A BLOCKED WRITER

Chennai is not the right place to place your thoughts on to the paper. The frequent honking of the innumerable vehicle and the choking smoke let out by these motor beasts, the horrible heat and the headache it gives has been a major setback for me as a writer.  So I have decided to leave this place for the sake of my debut novel. I bet this could be a classic and could run into major international book fests and awards because I have the confidence in its characters and the basic premise. It’s unique and like none other which I believe could win not only the hearts of the ordinary readers but the most critical critics as well. But my only worry is in penning it down, which badly requires a calm atmosphere and peace of mind. So I’ve decided to ask my manager for five days off which I had to beg him for and finally had to be content for unpaid leave. Let my book get published and become a top contender of all literary fests, I’ll resign in style and he will regret being mean to me.

Now where could be the best place to write my story was the next thing lingering in my mind. A resort in a hill station somewhere in Himalayas or in Ooty is out of my mind because affordability is a huge issue and travelling could lose my precious time as well. Goa and Pondicherry did cross my mind but I wish I write sober. So I needed a place where I feel my own and where I don’t have to spend a lot of money and where else could be it other than my home. But being home has its disadvantages too. Once if my buddies get to know I am home, then that is enough for my novel to stay as an idea forever. Then I zeroed in my mother’s house which lies adjacent the calm backwater surrounded by lush green trees and paddy fields.  The house clad with old roof tiles and wooden pillars gave a constant chillness that is seldom found in the modern day houses.  The balcony which overlooked the slow paced backwater could be the ultimate place to write my saga of romance. I decided to pack my bags and leave to my grandmother’s abode.

I was welcomed with a light drizzle and the crying of crickets on a cool dark evening. Ammamma (Grandmother) was worried and was expecting me to come long before than I said I would come. She welcomed my home coming with a platter of kanji (rice porridge), coconut chamanthi (chutney), chutta papadam, kanni maanga achar (mango pickle) and mathi (sardine) fry. I didn’t tell her I ate poratta and chicken curry on the way as it could disappoint her and anyway I don’t want to reject the feast from the world’s greatest cook. I ate to my heart’s content. Ah! Welcome home. Now I can write well. I went to the room upstairs through the creaking stairs and changed my clothes to fit into a lungi. The room had belonged to my uncle who had long left the place long back for a career abroad. But his presence inside is hard to ignore. All his books, magazines, framed photographs, medals and trophies were all intact and displayed an era of sporty young generation which gave way to useless apple, android generation like ours.

I picked up one of his 1983 edition of ‘illustrated weekly’ that had a scantily clad, mesmerizing actress on the cover page. Well, it was the enchanting Rekha displaying a cover story of her tete-a-tete with Mahesh Bhatt. I briefed through the yellowish moth eaten pages looking at the celebrities of yesteryear's who do not even appear in any of the hundreds of weeklies produced in India now. Beautiful remnants of a bygone era.  By the time I ended the weekly, my eyes started feeling weak and desperately wanted to shut off fighting against my mind’s wish. I needed to begin my story somehow. I voluntarily stood up neglecting the sleep and opened up my bag to get a pen and paper, only to realize I haven’t bought any of them here from Chennai. Anyway it was late night and I was tired of all that travelling and heavy dinner so I gave myself to the call of sleep. 

That could have been one of the best sleep I've had after a long time. Reluctant to get out of my bed, I found that my legs were cold and realized I have lost my lungi I was wearing. I found it underneath the bed, made a blanket out if it, tried going back to sleep and didn't bother to find out how it went under the bed. I woke up a minute later only to find the aroma of vegetable stew from the kitchen downstairs. It could be either puttu or velaappam today. The windows to my room were open and I could see the overcast sky. It’s going to rain again today. I took a deep breath and finally decided to step out from the bed. I need to go to the local market, angadi as we call it here to get a pen and a book. But there was no hurry and that could be done after the breakfast as well.

I went to the kitchen to see what was cooking. As I guessed, it was puttu. Ammmamma handed me over a black coffee and ordered me to brush my teeth before I have any of the breakfast. I had forgotten to take my brush from Chennai, thus I had to pick up a young leaf fallen from a mango tree, folded it and bite it to make bristles at the end. This leaf I dipped it in the tooth paste and brushed in minutes to attend the holy breakfast. The yummy hot food was in my table now. The vegetable stew cooked with pure coconut milk and pinch of pepper had already watered my mouth. I grabbed the puttu and crushed it with my full hands, poured the vegetable stew dominated by potatoes. Papadoms were also on the way. This was bliss! After consuming around two kutti puttu I thought about retiring from today’s breakfast. Not because I was full, but I felt like leaving some for my ammamma and also I had a lot to write today. A full stomach may interrupt the flow of my thoughts.

