Friday, June 27, 2014

'GRAND-MA'STI

            It’s going to be college life in another 3 days. Though I am going to miss mom at least for the delicious food she serves and dad for offering his Splendor+ to me without any questions, I just try to maintain at home that I am very much eager to go back there and enjoy. Of course, life would be fun out there too, yet being with mom and dad can never be compensated. Feelings for parents are common to almost all children. But, there is another female whom I would miss terribly at college. (No, not my GF; Of course, miss her, too. But, not to be elaborated here.) My GRANDMA… Having a 60+ person at our homes always adds to the spectrum of jubilancy and to add more, if he/she can bear and comprehend our emotions, it is nothing other than bliss.

            The only human to whom I can express whatever I feel like, other than my friends, is surely my grandma. OK, there are parents, but you can’t share everything with them openly. (I bet mom’s going to be angry on seeing this statement. “Bloody rascal, I am your mom and you can’t share everything with me; no dosas for you tonight. Get lost!!!”) Grandma is the mom of neither of my parents; she is dad’s aunt (grandpa’s sister). She has so many distinctions, with the chief one being her called, ‘paatti’ throughout the locality. (Mostly, people here are mentioned through some pseudonyms. For example, I am called Raghu’s son and mom is mentioned as Giri’s mom)

            Being on cloud nine or at crossroads always finds spontaneous impact on grandma. I have the freedom to shout in any language at her, as she can’t hear everything. (No offense) Poor woman!!! She is mostly neutral towards happiness and sorrow. She never senses ecstasy during my joyful moments and embarrassment when I am at bay. But, I hope this post doesn’t affect our deal of getting my allowance while going to college.

            She is the alter ego of an infant, who doesn’t have any specifications or responsibilities. Oh sorry, by the way, she has some duties which she would never fail to perform on time. These include: Locking up every opening in the house right from doors to windows (Thank God, ventilation is located at some 15 feet. Else, imagine the disaster) instantly after mom and dad leave in the morning, drinking tea sharp at 3:00 PM even if she doesn’t feel like drinking for the mere reason maid would arrive shortly then and the vessels have to be handed over to her for washing, switching on and off the motor et al. There are strict timings followed by her. Whenever the tank overflows, she’d swear that it had run for 30 minutes (!!!). This went to the extent of sheer ‘brilliance and intellectuality’ one day.

            Mom substituted grandma; the regular running time of the motor was over with the tank being full. Grandma, without knowing this, (since she can’t hear the sound of motor) switched it on and within 2 minutes, it was overflowing. When dad was about to scold her, she simply said, “What a surprise! 30 minutes had gone by so quickly.” Innocent soul!! I always love her for this kind of being child-like (not childish)

            Though she doesn’t like to sit before television set for a long time, she never lets single news go out of her reach, courtesy her habit of reading newspapers. She has everything in fingertips from Narendra Modi to Lalit Modi, knows the difference between Osama and Obama and was worried about the postponement in the release of Kochadaiyaan. Since there are about two entire pages in the dailies allotted for murders, chain snatches, robberies and rapes, she has developed a protective attitude. She would never open the gates unless a familiar face is seen. There are always funny effects to her activities. This was no different; there were some problems with our landline connection and we had informed the technical people about the problem. They had stated the previous day that lineman would come to rectify the faults the next morning.

            As mom was busy in the morning, she forgot to inform grandma about the coming of lineman. That fellow faced the anger of grandma that day. As I had gone to play, there was no one to detail the issue to her. So, when he introduced himself and asked her to open the gates so he can check the condition of the phone, she just refused stubbornly and said, “You stupid! People in this house are employed and educated and they know how to repair and rectify stuff. You are a fraud. Get lost before I call someone, now.” He must have had a heart attack by then. A call to mom’s mobile that evening informed her that customers had to face legal action on account of a false complaint. Finally, dad got into the act and somehow managed the situation. We all have the effect of watching Sivakarthikeyan’s counters when discussing about this even today.

            Grandma never understands the concept of inverter. She usually sleeps at hall but after the incorporation of inverter in our residence, grandma performed a lifetime comedy. She began sleeping at a separate room, which while construction, had been termed, dining room. When we asked her about this, she replied, “I can’t sleep without fans, you know. The fan at hall runs during power-cut. So, it is obvious that it won’t run when power is available. How can I sleep then? I would be sweating profusely” and expressed a Neil Armstrong kind of smile, beaming with pride.

            Grandma is one of the beneficiaries of the Old Age Pension (OAP) scheme. The amount has been steadily increasing with my age and recently it touched the least four digit number. Nowadays, these pensions are credited directly to bank accounts but previously, postmasters used to deliver them. There is one man who has been allotted our area. It happened that when each time he delivered her pension, she would give him Rs.20 (or, rather, he rightfully asked for it). When I was enjoying my +2 vacation, the postman came to deliver her pension for the month of May. I was shocked on noticing her giving Rs.50 to him. When I scolded her being ‘insane’, she uttered, “Why do you call me insane? You are actually a fool. Don’t you see that my pension amount has had a hike? Isn’t it fair to give him more?” I explained her for about 20 – 30 minutes, detailing that it was the government that gave her pension and not that man in khaki. Of course, he is a government servant but that doesn’t mean he should be rewarded proportionally with the amount. She didn’t budge at all and eventually, I got the feel, “Maybe, she’s right. What’s wrong in it?” (!!!)

            Grandma never needs a clock to know the time. (She doesn’t want the help of the sun, too) When mom and dad leave for work, it is always 10:00 AM for her (though they take leave early sometimes owing to meetings), 3:00 PM when maid arrives, 6:00 PM whenever I return from play. Several attempts to transform her have gone in vain. So ultimately, we’ve learnt to accustom ourselves to her.

            There have been several funny and hilarious moments with my buddies, parents and relatives. But, my first and best friend always remains to be the same in spite of machans and maplas. Love you, GRANDMA!!!

Thursday, June 26, 2014

CITYZEN

            It’s going to be one year from the day college life, where my greatest transition has taken place, started. With my own wallet filled with cash, and an ATM card to help me out then and there, and also a mobile, which I could use with nobody to say, “Put it aside and mind your business”, it really felt like being the CEO of a huge organization during the first day at CEG. And to add more, I was at CHENNAI, one of the only four metropolitans in India!!! The only black mark out there was the food at mess, which nobody other than poor non – NRIs like us would eat.

            I loved the evenings especially because you get the chance to be at the hostel, free to do whatever you want. You can chat, yell, hum, bath, sleep and what not. Classes were more than horrible and I always felt like a child at kindergarten, ready to burst out towards the exit door once the class timings were over. And, the other thing was I had only people speaking my mother – tongue adjacent to my rooms. It was a bit embarrassing to always be at the listening end when somebody was speaking fluent English. Especially, I hate those guys who willingly juxtapose complicated words in between a Tamil sentence. There was inferiority complex looming over when my friend gave this advice.

            This guy was good at English and more at speaking. I wish he were a salesman; nobody could ever escape out from him if he started explaining a product. He asked me to interact with him. On the first occasion itself, I was relieved as he complimented me. Then he said, “Dude, first of all, don’t come to the conclusion that you cannot compete with these so – called hippy city guys. Your English sounds good albeit slow, sometimes. Yet, that isn’t an issue. You need to know the knack of overcoming this.

            He then asked me to observe some conversations between people speaking English. Eureka!! I got it. They were using some new sort of conjunction – like words, to fill the pauses at regular intervals. These included like, and, well, you know, kind of et al. I was really feeling pathetic for these guys because most of their sentences contained more of these words than the natural subject of the dialogue. For example, “Hey, I just saw this movie yesterday. It was, well, kind of boring, but yeah, overall, I somehow watched it entirely without sleeping, you know.” The subject here is very simple: A boring movie had been watched the previous day. This was my enlightening moment. I noticed keenly and found out that girls used the word, like, as subject, object, noun, verb, conjunction and in whatever possible way many times in their day – to – day conversations, that the number almost seemed to overtake the ‘likes’ for their Profile Pics.

