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.

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.

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.

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 1^st 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!!!

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 11^th and 12^th 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 12^th 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?

BEING A SIX - FOOTER.....

            Was at the beach today with my buddies. Chilling out with friends whom we haven’t met for quite some time makes it even more jubilant. Usually, the topics of conversation follow in this fashion: regular regards, reviews about recent movies, sports (mostly cricket) and finally girls. We guys never break traditional conventions and so stuck on to the same routine.

            When the first one was asking me if I am committed, another guy quickly interrupted with an ‘ssssshhhhh’ tone, as if the former had spoken something which was a national secret. He continued, “Don’t ever ask him, machi. Look how tall he is! Do you still believe he is single roaming around here like us? Girls usually like these tall guys, don’t you know that?”

            I don’t know about the psychology of girls, and even if they like tall guys (which I keenly expect), I ain’t going to continue on that. I wanted to counter him with a very strong retaliation, but since I love being called a ‘lover boy’, I let them tease me for a while.

            “Bozos, do you know how difficult it is to be surviving as a tall human being?” – My mind was raging. “Leave it, bud. Anyway, they’re my friends”, I replied. But, my mind is a guy who never gives up. There he was, constantly jumping up and down inside the cranium, and so I am forced to write on this.

            Being a six – footer may seem an advantage to the outer world. But, it is more of a hardship, a ‘challenge to survival’. As I belong to this kind, I feel proud to represent my ‘community’ (Well, what else can I use here?). I have constantly gone through this horror, right from the day I reminisce.

            I am not aware of the present day buses, but once, there was a 50% discount for children of height below 130 cm. Sadly, I never enabled mom and dad to enjoy the benefits of this offer once I crossed eight (or nine, maybe). At one or two junctures, mom had argued with the conductor stating my age factor, but always in vain.

            My age, height and the number of problems due to my height all bear a direct proportionality. They have always and still are increasing at a constant rate gradually. I spotted this during my tenth standard, when I was unable to place my legs comfortably in the space between successive seats, while sitting in a bus. This has ever since deprived me of the bliss of enjoying sceneries through the window seat. Since I need more ample space for my legs to have a convenient posture, I always prefer the other corner round so that I could be free enough to stretch my legs into the passengers standing area. In congested buses, where people stand in every nook and corner of the bus, such that you cannot even search for a one – rupee coin that accidentally fell off your shirt pocket, I don’t have the privilege of stretching my legs. Alas!!! That travel would always make me ireful.

            Understanding my problem, my loving parents made an alternate arrangement, which we all thought would be a solution. They fixed taxis for rent whenever we toured. But, I couldn’t bend my legs sufficiently due to the ground clearance of the cars.

            For travelling short distances in buses, I would rather prefer standing in buses. Even the pain caused due to standing is tolerable when compared to the suffering during sitting. But, private buses do not provide this ‘welfare scheme’. They are usually shorter in height than the government ones so I always end up hitting and banging my head against the roof at least once or twice. Now, in MTC buses, that stance is also not possible, as most of them have these hanging holders, which look like the ‘ropes for hanging traitors’. I clang my head against one or two holders and it becomes a funny spectacle. During one such awkward moment, one or two toddlers even guffawed at me.

            One pleasant day rarely goes off without this question being asked. “Do you have any back spasms or sprain?” Only people like me know that when you are tall beyond a certain limit, there comes a natural hunch (Please do not recollect ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’; this isn’t that serious). When I try to walk normally like others, although with much effort, I mostly end up looking like a pot – belly because when my head becomes stiff and straight enough, the belly protrudes forward (You tend to recollect the Raman Effect, right? ‘When a monochromatic light falls on a………. blah blah’)

            This ‘uniqueness’ (this is how I console myself) follows even at public places like temples. When I try to reach out to the Almighty at a shrine, somebody would shout from behind. “You…! Stand normally. Don’t you want the others also to have a peaceful darshan?” How could I ever find a way of standing normal when I am already doing just that?

            In movie theatres, this would get to the supreme intensity. My hero would enter the scene and would be fighting ten to twenty rogues at a time. When I try to be erect so as to watch the stunts convincingly and applaud (Usually, whistles are effective only if you keep your head and throat straight), a ‘fan’ from the back seat would yell, “***#%!!! Sit down, bloody. I have paid for the ticket, too”. As if I bought a ticket worth 100 or 120 bucks just to spoil his happy mood. I come out of most of the movies only with an evil remark from someone, mostly from people stronger than me, so I never retaliate.

            This goes on and on. ‘Comedy Nights With Kapil’ would garner at least 50 episodes if I continue talking about my problems. Do you still want to be that guy, who is much attractive to girls, but has to face these many hardships?

                                  THE REAL ENTERTAINMENT…..

            “Hurray… Semester holidays”, I shouted, when my last exam eventually got over on May 5^th. Reason(s)… I had 56 ‘worth nothing’ days (which I always love to the core). And, I am going to be a ‘SENIOR’ after that. But, FATE got to have heard me. “Hey dude…. What makes you laugh? Let me show you the other side of holidays”. Too cruel!!! Not manly at all!!!