The nearest angadi was around 2 kilometres away and it was a perfect day to take a walk. Starting from home, I strolled through the muddy damp road amidst the drizzling. Unlike Chennai or other big cities the water never get clogged in these villages even if it rains heavily for days, as they have the huge paddy fields to accumulate all the rain that are poured to them.  As I was walking I came across Damu chetan’s chaya kada (tea shop) where Bhaskaran chetan was sipping his podi chaya and reading Mathrubhumi. Hearing my footsteps he took his head from the newspaper and stared at me moving his spectacles slightly down to his nose. ‘HA! Achu’, he cried out. I stopped to acknowledge him with a smile.

“inji eppa vanne?” (when did you come?)

“innale vaikuneram” (yesterday evening)

“inji madrasu thanne alleyoli? (You are in Madras only know?)

“athe, madrasil thanneya” (Yes in Madras, only)

“ayisheri. Ninaku innu paripaadi onnu illenkil ente kude pori. Nalla nadan mullan pannine vayalinnu kittikki. Frying preparation nadannukonduirukua. Ayinde kuda nalla ippo chethiya panamkallum” (Ok! If you do not have any program today come with me. We have got a good porcupine from the field. The preparation for frying is going on. Also nice palm toddy is on the way)

An offer I can’t refuse. Bhaskaran chetan has caught me at the right place. I didn’t leave my mind to wander for any second thoughts and gave myself into this crime.

I couldn’t help looking and feeling sorry for the poor animal getting fried. But curiosity took over and I wanted to try how a porcupine tasted. Bhaskaran chetan’s friends were trying their best to keep the open fire from rain with their umbrellas. The meat cut in small pieces were getting fried in hot coconut oil. The toddy arrived in bottles which were being distributed in tall glasses. Bhaskaran chetan was content drinking the white liquid from the bottle. After few rounds and fully cooked porcupine, the party mood came up. Bhaskaran chetan started talking about his old escapades during his army days. His adventure in Kashmir during the post war days, where he came face to face with a Lashkar-e-taiba cadre and missed the bullet in inches has been the story he would have told us over and over. But still, his narration seems fresh every time he recites on his bravery. After when I realized neither Bhaskaran chetan nor his friends were aware of what is going around them, I made my escape from the camp. My head was spinning because of the intoxication that the toddy gave. I should have stopped with one single glass. Now, how am I going to write? I headed home where my ammamma would be wondering where her kid had gone. I ran straight upstairs to my uncle’s room and made sure ammamma had got a glimpse of me but no smell of my breath.

“Eda, ninakku choru vende?” (Don’t you want your lunch) she cried from downstairs.

“Bhaskaran chetante aduthuninnu kazhichu” (I had from Bhaskaran chetan’s place).

I dried myself with a towel and changed my wet clothes and fell flat on to the bed! Desperate sleep was calling for a relief from the unpleasant intoxication the white milky thing presented.

I woke up at 8 pm in the night, only to find darkness around. It took a while for me to understand the power had gone and we were in dark. It was a heavy downpour outside and floor was all wet as I had forgotten to close the windows. I remembered I had missed my lunch that noon and I was terribly hungry now. Wondering what ammamma would have cooked for the supper I struggled through the pitch dark way hitting my toes to the each half opened doors I pass through. I saw the dim light of an illuminated candle from the kitchen. Ammamma was silently doing all her chores and saw me coming up with a face still asking for more sleep.

“Enthoru orakkado ?” (Look at your sleep!), She commented.

“Ammamme, thinnan enthinkilum thaa”(Please give me something to eat), I ordered her in reply.

“Uchaketha chorum curryum baaki undu, eduthu thinno” (left over rice and curry are there, eat them)

I helped myself in serving the rice and curry. It was a simple tomato curry cooked with butter milk that tasted heaven. After finishing the light supper I went to the veranda of the old house to catch the rain more closely. Sitting in my late grandfather’s king size wooden chair and looking out in to the oblivion where rain was pouring was certainly the most beautiful of all things that our eyes can witness. I closed my eyes slowly listening to the music made by the rain falling on the mud tiles of our roofs and the screeching of crickets. I got high and slept off.