            I have, since then, concentrated on improving my communication skills in this way rather than searching for new words in dictionary. So, there is not a huge difference between students from city and town in terms of communication. The variation mainly lies in expressing the content in an elaborative manner. This could be simplified easily.
Question: What is your name?
Answers:
Guy from town: My name is Giridharan.
Guy from city: Hey, you can call me Giri. And, well, by the way, it is not my full name. Actually, my name is Giridharan.

            Got it? This is what they call ‘polished’ way of speaking. It is basically like this: If you write detail answer for 1 mark questions, can you expect a five for it because you discussed something in a ‘polished’ way but after all, the content pointed to only one word? But, people can thrive among the prodigal mob only if they know to be congenial and polished, changing their natural behavior in some way. This is only a sample study; there are lots more to face which are really petty but which tend to be magnified as essential and important.

            Let’s switch over. We guys planned for a movie one fine weekend. Everyone in our gang was really getting excited and thrilled because that was going to be the first one in a multiplex for most of them (including me). So, I put on a collared T – Shirt and a formal pant. When I was about to leave, one well – informed guy interrupted me and said, “Be natural, mahn. Why do you wear all these stuff? (Mind voice: Bloody, do you want me to come naked?) Come casually in round neck and 3/4ths.” I got ireful seriously. How can a costume decide my being casual and natural? If at all I wear shorts, but feel shy, can I be my original self with that shyness lingering over me throughout? But, I was happy as there were many guys of my kind, who then had to change over again.

            At the bus stop, I had this serious doubt as to which bus was to be boarded. “Wait for a 23C”, someone told, when we mentioned the area we had to go. And we went, enjoyed the movie and returned back. Next day, I thought of meeting my aunt. I just called her to confirm my arrival and she told, “Be careful to board 47A.”Damn, what’s going on in here? After the arrival of mobiles, I have just lost my habit of memorizing phone numbers. How could I ever mug these many bus numbers? But, after hanging out two or three times, I got the knack. There was no need to really be thorough with the entire list. Actually, each and every bus contained the areas through which they traveled. If at all, there were conductors to explain. (Sometimes, there were rude whistlers who would scold for enquiring this and that) By-hearting the serial numbers of MTC buses is entirely meant to show off and nothing else; those are for people who feel hesitant to speak to others, thinking of consequences. Now that I had mastered the art of speaking, this was easy for me.

            Likewise, there is this moral compulsion of buying bucket popcorn at the movie theatres. Reason: While others are munching something, how can we be idle? The name of this phenomenon is ‘social congeniality’. You need to empty your purse even if you’re not hungry just to maintain your prestige. For movie tickets worth a maximum of 120, I’m always forced to buy snacks and drinking water for 200 bucks. Drinking coke for three digit amounts is pleasurable but to spend for a tender coconut seems disgusting.

            Once, I was listing to an exemplary flamboyant guy the names of hotels I had been to since joining at CEG. These included: Murugan Idli shops ( numerous branches), A2B (several branches, too) and so on. He just ssshhhed me and asked in a clear tone of superiority and sarcasm, “Haven’t you gone to the Pizza Hut, Dominos, KFC?” The names flowed on for the next 30 seconds and I was silenced when he concluded with mockery, “Crazy lunatic! Coming to Chennai and never going to Pizza Corner, dumbass.” Frankly admitting, I had been to Pizza Hut only once and I didn’t like the taste. To someone like my grandma, it was nothing but a half – cooked dosa with excess oily content. Am I a crap because I have never been to all these fashionable eating spots? (I ain’t sure if I can call them ‘restaurants’)

            So, this is how we become inferior to the modern people, who have accustomed them to all sorts of artificiality, which they term congeniality. I can guess the number of people who would oppose and abuse me, but let me reinstate that these bucket popcorns and pizza huts are just illusionary mazes. Can we ever compare Burj Khalifa at Dubai with some hill stations just because it has a towering structure? Nature has its own beauty and pride in spite of whatever we try to do to lessen it. Let’s be ourselves; let’s not lose our original identity at any cost in the name of trends, brands and fashion. If someone asks, “Have you ever tried out Pepperoni Pizza at Dominos?”, let’s have the guts to snap them, “Have you ever tasted Masal Dosa and Dahi Vada at Hotel Saravana Bhavan?

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

THOSE TWO YEARS: A MEMOIR

            Life always becomes topsy-turvy for Tamil Nadu students once they cross their 9th grade at school, especially for Matric guys. But, it transformed me from a geek to a natural teen. 9th and 10th standards didn’t have much impact on me as I wasn’t aware of the newspapers and channels giving them much importance. After that, it all started.

            The vacation after the completion of 10th is a joy for everyone as you have some 15 – 20 extra days of being at home, ok, playing out in the sun, getting scolds from parents for forcing yourselves into some sort of illness and abuses from the neighborhood for breaking their window panes and glasses by playing cricket and making their afternoon sleep a nightmare. However, the transition from holidays into getting packed with loads of books and even more advice is a bit awful. People who have seen you as a child or baby till then would start reinstating, “You are stepping into 11th. Score good marks in the board exams and prove you are so – and – so’s son. Etch your name in history and make your family proud.” It all seemed stupid to me. How could scoring marks prove my relationship with mom and dad? (The ration card is enough for this purpose; to the maximum, a DNA test) Or is there some group of archeologists who were specifically employed for recording the names of students who scored high in the boards? How can my name be carved in the annals of history? Till then, history meant Mahatma Gandhi, Sepoy Mutiny, Nelson Mandela, Lord Dalhousie ahem ahem to me.

            My school is the one which lets the students free and creative. It is the kind of place I always love to go for education. There were no compulsory swimming and handicraft classes; children were allowed to be children. From the parents’ point of view, students would be doomed if they study +1 and +2 at ARLM. So, it was natural that once I completed my 10th, my parents were getting increasingly worried about my adamancy in continuing there. They were thinking of cajoling me into some schools which had these night classes and guaranteed international ranks (!!!). Since I had already suffered a mental block due to the change of school during my 6th standard and I needed some steady, long-lasting friendship at least at this school, I was stern and stubborn.

            As my parents agreed to my choice on this, I had to undergo a similar agreement in the Memorandum of Understanding on Mutual Terms. Since I had both mornings and evenings of all the days free (i.e. relaxing, watching TV, hearing songs, a bit of playing), I had to join tuitions for MPC. I thought, “Ok, let me join like I am into this totally. After a month or two, I shall convince mom that I can’t tolerate this torture. It’s making me exhausted.” So, dad and I went for admissions. It was two days before the start of my school.

            All subjects were handled at various places in and around some two streets. First, we went to enquire about Math. Getting into that area gave me a déjà vu of going into some refugee camps at Mullivaikkal. Students were flocking out here and there either on foot or by cycle. There were many parents standing there like us with their wards. There were some experienced parents who spoke rich about the tuition masters out there and some of them boasted, “My elder son also studied here. He scored centums in Mathematics and Chemistry.” “Brats, always showing off to other people”, I thought. Just then, there was a heavy uproar followed by thundering footsteps. It was as if crates were moving here and there randomly causing a heavy earthquake which could, by any means, easily go beyond single digit in the Richter scale.

