MEMORIES FLOODING IN....!!!

            Was at Phoenix Market City with friends yesterday for an important ‘purpose’ (Purpose is highlighted because we middle – class guys usually go to malls primarily to kill time, not to buy something) The God of Cricket, Sachin Tendulkar, was going to play the last ever cricket match of his life time and there was the plausibility of scoring his first ever hundred at Lord’s. To add more grandeur to the occasion, he was captaining the side MCC (Marylbourne Cricket Club) and there were so many other living legends of cricket who were also taking part in this historical match like Rahul Dravid, Adam Gilchrist, Muthiah Muralidaran, Shane Warne, Brett Lee, Shaun Pollock, Brian Lara and many others. We were forced to go out somewhere to witness the game as the required channel was not subscribed in our hostel television.

            There was no certainty on whether the match would be telecast live at the mall. Yet, it was our only hope as we are all Sachinians, mad to do even criminal actions to see him one more time again. Manimaran and Arjun were also bursting with high blood pressure till we reached the food court at the third floor. Oh, wow!!!! There it was going on. But then, there was this embarrassment of sitting idle for about five hours, when people around you were gulping whatever they found nearby. ‘Forget it, guys’, Manimaran told, ’We don’t need food while worshipping God.’ So, we took three convenient seats and started watching the Gentleman’s Game, literally, of late. Rest of the World, shepherded by Shane Warne, batted first and scored a healthy 293. It was really blissful and ecstatic to watch Sachin run around the field vying for the ball like a child. He was enjoying his game and so were we on seeing him. So now, it was the turn of the Little Maestro to step in and deliver the goods for his side, rather, for the whole fraternity of cricket. There he was, padded up with his usual gesture of facing the almighty over the horizon before facing the first delivery. The match was going on well, with the master at full flow. He cut, dove pulled and flicked the opposition bowlers at will. When it was already raining runs, nature interrupted with the shower; Match was put to halt. So, we had no other option but to stick on to our routine of roaming around the various shops without any slightest aim of purchasing something.

            When we wandered around the gigantic air – conditioned heaven, there were things that made me poignant. There were toddlers and infants in the FunCity, playing virtual games. There were rich, ‘I don’t dare to care’ kind of people, who had come there simply to waste money by buying bucket popcorns and crushers in KFC, which, in fair terms, could easily satisfy the hunger and thirst of about 100 poor families. There were even some 60+ veterans trying out pizzas and burgers. This made me rewind to my childhood and neighborhood of those times.

            As I had already mentioned in some other post, I hadn’t had the so – called privilege of being immersed in these interactive virtual environment throughout the day. We mostly enjoyed in the real world, playing our hearts out in the sunny days and moon – lit nights. Till my 10^th standard, it was always cricket in the mornings and afternoons, and hide – and – seek during the nights. We were mostly into several sorts of adventures like climbing up tall compound walls, which were far beyond our heights to reach, and ringing the calling bells of strangers’ homes, which would disturb their peaceful dinner or serene sleep. Eventually, we were at the court of parents, who would pretend to be strict with us for the first two or three days post the incident, after which we would go on with our duty.

            There was an old man who became our target mostly. This man was highly superstitious and orthodox in practice. Once, we rang the doorbell at his home and hid among the bushes of his own garden. He, on thinking that the guests whom he was awaiting, had arrived, opened the door eagerly. Disappointed on seeing nobody, he yelled on top of his throat some traditional Tamil abuses, which only grandmas and grandpas could comprehend. Just then, one of the guys meowed like a cat in a coarse voice, which evidently frightened the old man. He immediately rushed towards the front door and locked it. After sometime, we could hear him speaking to someone though phone, “Don’t come here now. And, I mean it. There have been ominous signs here. I sense danger and threat to your lives. I heard a black cat purring, which I a signal of evil. So, better cancel your plans and come here some time later.” We had tasted the most convincing victory in terms of frightening someone apparently through this man. However, we were found to responsible and ‘punished’ by our parents in the usual way, which I already mentioned.