Couple of days more passed with no electricity in the entire village. Days spent on ammammas mouth-watering nadan delicacies, Bhaskaran chetan’s stories of bravery, Illustrated weekly’s yesteryear's articles and pictures of enchanting actresses, Damu chetan’s podi chaayas and bondas and the invincible rain of my mother’s village which bought me the joy and peace I had craved for a long time but never knew where to find till then. My fingers didn't move to write a single word to the paper I bought from the angadi. It was the final day and I had my train in the evening to go back to my monotonous routine life.

Oh! How unfortunate would the world be to miss the classic that I was supposed to begin here? Anyway I have got the right inspiration for the inception of the novel which I believe I can easily do when I go back. Bidding bye to ammamma and her lovely village, I looked back at the days I spent here. The days of euphoria which were my own possession that nobody could have taken away from me which I left for the days of pressure, stress and isolation of a mad crowd. Let my saga of romance hit the stores, I’ll resign in style.

MY FIVE

My take on 'My five' favorite movies ever made, which came on The Hindu Metroplus recently.

Pan’s Labyrinth

Guillermo del Toro

It is 1944 in Fascist Spain and little Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) who is fascinated with fairy-tales and fantasies is sent along with her pregnant mother to live with her cruel stepfather who serves the Spanish army. During a night at her new home she meets a fairy who takes her to an old faun in the centre of Pan’s labyrinth. The faun gives her three tasks to prove her royalty as he claims her to be a princess. If she fails in them she can never get to see her true father who is a king. The movie follows the mysteries and adventures of Ofelia through the labyrinth to a jaw-dropping end.

Black Friday

Anurag Kashyap

Black Friday is perhaps the beginning of the neo-realistic genre of films being produced in India. Banned and then re-released in 2007, Black Friday revolves around the bomb blast that rocked Bombay on March 12, 1993. The docu-drama based on the book of the same name by Hussain Zaidi portrays the police investigation led by DCP Rakesh Maria (Kay Kay Menon) in tracking down the suspects, Badshah Khan and Tiger Memon who are said to have perpetrated the blasts across the city.

Se7en

David Fincher

This Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt starrer is a film about two detectives in search of a serial killer who justifies his killings as absolution for the world’s ignorance of the seven deadly sins. What makes this movie work is the dark and chilling atmosphere it creates throughout and the surprises that bring about the climax.

Amelie

Jean-Pierre Jeunet

Amelie is a modern-day fairytale of the girl who works as a waitress in Paris and who is charmed by the little things around her. A bright and colourful film, Amelie is a classic that stars the charming Audrey Tautou in the lead. With perfect comic moments and a flawless narration Amelie brings alive the child in every one of us.

Let The Right One In

Tomas Alfredson

In the suburb of Blackeberg in Stockholm, 12-year-old Oskar is a lonely boy who gets bullied at school. He befriends his neighbour Eli who only appears at night in the playground of their building. Oskar finds out that Eli is not just a girl his age but a vampire almost 200 years older than him. Its captivating storyline and the inherent innocence of its lead, may have inspired The Twilight Seriesbut the film is a far greater piece of work than Stephenie Meyer’s saga of romance.

Those that almost made it

The Lives of Others: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

The Godfather: Francis Ford Coppola

Seven Samurai: Akira Kurosawa

Finding Nemo: Andrew Stanton, Lee Unkrich

Cinema Paradiso: Giuseppe Tornatore

Company: Ram Gopal Verma

BEEDIS AND CRACKERS

My father was very adamant on not to send any money this month. Thrown to a Siberian corner of Tamilnadu to learn engineering, I was constantly fretting this decision of mine or fathers or whoever it is. Ever since pappa found out I was into smoking and drinking, he stopped sending me any money altogether. The room rent was to be paid, the cable got cut and I was terribly hungry. All I had left was rs.217 in my torn purse. These days I took a liking to smoke cheap beedis. So there I was, a beedi between my fingers and puffing smoke contributing for the heating up of the globe along with the others in the neighborhood who were firing crackers for the diwali.

I sat in the verandah numbly enjoying the fire works in display. Suddenly a hoarse voice diverted my attention.