            I was _____________ (use the most superlative degree of ‘getting shocked’). It was a narrow steep staircase and there were about 200 students rushing through them in the duration of just a minute. (Gone In 60 Seconds, huh?) Dad stood there with his mouth wide open. I thought my plan was going to succeed without any of my effort. I didn’t know at that time I was going to get the most of my school life from there. It seemed dad didn’t want me to get admitted there. He was of the view that if teachers could not handle 60 students at a time in schools, how could it be possible, by gospel, to carefully go through this mob of 200? However, since he did not want that drive of 5 kms to go in vain, he stood there just to enquire whether it was tuition at all. A veteran, telepathying dad’s feelings, patted his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Sir. There are no problems here. The masters out here are experts in their subjects and they know by heart the psychology of each and every student. Moreover, you don’t have any option other than this.” I really got irritated by his golden words and wished to slap and punch him brutally till blood oozed off his mouth.

            So, we stood in line. (I was afraid it would be an interview of ‘Abhiyum Naanum’ kind.) When our turn came, there were some formal questions and an application form. That was it. I couldn’t believe dad signed it. I had been hoaxed by dad’s emotions outside. Physics admission was a short film – like version of Math admission procedure. There were no such formalities for Chemistry. So, that was it. My fate was totally sealed. I had to undergo this hell for the next 20 months. It seemed like some of my friends who didn’t like to join tuitions were mocking at me, clapping hands, high – fiving, jumping in ecstasy. Yeah, they are now free to play and hangout anywhere while I will be writing unit tests here.

            My school was the only honest, ‘useless’ one in our locality that had this habit of teaching 11th syllabus for the whole of the academic year. There were two guys from my locality and school and we three became bada dosts. We would leave by 8:45 in the morning and return by exactly the same time in the evening. (oh well, yeah, night) So 11th went on smoothly. But, it was strange that I never ever got that idea of stopping tuitions after going in there for the first day, at least because of the girls.

            The routine became twisted and strangling once we stepped into 12th. As there were ‘intensive coaching classes’, our school timings increased by 1 hour each in the morning and evening. So, it was obvious that the tuition schedule also changed. Now, we had 6:00 AM to 8:00 PM timings, which meant we had to start off daily before 5:30. I felt doomed. “Curse higher secondary schooling. Which bloke ever found out this system of mugging and vomiting?” This was the flash going through everyone’s mind. The strength at tuitions started slowly decreasing out as numerous fellas could not cope up the rigid working fixture.

            But, bingo!!! That was when even a guy like me was part of a ‘gang’. (Before that, there were some perfectly fit guys who would attract girls at the first sight and fear juniors easily; only they were eligible to form gangs.) One of my buddies’ house was just next to Math tuition where we would be seen most of the time in the post – school hours. It was where I learnt that there can be more than one mom to a child, in terms of love, care and affection. Oh, how I still long to eat those delicious crispy dosas and oily chappathis from my friend’s mom! That pure soul fed whoever came dressed in the ARLM attire. Particularly, my ‘second mom’ always had some special delicacies made ready for me during some special occasions. For example, vadai during kandha sashti and pongal during some other occasion. And, that was where I drank fresh milk directly from the cow. Those cattle became one among us. There were some kitties which had to bear our so – called caresses.

            There were fist fights between guys of different schools mostly for no valid reason. If one luxurious fellow was there to afford an FZ in the opposition, somebody would rise from nowhere in our camp owning an R15. This ‘competition’ would reach the peak on Teachers’ Day, when we would spy on our enemies to know what they planned to gift the teachers. Apart from this, we joined hands to help some buddies, who couldn’t afford to pay the tuition fee on time; we helped out certain Tamil medium guys to catch up with us; we wrote extra assignments for some who were down with illness. (I remember myself doing this in exchange for superb lunches from friends.)

            There were puppy loves, infatuations, ‘love – at – first – sight’ and what not of that kind. My heart always skipped a beat once I noticed a ‘barbie’. Interschool competitions due to girls overtook the race towards marks. Some guys, whose homes were nearer, brought mobiles to show off and sometimes ‘spoke to their crushes even with nil balance’. Birthdays were celebrated with great joy and gala; there were competitions everywhere and for everything. And not to forget the ‘hurrahs’ and ‘yippees’ after the results of each cycle test by knowing which school had scored more number of full marks.

            We bunked tuitions secretly to watch matches, to go online in FB and to go out for yummy fast foods. There were mock quarrels among us on who would pay for samosas we bought during recess everyday; there were curses for teachers when someone from our gang got abused and humiliated and blessings for their families if they awarded us marks without noticing some mistakes. There were these mutual occasional lifts among friends on account of a blowout.

            We never let some habitual activities forget us. Watching at least 1 movie a month and going to hotels or Kayendhi Bhavans at least once in a week are some of them. We mostly never bunked tuitions even when illness struck us; instead, our option was school, where there were not many ‘quality’ girls and there was no question of attendance. Since 12th portions had started well in advance in tuition centers, we were comfortable with school tests. So, our taking leave very often was never an issue there. Playing pen games during lunch by forming teams of 4 was the best pastime. I remember myself going to at least 10 shops to buy a particular type of Montex which was comparatively strong and would not fall off unless hit ruthlessly by some rusty opponent.


            Now, I am going to start my second year at college. No doubt I enjoy university to the core. Yet, those two years, which laid the foundation to my everlasting friendships, would never go away from my heart. Sometimes, I even mull if there are really any possible way to rewind my life back by three years - to continue cycling 10 kilometers a day, to brawl with counterparts, to eat Pani Puris and to help each other without seeking any beneficial return. We may be scattered in terms of topographical demarcations but we always unite in the name of our tuitions and school.

HOME MINISTRY'S PERIODIC BUDGET SESSION

            Before I start with the topic, I feel sorry for the following people/things for varied reasons:
1)    Two PCs – Former Finance Minister at the Center Mr. P Chidambaram, who has earned the wrath of people all over India and my own PC, which has to bear all the shit I type.
2)    My dad, who is going to my victim in this post. Sorry dad, I had no other topics in mind as it has become a mania to post something. I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU.
3)    The readers of my blog, who, like my PC, should have been sinners during their past.

Here we go. So, the budget is going to be presented for 2014 - 2015 on July
10th. I thought of the previous budget sessions in the Parliament. Never has a budget satisfied mom and dad. When I was thinking of this all, dad started examining the expenses for the last three days. Dad always does this during the last 30 – 45 minutes before sleep. Yesterday, the session started at around 9:45 PM.

            Before explaining what happened yesterday, let me discuss something about ‘dad during calculations’. Ever since the day I remember, dad has always been writing in a 2003 Diary. Till now, it has crossed only the half – way mark. I think this diary would come to an end only on the day Ishant Sharma scores a century. Maybe after some 50 years, when diary – writing becomes an extinct habit, this diary would become a rare antique. Special help would be needed from some people to decrypt the words of dad. (I understand his words only from the amount he writes near to them. For example, if something is written near 500, it is for the servant - maid.) Even experts in reading inscriptions would suffer a great deal. But, kudos to dad; he rarely lets a penny slip away from his memory and diary.

            Dad always maintains some uniform postures during this activity; he would be keenly focused on the diary while writing the default amounts (cylinder, cable, salary for maid) and his head would be facing the roof if he was thinking of some other unaccounted expenses. His pen would be somewhere around his forehead, travelling to and fro through his hair such that one of the small locks falls towards the front, making him a hero at an instant. His spectacles give him an intelligent look and when combined with his serious face – cut (only during this period; otherwise, dad is mostly seen smiling) make him nerdy.

            Dad doesn’t like noisy disturbances while documenting the income vs expenses. He is like a sculptor who carefully carves out an idol by chiseling with varied forces. Usually, TV is switched off during this 45 – minute period, or if it is switched on for some reason which dad thinks useful, he would leave that place and lock himself up in another room. He also doesn’t like someone assisting him throughout the session. Occasionally, he seeks help from mom, who always has her own list of expenses ready to show him any time.

            There are certain rules and regulations before a bill is successfully passed in the Parliament. Likewise, there are strict limitations on when a bus ticket or receipt is to be termed ‘worthless’ in my home. Only after dad records the money amounting to those can they reach dustbin. (By this way, those poor papers enjoy quite a prolonged life time) Some tickets have escaped death this way as dad would forget to throw them and they would stick on with the diary forever.

