THOSE TWO YEARS: A MEMOIR

            Life always becomes topsy-turvy for Tamil Nadu students once they cross their 9^th grade at school, especially for Matric guys. But, it transformed me from a geek to a natural teen. 9^th and 10^th 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 10^th 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 11^th. 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 10^th, 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 6^th 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 11^th 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 11^th 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 12^th. 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 12^th 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

10^th. 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)