“Sakhave theepetti undo?” (Comrade, do you have a match box?)

The guy wasn’t wearing a shirt and his ribs wanted to fight the skin and come out desperately. He was wearing a pale faded lungi which would have never seen a drop of water ever since his dad had bought him for his 10^th birthday. The smell of the monitor brandy was in the air. ‘Monitor’ was the cheapest and hardest to drink alcohol you will get around. Understanding his desperation, I raised my hands to give him the cigarette lighter I had.

“Oh! So rich, huh!” exclaimed the drunken fellow looking at my lighter.

“Can I have the beedi too?” said he and I reluctantly gave him one.

Happily he lighted his beedi. Standing like a snake of a snake charmer puffing out a smoke he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Joy” I replied.

“Nice name. I am Nibu from Thiru..Thiruvenna..Tirivenra…che..che…”

“Thiruvananthapuram?”

“Ah! That’s it! Where are you from?”

“I am from Kozhikode”

Nibu laughed cupping his mouth ridiculing me, “Koyikode kundan!”

“And why are you not home for diwali?”

“Nothing, certain problems with my father”

“Ha! Ditto! Same thing, even I have problems in my house. Guess today we are the only malayalees in this whole neighborhood.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Actually I live in the next house and I am having some crackers with me. I’ll bring it in a while. You people are having a good terrace. Don’t you? We’ll blow them from here.”

I was not into firing crackers and this fellow had taken the peace of my mind I craved for so long. Before even I could reject his invitation to fire crackers, he had gone off to get them from his room.

I had always avoided annoying people like him and they always keep coming back to vex you. No wonder I didn’t know any other malayalee students in the neighborhood than my roommates.

Nibu came back with a polythene bag containing ‘loose’ padakkam (Crackers that look like tiny dynamite wrapped up in red paper) and a bottle of brandy – MONITOR.

“Joyee, get me a bottle of water and also keep that lighter with you and come to terrace.” Nibu ordered me.

I went in to the kitchen, got a bottle and poured some water from the pipe that was connected to the Kaveri River nearby sparing the drinking water for my own needs.

With the lighter and the bottle I went to the roof where Nibu was waiting for me eagerly. He snatched the bottle in my hand and sat on the floor. Nibu poured his last few drops of the brandy into a steel tumbler which he had very cleverly tucked inside his lungi. He poured the water carefully, took a sip from the tumbler and went on to put his hands into his lungi to get a 1 rupee aachi lemon pickle. The sachet pickle had been sucked to the core. Nibu tried his might to get the last few fillings inside the sachet and almost chewed it whole. Next he offered me the brandy. I declined. The first and last time I had monitor brandy, I had puked very badly and woke up the next day with a volcanic eruption in my head. Both of us were happy for my rejection. In the next sip Nibu completed whatever was left inside the tumbler. I was awestruck. He stood up and went on to get the crackers. He placed the cracker above our cemented water tank and fired with the cigarette lighter. BOOM! It burst. After firing five of them, Nibu handed over the lighter to me and cajoled me to light the cracker.

“Come on dude! Be a brave man.”

Reluctantly I took one and placed it on the tank and fired it with the lighter. Before even I could take my hands from the cracker, it burst BOOM! I screamed in pain. I thought my fingers had burst along with the cracker. Luckily it was intact and had burnt quite badly.

Nibu came running towards me with the water bottle in his hand. He spilled the water to the burned part of my fingers and kept apologizing.

“I am sorry, man. I know this is because of me, I am really sorry.”

“Its okay!” I said and screamed in pain.

Nibu lifted his lungi and reached for a loose tip and tore the lungi. With the dirty piece of the cloth he wrapped up my fingers. He helped me to get to my room and I lied on the bed. After few apologies Nibu left me alone. Ah! Peace of mind at last. The pain in the burnt finger was receding and just when I closed my eyes for a long nap, someone knocked at the door.

“Eda Joyee, this is me, Nibu. It’s very urgent, open the door.”

Swearing at him silently I got up from my bed and went to the door. Nibu was looking worse now, with a blood shot eyes and disheveled hair he almost scared me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Dude, I need to go home urgently, my mother is very sick. I’ll be back this Monday.”

Before I could say anything he came up with the favor I was expecting. “Joy, can you help me? Can you give 200 rupees? I’ll return as soon as I come back. Please!”