            There is a specific method to open dad’s diary. (Like the one we have for whisky bottles) If some novice opens the diary in the regular fashion, he/she would find themselves being surrounded by a clumsy list of papers in different sizes and shapes. I just went through this sort of awkwardness recently when this ‘Phenomenon of Opening a Diary’ was oblivious to me. When I tried to bring things back to normal, I noticed that there were some bills dating back to 2009 and even 2006.

            As dad was not at home at that time, I decided to go through some of its pages. (I can’t remember why I had to open the diary; maybe, I was in dire need of some money that I decided to take it from dad. Sorry, dad) Dad’s discipline and decorum reflected in his diary except for his handwriting. I noticed uniformity in his documentation. Every month has always started off till date with a specific allotment for the Almighty; this amount has inflated periodically from single digits in ’98, slowly crawling to the double figure mark in ’04 and finally making leaps and bounds to have reached the present three – digit number. (Dad always makes me wonder about how difficult it would be to present the budget for a country like India. Sorry again, Mr. PC. I can understand your feelings only now)

            I was startled to find that the salary given to the servant – maids in cities today was the total income of dad and mom combined till the year 2000. (Baby sitters and nannies could even go beyond this amount) There were also some other proportionally increasing amounts like diwali purchases. The money spent for crackers has increased by about 25 times during the period 1999 – 2009. (After that, there has been no fireworks since the thought of eco – friendly environment had started haunting me; Education ruins entertainment!!!)

            I also saw that there was a default amount for paying loans, right from two – wheelers to education and house. Questions started buzzing around me. It was like the climax of the movie, 3, when evil spirits in greenish shade surround the hero and speak something irrelevant from one another. As I couldn’t take it for long, I asked dad one day, “Why do you avail loan from banks even for a two – wheeler? Can’t we afford that?” It was then that I got this brilliant piece of advice from dad. “You can get a petty portion of tax relaxation (not evasion) via these loans, son.” (Dad often shows glimpses of the middle – class mind in occasions like this, where technical prodigy coupled with financial brain is required. Recall the recording of assorted audio tapes in the article, ‘Shifting Gears: Living Ascends, Life Descends’)

            So, coming back to yesterday, there were some lapses in the calculations. Credit and debit didn’t match and dad was seemingly getting irritated. Dad never accepts his defeat of missing out on something, like Virus, who could never tolerate another man overtaking his cycle. His search for the absconding money always starts in a peaceful manner, turns violent, finally ending up in a lull. (All is well that ends well) He would turn the entire house upside down; shirts would be thrown here and there like somebody had entered a textile shop to purchase readymade shirts, and finally ended up choosing only one from a whole new collection; zips would be left open in all bags, right from my school bag; some marriage invitations would face dad’s fury and would be torn in the worst possible way.

            These incidents were taking place in the sequential manner and mom also came to the scene. (Don’t imagine mom to be a regular wife who fears her husband and always remains humble in front of him. Things are different nowadays) She, in the belief of helping dad, started searching in some places where, according to dad, money won’t be kept. These included powder tray, dining table, fridge top et al. Usually, mom emerges victorious in these battles. The ‘useless’ spots, as named by dad, mostly contained the money. The case was no different yesterday also, as mom returned from inside the room with a proud smile.

            But, there is this natural mentality of a human being not to praise someone, who is worth it; A thesis can be done by some research scholar to find out how many times dad has used direct words of praise. Routinely, his positive remarks are found hidden somewhere among the group of other words uttered by him. Interpreting those is then a sort of poignancy; it would take a long time. Finally, the issue is sorted out; theory matches facts and dad is a relieved man. But, he still ends up like Uncle Podger by saying, “Bah, that’s what happens when you employ too many useless people for such a simple task. I could have done it myself.” (Read ‘Uncle Podger Hangs A Picture’ to know what I mean. Here’s the link: http://rosyhunt.blogspot.in/2013/01/uncle-podger-hangs-picture.html)

Monday, June 23, 2014

TEMPLE RUN

            Splash….!!! The day started off in a horrific note when mom poured water on me to wake me up. I was in a ‘fantastic dream’ then. However, it ended up without a climax like a cricket match being abandoned and declared as a ‘no result’ due to rain. (Guessing the theme of my dream is left open)

            I remembered mom had already informed me yesterday, “We are going to a temple at Sirkazhi tomorrow. You may have to wake up early. So, better off to bed now.” Damn, does ‘early’ mean a nap – like sleep? It felt like I had slept before some minutes. I slowly got up with groans and grumbles, only to find that the time was 6:00. I could have easily escaped this hell had I confidently opposed mom in their plan of taking me with them. But, the thought of my sufferings due to ignorance flashed through my rooftop. Even a small hiccup would be treated as the aftermath of my refusal to budge to the temple.

But mahn, it was ‘tooooo’ early, actually looking like dusk to me. My day usually starts at 9:45 AM when mom would wake me up, detailing the dishes for brunch and lunch (!!), after which she would take leave to office.

            It was bus travel as usual. Luckily, this six – footer got a convenient seat. In the course of travel, I asked mom why mom and dad always had this liking to go to temples all around Tamil Nadu, sometimes even to AP (Tirupati beckons everyone)  Mom always had some supportive points to reinstate her ‘relief through firm belief’ philosophy. She said, “Why do we have ortho specialist, ophthalmologist, dentist, surgeon, et al? Why can’t we have a single doc for everything? That’s because each of them is specialized in a particular field. Likewise, each temple and God has some powers vested. So, don’t complain.

            I didn’t like this comparison of docs with temples and wanted to counter it immediately. Since it was a statement from the ‘top brass’ of our family, I controlled myself. This was my thought: “Do we go to doctors when we are well and good? Only if we are struck with some illness, we consult those people. Taking medications unnecessarily when we’re fine would bring side effects. Similarly, when life is going on smooth, why do you go to temples?

            After reaching the temple, we learnt that it was Friday coupled with Ashtami (the eighth day after full moon/new moon), which made the temple even more special and auspicious. But, my mind was getting troubled as to which day is to be regarded as good and which not. I have always suffered because of this right from my school days. There are many intricate classifications of these thithis. Any kind of fee must not be paid on pradhamai, ashtami and navami. (There is this 15 – day cycle between Amavasai and Pournami, starting from Pradhamai). Further, there is a ’to – do’ list detailing which kind of things are to be done when. Explaining them is beyond the scope of this article. (Recollection of the matriculation subject books’ ‘Foreword’ :P) Still there is a bit of storm within me on why we celebrate Gokulashtami as Lord Krishna’s ‘day of incarnation’ and Shri Rama Navami as Lord Rama’s birthday. (On these days, the above – mentioned restrictions are relaxed)

            Let’s not go deep into this as my college days are about to start and I am deeply concerned about my well – being. So, full stop to the criticisms on these firm beliefs. I have studied here and there that there are specific scientific reasons behind each and everything stated in scriptures. The problem here is that those reasons are not detailed anywhere. (OK. So, please understand. I am not an atheist or so – called ‘rationalist’. I like temples at least for the prasadhams.)

            As it is, we worshipped with deep religious fervor. The visit to the shrines of Lord Shiva and Lord Vishnu was over soon after. Since the temple was famous for Lord Bhairava in particular, we performed an archanai over there. When I was thinking, “This seems too easy. So, I would have enough time to play cricket in the afternoon, as usual”, mom asked dad, “Is that it?” Dad replied, “No. There’s the ‘Ashta Bhairava’ shrine”. Both of them stared cogently at me to have my nod. Though I wasn’t interested, I thought, “Dude, just one more. Why don’t you satisfy mom and dad, bloke?” (Even if I had expressed my disinterest in going there, they would’ve gone on their plan)

            But, my intuition stroked an alert message when I noticed the shrine from a distance. It was more like a central jail during visiting hours. The place was fully sealed on all sides with only a small gate serving for both entrance and exit. There was already twice the amount of people that it could accommodate. In a nutshell, it was ‘crowded and congested’. (Heard somebody saying, “Then, why do you elaborate this much, stupid?” How much should I have suffered then while reading Chetan Bhagat’s novels?)

