kannada. The winds were too cold now and the doors had to be bolted and almost the whole compartment was sleeping except the few of us who were standing. My new friend made some place for me so that I could crouch while he stood. I was dead tired and I must have slept for over an hour in that position.
I felt someone waking me up, my friend was sitting on the upper berth (can it be called one??). He was calling me from there, while I was still crouching. We were in some station and more importantly some of the burkas were getting down. I climbed on to the seat and sat down with him. Thirsty I took my half-full water bottle and was looking at it when something on the label stuck me. The label read “Durga – distilled water”- for battery use only”, I felt sick in my stomach.
There was another man sitting to my right holding a small, may be a few months old baby girl. I bent down to look at the girl and his watch, it read 3.00 am. I slept and woke up again to something pulling my hands and I did not sleep again. The baby was almost out of her father’s hands precariously moving and trying to hold on to my fingers. I tried waking him and he was sleeping like he hadn’t slept for years. I picked up the girl and started playing with her. She was beautiful and didn’t mind playing with me, while I lost all my sleep falling in love with her charms.
After about an hour of playing she probably was tired of me and she started wailing waking up everyone except her father. Her mother who too was in a black burka was surprised and quickly apologized before taking my sweet heart away. My friend beside me was also awake and I started complaining about the way the Muslims were, he seemed like he was very intently listening to me but never said anything. Not that I had anything against Muslims, I told him, it was just the day and he was seeing it all. At about 5.20 he silently closed his eyes and I think he prayed while some others in the compartment began their Namaz, facing east.
Nothing eventual happened until the morning when I had to catch another train to Bangalore from Hubli. When the train stopped at Hubli, my friend simply said, “run” and started running with his baggage. I had to find my bag, my sneakers before I could run and when I reached the other train it was already half full. I walked the length of the train and a hand from one of the bogies startled me to a stop, my friend was sitting inside grinning; there was an empty seat for me in front of him.
This train wasn’t as crowded as the first and I could even lie down for a nap. I woke up, brushed and had my breakfast and went to sleep while my friend was sleeping through all these. My friend woke me up with two fresh packets in his hand for breakfast; ashamed to admit I had had breakfast, I had to eat again. I must have looked like I was starving before I met him because through out the journey he fed me with anything palatable. For a moment I even had a fear, if he was tricking me in to something. When the ticket checker came in, I found a Muslim family traveling free because one of the guys was a railway employee. We again had a topic and I did most of the talking while he listened with the same intent.
Before long it was afternoon and we were in Bangalore and had to part ways. Although we had spoken a lot, I knew nothing of him personally except he was from some place called Chinthamani road. I didn’t want another anecdote of mine with a stranger and no name. I asked him his name and he did not reply untill we had reached the entrance of the Bangalore junction.
He smiled, shook my hands and said, “My name is Abdul Razzaq and Jasche, it was nice knowing you”, before joining the crowd and fading away.
For the second time that day, I felt sick in my stomach.
Uniform
I walk to find my way to office everyday through the dusty, uneven roads of Thiruvanmiyur, (Chennai aka Madras) alongside a horde of tag sporting Software Engineers. The walk and the vicinity everyday is almost the same, except when I am late and running. With an almost silent, green stretch and only tall buildings rising up, the walk is serene in the beginning.
Today again in the very next block to mine, the small beautiful boy is waiting for his "billabong high" (a crèche) cab unwilling to let go his mom's hand. Two blocks down I do not miss the pony-tailed girl in her green uniform (alongside a German shepherd) as she passes by me on a chauffer driven Hyundai Sonata.
Two boys playing on some hand held gadget in neatly pressed white shirts and half pants, are waiting for their school bus. A cute girl dressed in green and white clings on to her mom even as she is taken on a Kinetic Honda and a scary ride with her mom's timid driving and an ever-honking horn. A small, dark but cute bespectacled girl waits alone at the last building of the road, frowning impatiently, just as the geography seems to abruptly change.
The buildings are not taller anymore and it isn't silent anymore.