I have been real mean to people before, but his helplessness made me sympathize. I gave him the 200 rupees I had and 17 rupees was all that was left with me. Two more days for Monday.

“Dude, bring it on Monday, I am totally bankrupt.” I ordered Nibu.

“Definitely. I’ll bring the money. Its so urgent. That’s why. And thanks a lot brother.” Nibu replied.

And after surviving on few biscuits and some water came, Monday.

I immediately went to the next door and knocked. A big fat fellow with the face of a baby opened the door, “Who are you?” He asked.

“Is Nibu home?” I questioned.

The other roommates came out to see their new malayalee visitor.

“There is no one named Nibu here.” Said the fat fellow.

“What? Nibu from Trivandrum. The skinny, curly haired guy.”

“I am sorry brother. Its only us in this room.”

I gaped each one of them with grief. None of them looked like Nibu.

Now fully understanding the situation and what an idiot I have been, I slowly walked away, went inside my room and locked myself in.

I took my beedi and lighted it. I was starving.

LIFE'S CALLING

“Dear amma & appa,
By the time you read this, your daughter Priya will be no more. I know it’s very hard for you to take. I’ve tried, I’ve tried my best and I guess it’s better to throw away your life than staying a dead wood. I am sorry pa, I am sorry ma. Tell Sindhu I love her.
Bye
Priya”

Priya stood there at the edge of the cliff, staring at the rocks that floated on the sea far below. She had to be strong to make the weakest of all decisions. Not a drop of tear left her eye. All these two decades of betrayal was enough for her and there wasn’t a drop left in her eye to be shed.
First it was appa.
“But appa, I wanted to do become a journalist”, cried Priya.
“Priya, with that rank, you will get admission in the city’s best medical college. And are you a fool to go for journalism? What guarantee do you have in it? And what would the people say?”
Priya stayed there in silence. Like always, no one argued to pa.
Then it was amma.
“All the time you are in front of the TV or computer. Have you ever thought of helping your mom in the kitchen? I know you are up to something with some boys in that computer, you wretched girl.”
“Amma, these are just friends. I am not up to anything.”
“Hmm! Friends. Girl! Even I’ve crossed your age and I know very well what is going on in your mind.”
And then it was Balu,
“Oh! Priya, I thought you were…oh…and Priya meet Monica, she’s a eh…eh…”
“Enough Balu! Just continue, continue kissing your new babe!”

But Sindhu was the sweetest being of all. She will miss her. No! It will be Sindhu who will miss her. How can someone dead miss somebody? Priya hoped her sister wouldn’t end up with this fate.
The giant red sun was beginning to go under the sea. The silhouette of the ubiquitous trees and hills around would be the ultimate sight any eye could see. But Priya chose not to watch them and closed her eyes, left herself to float in the air.

Thud! What a miracle! An overgrown branch with a leaf as big as a bed in the middle of the cliff! Priya clinched to the branch tightly. The Gods didn’t want her to end the life so soon. She thought how stupid she was. Suicide was not an answer to anything. She was six feet below the edge of the cliff. Priya climbed it with the fortitude she never realized she had. She reached the top and kicked herself for coming up with something like this and thanked her God for saving her. It started raining and Priya started to run towards her home.
How beautiful the rain was! The gentle touch it made to her skin. The smell it made with the soil. The sound it made when it hit the leaves. And the breathtaking sight it provided to the eyes which seldom sees good. Priya loved them all. At home she saw her mother ready to scold her naughty little daughter. Priya planted a kiss on her mother’s cheeks before she could open her mouth and whispered in her ears, “I love you, amma!”
Her father was sitting in the couch, catching his daily dose of evening news. He was interrupted when a girl came and gave him a tight hug and heard her whisper “I love you pa”, which was something no one else said to him before.
Priya ran off to her room and gave a tight hug to her sister.
“Oh! You made me all wet.” groaned Sindhu.
With the exaltation of reclaiming her life, Priya went to the balcony to feel the rain. But it wasn’t raining and not evens a drizzle. There was no appa, amma or Sindhu. The sea had adopted her soulless body. Her dream of a second had vanished. Priya had set with the sun, deep under the water.