            I went in with mom and dad. Actually, I was sort of pushed into some awkward place, which in fair terms, was not worth standing. I was sweating profusely in the next 300 seconds but not before I had noticed the atmosphere. There were these ‘spiritual’ people who would always shout hymns from the core of their vocal cord, another kind who would be supervising the chaotic crowd in an even more unorthodox manner, imagining themselves to be ‘strict officers’. Then, the place also comprised of crying babies, who couldn’t tolerate the heat, busy apprentices roaming here and there to help the main priests in some way. Not to forget the ‘busy’ personalities who would be yelling through mobiles at the peak of their voice only at public places. (These are standards of how famous a temple is. The number of persons in each of the groups decides the reach of a temple. I am an expert in accrediting temples this way as I had visited temples for my entire life even before I was 16.)

            It was abishekam time and the time was already fifteen minutes past 12 by then. But, mom would not budge without performing an archanai whatsoever, thanks to the scriptures which taught her so. I, with the half – hearted consent of mom, came out of the shrine along with dad, who, in the pretext of accompanying me, got off too. (He told me later that he had already been there.) Observing people and nature (or, in crude terms, being idle) has been my passion and dream and I continued it here also. (There was no other way, as my mobile battery had already drained, courtesy ‘Subway Surfers’ and ARR)

            There was the ‘kind’ man selling tender coconuts, who gave us a free one after emptying dad’s pocket, except for bus charges to reach home; there were priests chatting and sometimes abusing some third person about the borrowed money; there were beggars who had their ‘dream’ of satisfying their hunger during afternoon. Dad couldn’t wait; he went back to the shrine to see if the procedures were completed.  When the man who was in – charge of selling oil and camphor started eating idlies with ‘getti’ chutney, I had this tingle. It felt terrible to have no shop other than that for tender coconuts to even feed me with water.

            I thought of those beggars sitting at a corner. If a person like me, who am guaranteed of a meal, though not in time, could not give them something, then who would? Surely, they didn’t have sufficient money even for a tender coconut. I had some coins in the wallet, which I immediately gave them. One of them asked me to bow and kissed me in the forehead with the words, “God bless you, son. May you live long!!” It was a treat to watch as they divided the sum among them. One man, who was evidently the ‘Big Brother’, collected that money and went to a nearby mess to buy something for them. I wondered if he would return. Sure did he come back soon after and it was again a surprise to witness the manner in which they ate. There were no bustles among them to get more. I recollected my school days when we would quarrel and abuse each other to get a delicacy from someone. This would go to the extent of even scolding the guy who had brought the lunch we yearned for.

            I wondered why, when there were too many people in need of money and food, we always did these rituals and gave those comparatively wealthy priests more and more money? Had every person coming to a temple tithed the money that was given to these holy people for these beggars, the death count due to inability to get food would have come down. Just then, mom and dad returned along with another man. Dad introduced me to him and told me that he was also from Cuddalore. He told me that I was a gifted son because both mom and dad had this tendency of helping illiterate people with the banking procedures. I was embarrassed because I had the habit of always mocking them as ‘insane and stupid’ because of their hospitable attitude towards strangers.

            Mom told me, “You told we are going to be scorched in the heat. Here, God has sent a messenger to send us back in comfort. So, never ever complain about going to temples again. Got it?” I nodded. That was not the acceptance to mom’s belief but the respect and thanksgiving to the beggar who blessed me.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

SHIFTING GEARS: LIVING ASCENDS, LIFE DESCENDS

            Few days back, was chatting with one of my machis at his house. Since schools have re – opened, his younger bro was studying with his classmate. I was surprised to see a Samsung Galaxy Tab 2 near those guys. When I went with curiosity just to have a view of it, (since I have been gifted with a smartphone only before a month, after the completion of my first year in university; before that, I was using Nokia C201) that guy muttered a tone of mockery, “Anna, what are you going to do with that without knowing the lock pattern? Here, let me unlock it.” I just blushed and gave it to him but replied sternly that I didn’t need it. (Even God can’t control my eagerness for automobiles and mobiles; babes escape my eyes but not these) I didn’t want to get my disappointment noticed.

            He said that he needed some latest songs and movies that had to be transferred from another PC. I was immobile for a moment. Bringing me back to the comfort zone, I noticed my friend was still petrified. I shook him and he, without a word, just went out of the house. I could comprehend through telepathy that he had gone through the same state of mind as me, too.

            A fifth grade boy, no, not even a boy, a child, tantalizes me with his expensive electronic gadget!!! I thought of my childhood. It had a bit of electronic devices in it, but not to this extent. The years after my birth can be classified into various branches, like the Carolus Linnaeus’ ‘Binomial Nomenlature’. Let me explain them in a simple bulleted list as detailing them in the form of a flowchart would make the readers feel dizzy.

1)    Pre – cable era, where Doordarshan was the only TV channel (Televisions didn’t occupy the core of day – to – day life, then; I wonder how housewives spent their afternoons then without serials) Radio played an important role in providing information. Especially, I used radio only for listening to cricket commentaries and weather reports during rainy days to know if there was a holiday for schools.

2)    Pre – computer era, when TVs were becoming widespread, yet these LEDs and Plasma TVs hadn’t born. Cable connections were available at a maximum of 50 rupees per month. (I had started watching cricket in TV; Sachin, Azharudhin, Kumble and Javagal Srinath began decorating the bedroom walls in the form of stickers and newspaper cuttings)

3)    Pre – smartphone era, when Nokia 1100 was the only available model with a mind – boggling price of 6000 bucks. (We were one of the first families in our locality to actually buy a mobile for residential purposes) That simple ringing tone transcended my happiness, because for the first time ever, I had heard something different from the regular, ‘tring tring’.

I still remember the day when Cable was installed in my home. That was vacation in 2003 and we were all eager to watch the ICC Cricket World Cup 2003. I could hear people conversing with raised eyebrows, “They’re going to have cable installed today.” The whole of our street was in frenzy throughout the day. There were too many children in and around the area and they all had to assemble at a particular house in the adjacent street to watch the series, ‘Jeeboomba’ in Vijay TV. (Those were the days when kids with Jeeboomba pencils were admired)  Now, that monopoly had been broken. That was like ‘history in the making’.

A group of people were climbing the posts and trees with random commands, “Throw the wire here”, “Hold on, tie it over there” Finally, there was the instruction. “Switch your TV on” Dad and bro did so with shaking hands and
Bingo….!!! Installation successful. I was beaming with pride and joy and soon became the ‘Big Brother’ of the gang of chotus and vaandus. There were children of my age group swarming the hall always to watch matches. And, India didn’t disappoint, either. Except being bundled out for 125 in the league match against the Aussies which the ‘Men In Blue’ lost eventually, everything was going on well. Especially, the match against Pakistan provided the necessary environment for such hyped expectations.