            So, it all began with this fact that only we CEGians were granted holidays and the other guys from affiliated colleges were going through ‘the terrible’ study holidays. Shock!!! “OK, calm down, buddy. Still, you can roam around the town, wandering with no meaningful aim”. My mind always assumes things wrong. Yeah, it was shell – shocking to find that my bicycle had been sold to someone. More shock!!! This cycle, I bet, had been my best companion since my 7^th standard. Oh, I never even called it a cycle.. That was my ZIPTHRU!!! I could write a novel with what all I did and achieved with my Zipthru. It bore equal patented values of all my teenage ‘accomplishments’.

            “Never mind. You always have the Splendor+, dear”. How lightning-y my brain is!! But, that was not to be. Dad needed Splendor+ almost every day. SNAP!! Shocks lined up!! Though he offered me temporary ownership, I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. So, I had nothing now. My friends would be free only after June 13^th, and I had to spend the whole of a month in solitude.

            So, there I was, always glued to the PC. As I had to kill time somehow, I surfed through the whole of this beast to find out that some movies, which I had already seen umpteen times, were stored. Let me watch it one more time. Who cares? So, I started with ‘3 Idiots’. Hold on!! Why didn’t fate do something to spoil my day? By then, there it was.

The noble Logitec speakers became dumb and numb all of a sudden. WTF?? Shit!! Filthy B****RD. And, I started doing all kinds of futile mechanisms to bring it back to life. (Mechanisms?? Oh, nothing.. Don’t look at me like that. It was the usual ‘increase and decrease of the volume trigger’ followed by ‘repeated unplugging and re-plugging of speakers into the port’). They didn’t budge at all, flibbertigibbets.

            God, what am I to do now? Flash!!! Wow, EUREKA!!! I continued watching 3 Idiots without the aid of sound (4^th idiot, eh??) The movie was progressing. Flight hijack by Maddy, water tank meet, flashback, intro of Rancho (THE RAGGING SCENE).. Bingo!! I was enjoying the movie. Frankly. It was nice, actually awesome. Those 162 minutes also gave me the usual experience and feel of watching a movie (May be, that was because I had almost memorized the sequences and even most of the dialogues).

            But then, I realized that I was getting even more absorbed and poignant with the flow of the movie. I felt that I noticed more about the locations, costumes, various characters et al. Even the least bothered character enchanted and thrilled me. Oh, there’s something with this, buddy. So, I decided to watch it one more time in the same fashion.

Yipppeee!!! During the time of play, I watched it like always. But, after watching, you always have these afterthoughts and self-comments about any movie. At that moment, I kind of felt that I have never really observed a movie like this. I had opinions about each and every scene, the way in which lightings were used too much in some scenes, the various camera angles and more. This was not the end. I tried out an intensified stranger version of this immersive experience.

            I converted the movie into MP3 format and stored it in my mobile. There are always power-cuts, dear!! Xperia C came in handy. I literally ‘heard’ the movie for the entire 162 minutes, and it was memorable. Though I am not aware of even the basics of Hindi, I realized how valuable dialogues are for a movie, in general. I noticed the voice modulations, and particularly, this guy Omi Vaidhya (Silencer) had done a rock and roll performance here. His sarcasm, superiority complex, being nerdy and everything were awesome. I was just thoroughly enjoying his part. And, Boman Irani (Virus)… Damn, how does he actually ‘incorporate’ those snake – hissing expressions in his somewhat nasal twang?

            The BGM, which seemed alien during the audio-visual type of watching, seemed to perfectly sync with the course and plot now. Songs were all good. The pleasant voice of Sonu Nigam had a soothing effect all through the movie.

            After 3 Idiots, I did the same with some other movies, too. Thuppakki, Endhiran and OKOK are some of them. There was no difference between the gigantism of a Shankar movie or the boom of a Vijay starrer now. They were all movies. Jagdish was not Vijay now, because I was never seeing the movie. Sanaa was not Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. Vaseegaran was Vaseegaran and Chitti was just Chitti.

            So, here I am, drawing conclusions. This would seem futile and foolish for people, but to me, it was really great, fantafabulous, I would rather say. I was slowly getting involved with each and every character. There was no superstar to make us focus only on him. Everyone was a character, after all. There was more of sensibility rather than sensitivity (judging a movie based on a particular artist).

            I came out of my prejudice. Just because a movie features Rajni doesn’t make it a blockbuster. Now, there was no anti-Vijay, or anti-Ajith thing. This problem arises only when we view movies as a ‘visual medium’. Seriously, I got to say that Vijay as Jagdish, has done a great deal in Thuppakki.

            These so-called intellectual reviewers always criticize Indian movies by comparing them with Hollywood stuff. This has to be etched everywhere, at least for them to comprehend. A MOVIE IS A CONGLOMERATE OF MANY ARTISTS. Let us not speak about a ‘complete movie’ without completely enjoying it in all respects. Let us not be monotonous in writing comments and abusing a movie.