The last night stand of a dejected lover

It might have been midnight and the rain was on full swing. I stumbled to get through my way and got all soaked in water. All I had with me was an old pen torch to guide me through the slippery path which wasn’t of much use in this heavy rain. I was terribly cold, but it didn’t matter anymore because when the sun rises I would be no more. Struggling through the thorny grasses and muddy water, I stepped on to a metallic lump and felt the coldness of this metal through my naked feet and I knew I had reached my destination. I laid down keeping my head and feet to the parallel rail and waited for the train. Far away in the cry of the rain I heard the hooting of a train to which my heart skipped a beat. I’ve waited for trains before but they were in the stations and that too for short journeys. But here in this merciless rain lying on the railway line I was waiting for the biggest journey of my life.

Molykutty, you might be enjoying your first night with your hubby, but poor Balettan is here counting his last minutes in the rain. I was crying along with the clouds, but who cared what I was doing or feeling. I felt this decision of mine a hefty and a right one. Just then I remembered, the note I had written was penned with an ink pen, which is now getting soaked in water. I wondered what a fool I was.

Lying on the rail and getting showered by the chilling rain, I started thinking about Molykutty. Those wonderful days we spent together. Molykutty’s face was all that I could see in the dark. Her long hair and mesmerizing eyes flashed in my mind. I thought about our frequent outings, small chats and my perpetual visits to the ladies hostel to give her a scare. Both of our favourite poet was ‘Balachandran Chullikadu’, both of us loved Sreenivasan’s movies and lauded MT’s writings (though I’ve never read any). Both of us preferred tea to coffee and our favourite colour was white. But they are all past and didn’t matter any more. What mattered more was our religion. She was a Christian and I, a Hindu. I wonder who created all these religions. But what hurt me more was that she didn’t accompany me to run away. She was weeping. And her Appan, a bastard took her from me. She could have rejected her family and come with me, but she didn’t. May be, she was right in her decision. A gulf settled NRI is much better than an unemployed with a torn pocket. I started crying again, but it was useless to weep in this rain and I waited for the train.

The smell of the rusty rail was vexing me, I thought of tolerating as it was the last few hours of my life and I need to be patient. But later I found out that the smell was not of the rusty rail. Some son of a bitch had defecated there in the morning and the odour was penetrating my nose. When I couldn’t stand this anymore, I stood up and walked a bit ahead and laid there and made sure no shit was around this time. Then once again I remembered Molykutty. We first met in a train. We were reading the same book and it was Molykutty who started the conversation. Anyway who cares about it now? Tomorrow the world will read about an unidentified dead body. And now, why did I write that suicide note in an ink pen. But then it struck me, that pen was gifted by Molykutty.

The rain stopped and I slept off. Hours later, I woke up. Everything was white and the sky was dazzling my eyes. Was this the heaven? A dark fellow with a big mustache appeared in my vicinity. I identified him as the lord Yama.

“Njan evidaya?” (Where am I?), I asked him.

“Thaniku urangan vere stalam kittiyilledo?”(Didn’t you get any other place to sleep?), he asked me.

I looked down and answered him in silence.

Then he said something revealing.

“Farm housil kackoos illathathukondu, njangal e ozhinja railila karyam sadhikal” (As there isn’t any toilet in the farm house, we defecate here on this abandoned rail.)

“Ayye!” was my spontaneous reply.

Totally embarrassed, I stood up and started walking towards home.

My old mother was waiting for me.

“Evide ayirunnu?” (Where were you?), she questioned me.

“Mazha ayathu kondu stationil kidannu.” (I slept in the station as it was raining), I replied.

“Hum! Narittu vayya, poi kulikada”, (You stink like anything, go and take bath), she said.

I fetched my towel and went to the bathroom following my mother’s orders like a good boy.

After a long run in the bathroom consuming gallons of water, a bar soap and 90 minutes of time, I came out as a new and a clean man. I snubbed away yesterdays events and thought of beginning a new life. My attention got diverted when I heard someone washing clothes outside. I looked out through the window and saw Moidu Kutty’s daughter Fathima outside. Well, she has grown up into a young lady. I stole her glance and winked at her. She returned a smile.

