A HALF - BAKED IDEA

          Before I start, I don't feel this post has any significant meaning or content in it. Nevertheless, if you readers can smell some real stuff in it, do let me know.

          I take immense pride in telling I'm a student of the so - called 'mass geth' Mechanical Engineering Department. Albeit the guys here are funny and hilarious, the subjects are totally rot. So, I always look for some diversions to stay away from the syllabus - related matters. One of the notables is participating in club activities. This has always been my stress - buster till date at CEG apart from chatting and hanging out during weekends.

          In one of the clubs, it was the birthday celebration of some of the seniors over there. As they were 'busy' with their classes and studies, I was vested with the rightful duty of buying cakes for them, of course after getting due amount from them. Yet, the thought of walking for about a kilometer made me feel dizzy as the day had already been screwed by then, courtesy the analytic subjects throughout the morning session. But since I wanted to get somewhere out of college in spite of the scorching sun, I rogered seniors' command and went on.

          One of those dutiful seniors had told me the location of the bakery which told cheap and best birthday cakes. According to him, it was located near a Biriyani Shop in Kotturpuram where I had never eaten (Sometimes, I tend to feel somewhat lonely when buddies dine at non - veg classy restaurants while I am left alone at some Maami Mess). So, I went in search of that shop. Seriously, I didn't know that region contained so many bakeries, which would easily equal the number of stationery and grocery shops in my entire hometown. First, I stepped in at a posh, air - conditioned bakery which had a fashionable name (and aroma, too), but I took a retreat when I just enquired about the price of an one kilogram birthday cake. I could buy a comparitively costly beer with that cost.

          As I did not get the slightest clue about where to buy the cake within the stipulated budget, I made a call to the senior who was the Wrecker In Chief.He just told me some another shop, which sold cakes at reasonable prices (Generally, people have this mindset of deciding the prices they fix in their mind as reasonable and affordable; for example, a guy who owns Google Nexus says 25,000 is a cheap cost for a mobile while I, as the owner of an Xperia C, always insist that any mobile at around 15K - 18K is well and good). Then, I went here and there through the whole of the street, covering every nook and corner out there. Some people even saw me with skepticism that I may be one of those anonymous naxals who reportedly roam around the state of Tamil Nadu. The thought of some others could evidently be read from their facial expressions that they zeroed me as a burglar with a master plan.

          I was sweating profusely and my head seemed to burst in the next 300 seconds. Still, my ego didn't permit me to call the senior back once again and inform him about the muddled situation here. So, I became the deciding authority at that juncture and went into a shop with the sheer intention and hope of buying the desired flavor. Bro had already instructed me not to buy the chocolate flavor at any cost; but I was left with no other choice as it was the only thing available there. I was saturated as if the world had no other place apart from that cake castle. So, I had to buy that unwanted and sure - to - be - condemned flavor by paying some extra dosh from my purse. It hurt me severely because I had planned to satisfy my thirst and desire of drinking fresh juice with that cost.

          Anyway, at least one part of my wish was satisfied. I had had enough of my diversion (eh???!!!) and moreover, I had bought something by spending from my pocket. Pounding with joy, which resulted from my praising myself, I walked back towards the college with a majestic stride. I din't quiet get it right if I was feeling really ecstatic or depressed; but on the contrary, I felt dizzy and numb. "Seriously God, why am I a vegetarian till date? I haven't even equipped myself to know about what are all the non - veg hubs that exist in and around the campus", was my immediate curse towards me.

          When I went with the cake after making them wait so long, to the extent that some guys had then started thinking I had absconded with the money, I handed the cake over to them with a proud smile which was easily overshadowed by sweat and my tired, exhausted eyes. When someone asked me why I was too late, I just replied, "Oh, nothing. Most of the shops were closed. And, I also met with one of my schoolmate, who was gossiping with me all the time." What do you call me?

CHILDISH VETERANS

Let me insist here that I am not a teacher who is in charge of making students comfortable with homophones. But still, there is a complete difference between the terms 'childish' and 'child – like'. I almost went deep in exploring the etymology of these two words due to some of the incidents I faced in the recent past. My friends always say that I act a bit childish sometimes as I tend to get provoked and frustrated too easily. And, certain situations have demanded me to do so. But if someone has the guts to face me directly and say, “You behave childish, mahn”, I definitely am confident that they would have to face the intensity of my slap in their cheek. That is because I got a chance, if not many, to practically experience the meaning of 'being childish'. Back to the scene now.