            After Saeed Anwar’s stroke – filled century had propelled Pak to 273/7, it was time for India to boomerang them. Sachin and Sehwag did that exactly. Viru was seen as the man who could replicate everything from Tendulkar. They provided a rollicking start. As usual, my home was house – full and every upper cut, flick and cover drive of Sachin was being received with heavy applause and uproar, the noise thundering all over the street. Even some of the elders were yelling like children, “Great shot, isn’t it? Wasim Akram’s going to be a dead meat today.” My home saw the crests and troughs of the people’s expressions and emotions through the ‘boon in disguise’, the Cable TV. When Sachin was caught and bowled for a mere 4 off Glenn McGrath in the Grand Finale, the entire clan abused and cursed him. (Maybe, the loss of his wife in 2008 was the aftermath of the intensity of the curse. No offence, please)

            I can still recollect the exact results of all the matches India played in the WC 2003 and finally, Sourav Ganguly’s men were the runners – up. But, more than that, the entire neighborhood had integrated as an entity for cricket, forgetting the quarrels for municipality water, abuses for improper septic tank cleaning and rows over several other reasons which aren’t worth mentioning here. Such was the effect a single, small BPL TV could create in those days. When I narrate this to some kids nowadays, they just snub me by asking, “Why didn’t you have a Bravia with stereo speakers and sub – woofers?

            Similarly, another incident also hurts my conscience till date viz. downloading songs and movies from the internet. I may not be a veteran of 40 – 50 in age, but I have also crossed the peak time of audio cassettes and original CDs. My mind has changed though, adapting itself to the trend – setters of the present. When someone buys Moserbaer audio CDs worth 100 bucks today, he is looked down upon as a ‘fool, who doesn’t know money’s worth’. Nobody owns a tape recorder and even if rarely I spot it in some retiree’s home, it would be in coma stage or even dead. Reason: There are none to repair and rectify tape recorders, radios and transistors today. We recently threw away the mini transistor into the garbage junk.

            Mom and Dad had filled up my primary schooling days with music, music and more music. Those were the days when CD players cost more than plots and houses (!!!), so the only affordable option was buying audio cassettes. Since we couldn’t muster enough dosh to buy the cassettes of each and every movie, dad used to exercise the middle – class mind in an extra – ordinary way. He would prioritize songs from many movies and list them. There were experts maintaining studios for recording in tapes these assorted tracks. That is how I got introduced into Ilayaraaja and Deva’s music; that is how ‘Colonial Cousins’ stamped their foot on Cuddalore soil; that’s when the legendary ARR was on his way to the helm of affairs in the Indian music.

            ‘Kaasu Maela Kaasu Vandhu’ (‘Kadhala Kadhala’ movie) was viral then like Kolaveri. I must have easily heard it more than 200 times, with an average of about 4 – 5 times a day. Maharajapuram Santhanam (Carnatic vocalist, shitty minds please don’t think of the comedian) and Nithyashree Mahadevan soothed my parents when they were getting ready for their work. Even today, while I hear Ghanan Ghanan from Lagaan, I imagine the people in the movie crying for rain as the weeping owners of those audio cassette shops, who are seen nowhere. But, I always thank mom and dad in heart for filling my childhood with various aspects which were costly then and are rare nowadays. There are still more than 100 valuable cassettes here with me; I hope to convert them to the usable CDs some day, maybe with my first salary (with minute confidence of me getting placed and earning something).

            There was this older version of the camera that used film rolls. In those days, documentation of traveling had to be done only through photo albums. That was a difficult process, and taking pics in that type was hell. Only dad had mastered the art, and so he was always the ‘Sherpa Tenzing’ who couldn’t pose for a photo after climbing Mount Everest. The films had to be carefully handled and processed in such a way that the negatives were effectively converted to real quality photos. Then, they had to be filtered and sorted in some chronological order to complete the album.

            This is the era of T20 cricket; people want everything to be quick, but fail to notice the permanency and longevity of such lusty pleasures. Debashish Mohanty’s fierce bowling has been forgotten; cricket fans of today do not know who he is. Sachin’s strokeplay and Dravid’s long stays to salvage India a draw in Test matches are not topics to be discussed. This is the time when cricket has changed from the ’Gentleman’s Game’ to some belligerent brawly sport.  People like Gayle, Maxwell and Pollard are looked up as the ‘Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva’ of cricket; only ruthless hits are applauded and received. Same is the case of music. Once, it was the medium which reflected our culture and traditional background. After the advent of Pitbulls and Akons, it is no surprise that only those tracks with the accompaniment of noisy guitars and percussion are regarded.

Let me not waste my time here by discussing more about this because this is the period where voting has become just another work for people. I found a status in FB recently:

                        “What’s the worth of your vote, first time voters?”
                        “Nothing. Oh, well, hang on.. We can upload a pic in our walls showing the inks in our index finger.

            Facebook, Twitter, Linked In and the other social networks have enabled a wide range of getting connected. But, we lose the real connect with the society by getting too much immersed in a world of fantasy. In the pretence of getting updated, don’t forget the past and how we were then. Let’s not push any prevalent practice to the brink of obscurity and extinction.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

THE 'MISSED' CALL

            “We’re going to Wonderla. Come to Hosur this weekend and stay in my house. From there, let’s go with some of my schoolmates. What say?” This was the tone in which he – who – cannot – be – named (not Voldemort) informed me the itinerary. I was at Coorg then. Though I was not sure about my schedule, I just okayed the plan without further thought.

            I have heard this and that about Wonderla, THE THEME PARK at Bangalore. But in order to know more, I googled it. The information poured out and I was stunned. (My multi – tasking mind was also getting serious about 13,90,000 results being displayed in 0.35 seconds; I wondered who in this world would go beyond at least the second page of ‘Google Search Results’) The images displayed resembled that of the roller coaster ride in Final Destination 2 (or maybe, some other part; after watching all the five, I always feel dizzy while travelling and at theme parks).

            I immediately closed Chrome and came out of that ‘death beckoning moment’.  I compared in mind today’s theme parks with the summer exhibitions which was the centre of attraction during my schooldays. Well, there is not a mustard quantity of chance to expect an exhibition in ‘contemporary’ cities like Chennai. This is the city full of malls and theme parks. But, exhibition is still markedly different from these sophisticated entertaining stuffs.

            Exhibition is, well, nothing but a mall + theme park experience. Although not like the air – conditioned Skywalk and EA or the vast, gigantic MGM and Black Thunder, this is the place where you can expect window – shopping @infinity combined with some jolly rides. (I can say with ultimate pride that I am gifted to have spent my childhood in a town and not a city) There is everything in an exhibition which we witness in malls right from the popcorn to the mobile accessory stores (I was, at first, shocked when I had to buy popcorn at ‘Phoenix Market City’ worth 70 bucks; here, it still costs only 15 or 20). There are shops selling lady items right from face wash to hair clips, places for gamble games and most importantly that big store which announces, “Buy anything for 20.” Always, this takes up the large area and the crowd would always be there.

            Some of my friends were extraordinarily brilliant in ‘making off’ with some stuff from that shop. I can still remember how my friend easily came out unnoticed with some cutters and micro – spanners and challenged me to do the same. I could never let my prestige being humbled and humiliated. So I, with the same target, went into the shop and as you all expect, was caught. However, I too had that ‘moment of resurrection’ as I managed to pay the amount. (People who have seen the movie, ‘Gentleman’ would easily understand this; there’s a similar exhibition scene in there, with the only difference being the talking parrot and not the cutters)

            There’s also another incident worth mentioning here, which was narrated to me by mom. First, let me introduce the main characters involved in the scene. Mom’s friend (who, then, was the Assistant Manager of the Branch where mom still works), his wife and three children. One of them was a cute, cheeky – geeky, 9 – year – old boy and the other two were girls, entirely opposite in behavior to him. It had all started well and they were roaming around the stalls together. But, the ‘buy anything for 20’ stall turned the tables on them. The ladies were engrossed in buying… well, er, never mind. They were buying something. Ladies, according to me, become extra – emotional during buying petty things and even more during bargaining. And, this man, the ‘Lion at Office’ was the ‘usual’ familyman of India who fears his wife. In the meantime, our epic hero, the cheeky – geeky guy, got missed out somewhere in the sea of people.