This father as always is in time taking four children (on some days five) and their overweight bags on a bicycle. The man who runs the roadside hotel around the corner is as usual taking at least ten children on his fish cart / tricycle to school. Groups of children in uniform, many of them barefooted, walk happily talking of things ranging from their maths teacher to M S Dhoni. Uniforms don’t look like uniforms on them, as most of them are torn, button less, patched and murky. A large part of this crowd carries UNICEF sponsored bags, dirty and filled with graffiti of their own kind. Some older guys wear better clothes, carry better bags and are on their bicycles, although it is mostly three guys to one bicycle.
Just in front of a big temple some street urchins in soiled clothes are playing cricket with a paper ball and a wooden plank, seemingly worried of their game being disturbed by the passing school children and the audience in me. A school boy coming out of the temple is talking on his black mobile phone even as an old man waits holding his car door open. I walk slowly till I lose sight of the game and the old man stands waiting, holding the door.
I am now at the bus terminus and amongst a different colour. The bus as usual is packed with bags occupying more space that the children. Some bags I think can even pull the children with them, good heavens, I never had to carry books all my life. As the bus spurts to life and drudges labouriously a lot more of the uniforms fly in from nowhere and cling on to the doors and windows like spider men.
On the other side of the road the cab for the 'Clark's school for the deaf' waits for the children. The children inside wear no uniforms, but something else is common - they invariably are smiling, staring at the windows and are wearing their hearing aids.
Just as the bus is moving out of the terminus I see a familiar sight at the cycle shop. The dark schoolgirl is at her father’s (I suppose) shop with her little sister as usual mending to her vehicles tyres. When it is over, the smaller girl gives the vehicle a push with all her might and as it gains momentum, jumps on to her handicapped sister’s tricycle waving wildly at their father.
The bus is now on the road and moving with clowds of smoke gushing out of the old vehicle .
Today again in the very next block to mine, the small beautiful boy is waiting for his "billabong high" (a crèche) cab unwilling to let go his mom's hand. Two blocks down I do not miss the pony-tailed girl in her green uniform (alongside a German shepherd) as she passes by me on a chauffer driven Hyundai Sonata.
Two boys playing on some hand held gadget in neatly pressed white shirts and half pants, are waiting for their school bus. A cute girl dressed in green and white clings on to her mom even as she is taken on a Kinetic Honda and a scary ride with her mom's timid driving and an ever-honking horn. A small, dark but cute bespectacled girl waits alone at the last building of the road, frowning impatiently, just as the geography seems to abruptly change.
The buildings are not taller anymore and it isn't silent anymore.
This father as always is in time taking four children (on some days five) and their overweight bags on a bicycle. The man who runs the roadside hotel around the corner is as usual taking at least ten children on his fish cart / tricycle to school. Groups of children in uniform, many of them barefooted, walk happily talking of things ranging from their maths teacher to M S Dhoni. Uniforms don’t look like uniforms on them, as most of them are torn, button less, patched and murky. A large part of this crowd carries UNICEF sponsored bags, dirty and filled with graffiti of their own kind. Some older guys wear better clothes, carry better bags and are on their bicycles, although it is mostly three guys to one bicycle.
Just in front of a big temple some street urchins in soiled clothes are playing cricket with a paper ball and a wooden plank, seemingly worried of their game being disturbed by the passing school children and the audience in me. A school boy coming out of the temple is talking on his black mobile phone even as an old man waits holding his car door open. I walk slowly till I lose sight of the game and the old man stands waiting, holding the door.
I am now at the bus terminus and amongst a different colour. The bus as usual is packed with bags occupying more space that the children. Some bags I think can even pull the children with them, good heavens, I never had to carry books all my life. As the bus spurts to life and drudges labouriously a lot more of the uniforms fly in from nowhere and cling on to the doors and windows like spider men.
On the other side of the road the cab for the 'Clark's school for the deaf' waits for the children. The children inside wear no uniforms, but something else is common - they invariably are smiling, staring at the windows and are wearing their hearing aids.
Just as the bus is moving out of the terminus I see a familiar sight at the cycle shop. The dark schoolgirl is at her father’s (I suppose) shop with her little sister as usual mending to her vehicles tyres. When it is over, the smaller girl gives the vehicle a push with all her might and as it gains momentum, jumps on to her handicapped sister’s tricycle waving wildly at their father.
The bus is now on the road and moving with clowds of smoke gushing out of the old vehicle .
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