            As I grew up, so did the number of houses being built. So, we were left with no other option but to play in the streets. This drew flak from our neighbors and we were seen as some aliens who had come on Earth to destroy the whole planet. People had their own reasons: They could not sleep during noon due to our noises, they had to repair glass panes in the windows very often, courtesy the ruthless shots played by us and more. Some started detesting our parents and it went to the extent of even avoiding them totally in some important meetings in the locality. But, we had justifications on our part. “Suggest us at least only one ground, which is entirely empty without even a single house, and we’d play there. Who likes to play in these nasty roads?” In spite of the stern opposition from the whole of the area, we managed to spend every morning in the hot sun. Neither their abuses and grumbles nor our habit stopped.

            There was a lady, who was very brainy in eating at others’ house. She knew the weak point of each residence and went there prepared accordingly. In our house, her chances always broadened when she started speaking sentimentally about her family situation and the regular brawls and difference of opinions with her mother – in – law. She would start by asking, “Can I have a cup of water, please?” Mom would instantaneously offer it; as the tempo of her story increased, so would her menu list. Sometimes this would result in her getting a full dinner. I always wonder how she had such a brilliance, which if used in a beneficial way, would have easily made her an extraordinary diplomatic strategy analyst. However, mom understood her tactics as her stories and gossips became almost the same every day like the mega serials and Harris Jayaraj songs and learnt to avoid her in a polished manner. Now, no person of this kind could be found here because people here never mind about spending money these days for something or nothing. But, there were personalities like this lady, who would spend any amount of time, but not money, to satisfy their needs.

            Recently, during the semester holidays, I had this chance of meeting some of those neighbors who had had a grudge on me during various time periods. The old man, whom we meowed blessed me from the core of his heart and soul, the lady who had once shouted bad about my parents because of my playing cricket near her house and breaking their windows, now greeted me with snacks and coffee. I can still remember that old man saying, “The world has changed entirely. People are in a different mindset and mentality, focusing on only material wealth. Even children younger than you are always engrossed in front of computers. There’s nobody out here to disturb my sleep by ringing the bell. Miss you children.”

There are two wonderful things about elders:

1)    They have the capability to easily make me cry through their words

2)    Only they can fulfill my hunger to the fullest extent other than mom, even by giving bhajjis and a cup of milk, but with unfathomable love and affection, which cannot be compensated by loading the belly with pizzas and cool drinks.

Miss you people!!!

FAIR(Y) TALE

How Rs.10 brought me Rs.535

            I hadn’t witnessed any fairy tale in the real life till yesterday but today was not meant to be usual for several reasons. First of all, I completed all formalities for the hostel re – admissions in the college without any major hiccup and we had an entire day to do whatever we wished (Of course, the first 10 to 15 days of every semester is obviously meant for that), thereby adding my continuous ‘being idle’ days to 57. Voila! I am going to be a senior at college. I wanted that astounding pride to reverberate through the whole of my heart and soul again and again.

            As nobody among us was in a mood to set things in order in our new room, we decide to wash and rinse our sins at the Elliots Beach (OK, no brags here. It is nothing but the Besant Nagar Beach). Although I was angry with my friends for not accepting my plan to go to a movie, whatsoever, I was really bubbling out there with Vikram, Barath, Sandy, Karthik, Venky and others. That was the spot where I always get the nostalgia about the Silver Beach at Cuddalore, my hometown. I never give up in stressing the importance of my native place in this regard.

            To be with your close friends after some gap is emotional and blissful. It was the same here as we started teasing and tormenting each other to the full. There are always contrasting characters in every gang I have been part of since my childhood, and it continues till date. There is this mockery of comparison between the tallest (Ok, here I admit. It’s ME) and shortest, and the fattest and leanest. We spoke about how difficult it was to miss home and the cookeries over there, and there were deep discussions about crushes. And again, friends can also be classified based on this: There are certain guys who say, ‘Machi, I am seriously crazy about her’ whenever they spot a hottie and there are also others, who keep their passionate poetries within their heart, pretending like, ‘I’ve seen many more like them. It’s just boring and usual, mahn’. There is also a rare third category which is really disinterested in girls (I don’t know how. Probably, it’s a medical miracle, I say).