            These people were too much into shopping that they failed and forgot to notice that there was another ‘creature’ around them before sometime, but had absconded then. So, it all continued as everyone expects. After coming out of the shop, they found out that ‘startling truth’ and each one did something weird; the boy’s father was wandering here and there aimlessly and mother was crying in a loud tone. The two girls were trying to comfort that poor lady. Some people were offering ’Golden Advice’ which would surpass in quality the Zen Proverbs and which, when sequenced as a list, would go beyond the monthly grocery list. Some others were discussing their previous such experiences at crowded places and a few ‘intellectuals’ told them to seek help from the police. There was always the police office at every exhibition to see that ’All Izz Well’.

            At that time, the father’s mobile rang. “Dad, I am here at the police tent. Come and take me to the rides, soon.” The line was disconnected. These people immediately ran towards the police tent, only to get startled more. “You insane buffalos! Where were you and what were you doing? Don’t you mind about your boy? Crazy people, take me to the ride.” They then came to know from the police officer – in – charge that the boy had dialed to his father from his phone only. “Terrific memory power, Sir! How old is he? Be careful, Sir. Don’t leave children out alone at any cost.”Wow , what a boy!! An exemplification of ‘Young Calf Knows No Fear.’ No single tear had come out of his eyes and he was in no tension.

            This incident always taunts me till date and mocks at my failure to even escape out with a tiny cutter. I was forced to revisit the past by a similar kind of happening at Coorg. I was at the Abbey Falls (Abbey translates into ‘Falls’ in Kannada; so the place literally meant ‘Falls Falls’. But, I found out that it was ‘False Falls’ instead as people were prohibited to enjoy the natural shower) with mom and dad. We clicked each other and also took a professional photograph. While we were just going out, mom signaled us to stop; there was a woman crying and asking something to everyone around there. (Mom is always the first person among us to notice these things because I am always into hearing songs and humming and dad would be mesmerized with nature’s beauty)

Mom found out that the woman had missed her 10 – year – old daughter. She enquired about the girl’s physical appearance and, as a normal Tamil lady, advised that woman not to panic and asked her to inform the police. Dad asked if the girl knew her mom’s mobile number or she had any mobile to contact her. The reply was negative. As we were running out of time, we just consoled her to a miniscule extent and then boarded the taxi. All of us had the expression of horror and skepticism written all over the faces. Mom was repeating, “These days, even toddlers are not left out by these men. God, please save the girl.

I thought of Nirbhaya and the fate of numerous other girls about whom televisions flash and newspapers detail daily. On the flipside, I also prayed o the Almighty that the girl should be brainy enough like the boy who got lost in the exhibition. I remembered those words once again. “You insane buffalos! Where were you and what were you doing?” I didn’t know whether to cry or console myself.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

DREAMS ON FIRE.....

            Was listening to ARR yesterday. ‘Slumdog Millionaire’. I really am surprised by how this man always sends me to a state of trance combined with hypnotism through his compositions. There is a track, ‘Dreams on Fire’, which couples melancholic strings with the partially masculine voice of Suzanne d’Mello. Wow.. A typical lullaby type.. I was enjoying it. Closing my eyes, I wondered what my dreams were and are….

            Ok. So, I started with this sub – conscious therapy (Remember the flashback of Vikram in ‘Anniyan’??) Oh, hey.. help me!!! It seemed as if I was falling somewhere into a dark well. Then, I landed there. Where? I looked up and around to see that I was a little, 4 – year – old child, sitting peacefully on mom’s lap in a bus. Well, well… Fine. This is the day when my first ever dream started butterflying.

            Those were the days when I asked mom too many questions. Excerpts: “Why don’t you feed me nowadays but just give milk in tumbler?”, “Why can’t a baby be born before people get married?” Now, back to the scene. There were many people in the bus, most of them laughing at me. Some, in the prejudice of making me laugh, made awry facial expressions (Maybe, I must have got ‘enlightened’ there because I have never shown those ‘plastic surgery face’ kind of expressions to any baby ever since).

            Wait!!! When everybody was either sitting or standing, only one man was walking here and there. He was in khaki overalls, holding some papers that varied in colors from violet to red and with a handbag. I noticed him keenly. There was more to explain about him. He had a whistle in his mouth, which he was blowing periodically. And, there was also a pen stuck in the gap between his right ear and face. He asked something to dad for which he replied. Then, that khaki man gave three blue papers and got money from dad. Then came that striking moment. He suddenly opened his handbag and shook it in some weird fashion. The bag responded with a ‘cling clang’ noise. Out came some coins and he handed them over to dad. (Later, I learnt that he was the ‘conductor’ and those papers were ‘tickets’) He went on doing this to all the other people after which he sat in a different seat. He took out a sheet and ticked here and there. Then, he made some notes. I was watching him as if I had been ‘moon – blinked’. Dad and mom were surprised because I hadn’t spoken a word with them during the whole travel. Even I didn’t know at that time that I had had a ‘dream job’.

I don’t know how many schools still have this tradition, but during my 1st standard, there was the tradition of asking about our ‘so – called’ passion. (If a 6 – year – old is asked today, he/she would detail about the pros and cons of engineering and medicine. Watch ‘Kutti Chutties’ to know more :P) All students were trained to answer the question in a particular tone. ‘My aim iiiiiiissssss to become a……’ followed by their dream. The replies were alien to me: President, collector, doctor, cricketer, bank manager et al. When my turn came, I was anxious and a bit nervous. That was not a hesitation to express my desire but I was afraid of speaking (I heard you uttering, “bluffer”. Oh, believe me, in those days, I was so.) I eventually managed, “My aim iiiiiiissssss to become aa……….. conductor”.

            I opened my eyes and came back to reality. Do not imagine I got embarrassed by the giggles and guffaws of the other students. Nobody laughed. Only my teacher had that expression ‘which has not and cannot be named’. Maybe, the other guys were not aware about who a conductor was. But, I was and still am confident that I didn’t say those words intentionally. That day taught me about ‘sub – conscious mind’ albeit my being so young to even realize that. The ‘cling clang’ of the coins and the conductor’s skill of taking out only few of the large pile of coins always fancy me till date. After the arrival of the ticket printer, there is no possibility of seeing those colorful tickets except for some town buses.

            Next in the playlist was the Theme Music of the movie, ‘Bombay’. (I still feel proud while showing my ARR collections to my friends; There’s everything from ‘Roja’ to ‘Million Dollar Arm’) Again, a slow, low – toned instrumental. Closing my eyes, I tried to rewind the time machine. Wow… Now, an 8 – year - old, about 4 feet tall, was sitting in a hotel with his mom and dad. I wondered why in the earth we had gone there when mom could make delicious food even at home. There were other questions, too: “Why don’t we have these many tables in our own dining room?”, “When will we go back home?” When I was about to shoot them in a chaotic manner, I noticed that there were some people roaming here and there with clothes that resembled my school uniform.

By then, I had registered in my mind that people who walk when majority are being seated are to be termed ‘conductors’. So, I asked mom, “Are we travelling somewhere, ma? Is this a bus or hotel? Why does this place contain these many ‘conductors’?” At that moment, one of the ‘conductors’ arrived. I was afraid because I thought he would beat and slap me heavily for some reason. The ‘bus kind of’ conversation happened here also, but in a different manner. Now, I had ‘mastered’ the art of listening to other people’s chat. He first greeted us with a smiling face. I noticed that he had smeared too much of sandhanam and vibudhi one above the other such that his forehead itself looked like an half – boiled egg. Dad told him something in a very calm manner. (Even today, the only person whom I can’t eavesdrop is dad; He almost always converses in a serene tone) I could hear some words, but in an obscure and disorderly way: ‘Dosa, plates, poori, (some number)

He nodded and went. I wondered how much more time I had to wait to eat. Then, I saw that these ‘Men In Uniform’ were carrying plates with various food items, ranging from idlis to chapathis to different tables. I could sense ‘Butterfly Effect v2.0’!!! Shortly, our ‘conductor’ arrived with three plates, carrying them effortlessly. He placed them neatly in our table and waited without another word. When dad signaled him that it was over, he bowed slightly and went to the entrance. By then, I was really enthused and thrilled by this sequence of incidents, right from our seating in the table. He returned with a black book, which when opened contained a white paper. Dad kept some money in it and returned it to him. Then, he also gave that man a 5 – rupee – note. (When I was 8, 5 rupees was an amount worth a ’Milk Bikis’ packet)

While returning home in TVS Champ, I was bursting with a list of queries. First in the series came, “Why did you pay for eating?” After I had got a convincing reply, I geared up for the next. “Then, why did you give some money to that ‘conductor’?” Mom is a woman who is never taken aback by the stupid inquisitiveness of her child. So, she explained me everything. And, on that day, I came to know that the ‘smiling face uncle’ was a waiter.