There are too many incidents but let me not make this post futile by listing out too many of them. During my first year at college, I had the habit of going to my home very often. In one such journey, since I had no smartphone then, I was sitting with newspaper then. An educated retiree sat beside me and was keenly looking at me for sometime as if he had noticed a porn star and was ready to pounce on her. There are some trademark looks and statures for these retired government officials, who think that one might become a scholar and versatile in English if he/she had the habit of reading 'The Hindu' regularly. It was evident that he was of that kind as he, after some period of staring at me, asked openly, “Why do you read all this?” Yeah ok, I felt humiliated because I was going through some latest cine gossips then. So, I threw a look of scepticism and awkwardness towards him, ensuring that it was my right to read any news I wished, being an Indian citizen. But then came the shock. “Why don' you read 'The Hindu' or 'The New Indian Express'? You couldn't get that or...?” He paused there with a thought of hesitation but I could read him by the way he looked. The sentence could be completed in this way. “..... or you don't read English? If at all, do you know anything about English at any cost?” I was reading Dinamalar, the greatest cheeky daily in Tamil, which provides news suitable or satisfying to everyone. But then, his blabbers went on to the utmost extent that he termed people who didn't know English as illiterate and insane.

That was all. I couldn't take anything beyond that. I already have mentioned that I am a bit easy in getting ireful and so I became red – faced and started replying him, or rather abusing and scolding him. It was after sometime that the conductor came and sent him off to another seat. I could hear that senior citizen muttering, “These days, even the toddlers learn more bad words than us elders. Look how he speaks. Doesn't seem to have English knowledge but shows off as if he knows everything!” Luckily for him, I had then started hearing an ARR track, which made me calm and composed, so the brawl didn't continue after that.

I wish to ask this question to all. “Do I or don't I have the freedom and independence to read the newspaper I like? Or by the way, if I don't read 'The Hindu', does it mean that I am fit for nothing and fit for futility? Or, has 'Dinamalar' really lost its importance in the newspaper market?” But, thanks to that man, I now have the benefit of filling up almost one – and – a – half pages in Micorsoft Word. (Take the positives out of everything and get pumped up, mate!!)

Another incident just happened today. I was with two of my best buddies on my way to the canteen when one elderly man stood on our way at a narrow lane. When one of us tried to step beyond that man, he just started shouting at the top of his throat some grammatically perfect sentences in English. “I have come closer to this point than you so you should maybe wait for sometime at the other end decently so that I can cross. Do you understand? After all, I was here before you. Everyone is equal in front of law and justice.” This guy really got embarrassed as there were some chicks in and around there. But then, Dr.B.R.Ambedkar would've felt proud because there was a common man here in the extreme southern part of India, who could speak boldly about law even without knowing what it was really. And moreover, had Mr.Shankar, one of the greatest directors in the history of Kollywood witnessed that scene, he would have seriously mulled on directingAnniyan v2.0, with that man in the lead, though he was bald – headed.

I wondered what on Earth did law had to do in connection with that incident. After all, it was just a blockade by a student, who was innocent and on his way to fulfill his hunger and thirst. After all, it was just about a foot difference that really mattered. After all, even that man could have let us pass through. He, on thinking himself to be superior to us, had actually landed himself so small in our hearts. How could a person of approximately 40 years of age behave in such a silly and trivial manner? If it was our bound duty to let him go, then the same was his duty, too. But, this sense of ego, which has become so common to us, is spoiling golden chances of building great, ever – lasting relationships between people from various walks of life. Egoism is particularly dominant among the people of 30 – 40, I say.

I face a lot of difficulties in buying grocery and vegetables these days. Reason: I have to wait patiently for about half – an – hour just to get some 100 ml of oil or salt or whatever. “You're a child. Why can't you wait for some more time? These people have other works.” As if children like us are always idle and lazy, wandering around there with no real purpose and aim? And then, I have this doubt also. How long am I going to be called a child? See, I have joined college; I have got my own two – wheeler and mobile (Most children today get these in their very early days. So, maybe let's not include this point); and I have even voted in an election, expecting acche din. So, I am not a child and I am busy. Try snubbing me by telling some other reasons but not this, please.

            Once, I was in a hotel with my friends. A family of three people were dining in the next table. After eating to the full, the dad paid the bill and was about to leave when their child, a boy who might be somewhere around his fifth grade, shouted, “Why don’t you tip the waiter?” The matured dad tried to calm him down by saying that the bill had already crossed the expecte budget so it was not the time to tip the server. But, this adamant guy asked a question which made me motionless for almost five whole minutes.”If we can’t pay some ten rupees for a poor fellow, why the hell do we spend about 500 bucks lavishly in eating? After all, you get incentives and allowances in your office. Have you ever denied them? If so, let’s go. Else, this waiter has to be given some allowance, now.” That was like Lord Muruga enlightening His Dad, Lord Shiva the Pranav Matra, Aum. My hand was waiting there near my mouth, willing to fill it with dosa pieces but then I was immobile. Only when the man took out a ten – rupee – note from his pocket and handed it over to the waiter did the dosa go inside my throat.

            There are lots more. Really, I don’t want to get into the debate of whether the technology is a boon or bane for children but even infants are well – equipped today. If they could think about satisfying the hunger of a poor fellow, then that isn’t something very ordinary.  So, do never try to snap them by telling, “You are still a child.”

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.