            Luckily, we hadn’t got anyone of the last kind so we began our Call of Duty. I am a combo of both the first and second types. Sometimes, there is the explosion of Shakespeares and Vairamuthus inside myself, making me to mutter unconsciously, ‘Wow…. She’s awesome’, creating a wave of embarrassment around that vibe; at other junctures, I just try and manage to keep calm, playing only the silent, calm symphonies of Beethoven and Ilayarajaa within me, and get irritated when someone ‘wow’s her.

            This was all happening today, too. There was one girl of this ‘mindboggling’ kind. While I was choosing mine from the crowd (thinking of the expressions of my GF if she was beside me), there was an interruption. A beggar-woman was imploring. I couldn’t tolerate her yells so I just looked for some coins in my wallet. Though there was not a single coin, I just did it to attract attention. But then, she said, ‘May your mother live long if there’s something for you to offer this ignorant soul!’ I was shaken literally because mom had already told me in the morning that she was down with low Blood Pressure and that she needed a day off entirely to rest and sleep. Impulse and sentiment forced me to give away 10 rupees. ‘This is for the whole of our gang’, I told her, with my inner voice stating, ‘This is for your good, ma. Miss you very much.’ She then looked at me and the ‘mind-blowing’ girl in periodic miniscule intervals of one second and said sarcastically, ‘May God bless you to get married soon and have many children.’When she had gone to a considerable distance that she had no practical odds of hearing me, I said to the others, ‘Gosh, these girls always make me artificial. Why did I ever search for something which I didn’t really have? Moreover, five is a little too big for a normal family.’ Others were really happy eventually as they had had the last laugh in the battle of girls; I couldn’t attract them effectively.

            One guy thanked me for giving her something, adding, ‘These women will curse us surely if we don’t give them. And, congrats for becoming a family man so soon.’Then, we enjoyed a bit in the water, pulling each other’s legs and falling in the sand. Since there were a few dudes who were not interested in coming, they were simply chatting; we had given our purses, mobiles, ID cards and everything to them. After a 20 minute glittering entertainment, we went in a mad rush of eating everything we could find, right from bajjis to bhel puri. Since the night would not end without a real dinner (i.e. the regular South Indian stuff like idlis and dosas), we dined at a veg hotel.

            When I was fulfilling my hunger hunt with aloo puri, there was a call from an unknown number to my mobile. A man told me in an alerted tone that my college ID was with him. Shock! I was terrified. It was a very serious matter. Missing an ID card meant that I had to face numerous tortures to attend lab classes, implied I would miss several late – night outings with my buddies and last but not the least, I had to wander throughout the college to several offices searching with sheer hope to get a new ID for me. So, I thanked him and said I would be back there at the beach within five minutes.When I went to the place, there was a man who was entirely the opposite figure from what I had imagined earlier. He was about 35, and dressed in a manner, which could neither be termed as flamboyant nor too simple. I thought, on seeing his face-cut, that he was going to abuse and scold me severely to the extent that thoughts of suicide would arise in my mind. But he, in a soft and serene voice, advised me and gave the ID. Shock transformed to surprise within minutes! I had got my ID back; that stranger – turned – acquaintance had saved me 535 bucks (A Demand Draft for 500 plus bank charges 35)

            While I returned, these guys were still enjoying their meal. They all started giggling at me but I just went straight to the guy who had earlier thanked me for saving the gang from the curse of the beggar and said, ‘She’s not a beggar. She was ‘God In Disguise’.’

'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!!!

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 3/4^ths.” 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?”

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)

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.