Whew….!!! After all, dad had to work separately to earn money and spend some other time for eating daily. This man had no such issues. He could earn and eat, simultaneously. (It was then at 12 or 13 that I learnt waiters couldn’t eat every kind of dish that they served; they were allotted a separate menu, which was by far limited) Oh, I forgot to mention one of my interesting habits. I used to smell each and every food item mom made. That satisfied my hunger to the 50% mark. Now, I imagined how much food this guy could smell daily. It easily could go beyond ending my hunger.

I was ‘computer – handled’ to reality by the loud beep noise of the UPS. Damn, power cut!!! So, I switched off the PC since the ‘ventilator’ could last for only 5 minutes. But, what a day I have had here! I could swim back to my infantry or even run forward to the future. I also recollected how qualitative those childhood dreams were compared to the ‘always wealth – oriented dreams’ of today. If you ask me today, I would gladly say, “I dream of getting placed in a core company. I further plan to build a posh villa and own a Lamborghini Avantador.”  I bet they do not come from my heart. They are driven by mind and impulse. Those waiter and conductor dreams are the ones that really echoed my heart first and then resonated in the mind. I am going to go back to the past once again some other day. I have still in count my dreams during 10 – 16 years of age. Waiting for that day!!!

Monday, June 16, 2014

REALITY'S WORTH

            “Awesome treat, dude. Only he can offer such a thing. It cost more than I expected, yet I enjoyed” – My friend hadn’t then come out of the Havell Effect of eating at Pizza Hut. That had been the birth day of one of my schoolmates. I was angry for two reasons: First, he hadn’t called me for a treat. And, the second; two people have emptied 1200 bucks altogether in a rash fashion. But there was consolation for me as I learnt both of them had to pay for it since there was not enough dosh in the birthday baby’s card.

            I mulled on it. 1200!!! 10 movies could be watched convincingly with a first – class ticket in multiplex theatres. For people like me, who are content even with second class, it was worth 24 movies; About 25 hours of entertainment had been spoiled to the fullest extent. My whole class could have comforted their stomachs with that amount, had that treat taken place in our college canteen (CEG rockzz!! :P). Two idiots, that’s right, no mercy for even friends, two idiots had burped 1200 rupees, for which they had travelled from Cuddalore to Puducherry (about 25 kilometer span) by bus in this red hot climate.

            Now, let me list what all amounted to waste after that: Four hours of valuable time (worth sleeping.. What? What else do you do in such weather conditions?), 1200 bucks + bus tickets and finally health (P.S: The non – birthday guy was already suffering from digestion problems). This sent my mind back to schooldays and those so – called ‘birthday bashes’ (Can somebody tell me by what name this disease is called? I am taken back often to the past when I start worrying about something. Maybe, Cheran has affected me so much through ‘AUTOGRAPH’).

            During 11th and 12th standard, we were always packed up with a tight schedule for each and every day. Morning tuitions, followed by special classes (they even termed this extra hours in school as ‘intensive coaching classes’), regular classes, and finally evening tuitions. They would take about 14 hours in a day. When we finally get home tired and exhausted, dinner would be ready. A quick bath and dress change, over to the dinner table. No talking, no watching TV. Maximum time allotted for dinner was about 15 minutes, with a grace period of 5 more minutes. Then, we had to revise for the tests to be conducted on the next day. Imagine a man who had to travel for about 10 kilometers (5+5; to and fro, nah?) in bicycle and then experience 14 hours of ‘enlightenment’. Even Sachin Tendulkar’s ‘Tennis Elbow’ problem seems negligible now, right?

            So, this was the situation. As sleeping hours could not be reduced at any cost (Already, there were only 5 to 6 hours per day for sleeping), we had no other option but to bunk either special classes in the evening or tuitions during birthday parties. Our parties were grand, yet simple. We would always go to some pani puri shops. Especially, those mobile Kaiyendhi Bhavans near the Cuddalore Stadium are very famous. They mix the ingredients in right proportions and serve us with smiling faces. If you had little more money to spend, there is another option. There were some lavish and luxurious guys, who would offer treats at Valli Chicken Center.

            I can still remember my birthday party during the 12th standard. We were about 15 in number. As I am a vegetarian, Valli Chicken Center was not the plausible choice. So, we all had to prefer the ‘Thallu Vandi Kadai Pani Puri’. One man in particular was very affectionate towards us. Called Annachi, he offered an extra plate on that day just because I asked him about his family and business. Of course, my budget was very limited and I hadn’t expected 15 guys to turn up altogether. So, I was kind of making ‘indirect, strategic, friendly deals’ with that man. But, he was really moved. I can’t recollect what exactly I asked him but my problem was solved without any hiccups, as he charged comparatively low rates for our gang (Oh, maybe I have strategical diplomacy!!!)

            I have, since then, teased him many times and some of my friends were even stunned at how I countered the situation. But, some of them had money and I could have very well borrowed it from them and repaid it later. But, that was a huge prestige issue. Moreover, that wasn’t the tradition. The birthday boy had to spend the whole money from his pocket, whatsoever. Seriously, after nearly an year, I recently went in search of that man to repay the money I owed him. But, he was nowhere to be seen in and around that area. There were pani puri shops still operating out there, but that particular sentimental person, who, on my birthday looked like Duryodhana offering a small territory to Karna, was not present.

            I literally cried, wept and sobbed. In how many shops and hotels do we see this real concern? There are numerous Bhavans (vegetarian hotels) in the town, and I haven’t seen at least one person sitting at the cash counter with a smiling face.

            People speak about developments in technology and urbanization etc etc. But, where do we really stand in terms of humanity? Where are we with respect to inter – personal relationship? What is our position in helping others? There are no chachas to offer a piece of Jilebi free of cost to children, in bakery and sweet shops. There are no akkas, whole – heartedly wishing us ‘Happy Birthday’ when we buy chocolate packets in their shops.

            Present situation is different. Gone are the times when we were given extra candies on our birthday with genuine wishes by the shopkeeper. Nowadays, you cannot get 1 or 2 rupees returned from any shop. “Sorry Sir; no change. Take this chocolate.” This started with 50 paise, went on to 1 rupee, and today, some guys even do this for 5 rupees. Even the fridge in my house contains some 50 chocolates with varying values from 50 paise to 5 rupees. Not one out of them did I intentionally buy.      I wonder how a shopping complex of such a vast reputation could never mind about such petty things. Dad explained me, “There are 1500 – 2000 people, who visit this shop daily, son. Assuming that each person is given a chocolate instead of coins, imagine the profit.” Yeah, I imagined then and, oh gosh, you could even build another small grocery shop within two years only with the money you earned by this ’nahin coins lekin candy’ marketing strategy.

            Even Annachi could have gladly done that on my birthday. He would have earned some 60 rupees more. But, why? BECAUSE HE IS A HUMAN BEING. What are we going to achieve in this world by working in MNCs and earning millions and billions if we don’t mind about these trivial yet taunting things?