SSLC - 1983

The rain wasn’t stopping. And I wished it wouldn’t. I stared at the little pool of water forming under the young coconut tree. Soon it would rain more, said the depressed clouds. My thoughts ran away to the black boards being displayed at my school premises. The black board was supposedly the one which decided a chap’s student life. Something in my mind said I was not in the list of passed few. SSLC exams were cruel enough to give a full stop to your education. You pass, that’s college life for you and if you fail, help your father in his fields and that’s the last thing in this world I wanted to do. Once in college, the pre-degree starts and I can join political parties and throw stones at the buses that didn’t stop at our stops. Now if I fail I’ll have to receive the attacks from all the human beings in the village. Chayakaran (the tea-guy) Damu will ask,”What class were you in?” very well knowing that I bombed my tenth standards.

I would give him a reply, “Tenth, SSLC failed”

Then Damu will have his hearty laugh showing his stained teeth, happy at what he had heard and will be content for rest of the day.

The rain stopped for a while, but the black clouds were reluctant to leave the sky. Amma came from nowhere and shouted at me, “Why, you idiot! Can’t you just go to your school and find out your results. How long will you stay idle like this?”

Following her orders I set out to check my results which I knew better than anyone. I walked through the flooded muddy road and wished a snake bite me. Then my mind and thoughts went 2 months back

My brother-in-law had bought a tape recorder from Dubai during his last visit. The first of its kind in the village. The tape-recorder looked too complicated for everyone at my house and somehow I had learned its operations quickly. The insertions of the cassettes, the way they should be re-winded, forwarded, stopped, the red and grey buttons were all too scary to touch for my sisters. So I became the one eligible to keep it. The hi-fi gadget at once became my private property. Kishore Kumar’s ‘Roop tera mastana’ and Yesudas’s ‘sagarangale’ were all over the house.

“You fool, stop that thing and learn something for your exams.” My mother would shout and I wouldn’t give an ear. Then she threatens me, “If you don’t stop it, I’ll throw that wretched thing in to the river.” I know she would dare touch that ‘machine’ which ran on electricity so I allowed her to bark.

One day when Kishore da was singing “pal pal dil ke pass”, I noticed some red spots being developed in my fore arms. “A clear case of chicken pox”, said one of my sisters like an expert in finding out diseases and advised everyone to keep away from me. My elder brother wanted to take me to the doctor but my father went against it. “Ha! No one goes to the doctor for a mere chickenpox, take two weeks rest and it will recede slowly.”

“What about his SSLC exams to come this week?” asked my brother.

“Do you think he can write exams with these bubbles all over his body? Now shut your traps and mind your own business.”

Two weeks rest and no SSLC exam. I might have been the happiest guy on earth. I was given a special room upstairs with all the songs I can hear from my tape-recorder. Only my sister was allowed to visit this room since she had already been infected with this divine disease. But I loathed her presence in the room. Most of the time she wants to hear the music she likes and sings along with them. This gives me a huge headache. Two days and twenty dozen songs later I checked my red spots, neither did it develop anywhere in my body nor did it recede. It was the same what I saw two days back. This time my brother won the battle of words with my father. I was taken to the doctor. My brothers sudden shower of love for my health was revealed when I saw the young gorgeous lady doc. She looked at my red spots and said, “This is not any chickenpox, its jus an insect bite. Just apply some tulsi and then it will vanish.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to write my exams?” I asked.

“Yes of course. Then, what were you doing all these days young man?”

I was broken. The exams were just days away and all I have learnt was nothing.

The tape-recorder was removed from my table and the books replaced it and then the books got replaced by my sleeping head. And on a bright sunny morning the exams came perturbing my sleep.

My stomach churned when I saw my father in the paddy fields. He was cursing the bad weather and showed his anger on the women plowing the fields. I escaped his sight and took the longer route to the school. The school was not much crowded as I expected. The black board notice was placed right at the middle of the corridor. I ran my finger through the list of the candidates who made it. Staring at me was Riyaz. Riyaz was grinning and I asked him what the matter was.

“We are in the same category. Better luck next time, Krishnan.”

He wasn’t able to stop his smile at this comedy.

“Great! Same to you.” I said and gave a pat on his shoulder.

A much tensed looking Vinu then appeared near the board. He gave a sigh of relief when he spotted his name. “Thank God, Krishnan. This is the third time I’m writing and I’ve passed this time. My father will be proud.” Said Vinu. Vinu’s father was our Malayalam teacher and every year on this occasion, he goes all white with embarrassment. He was even thinking of resigning his job because of his failed son. But now he should be a proud father, his son has made it through after all. Vinu understood my results through my grim face and comforted me giving advices from his own experiences.

I walked away from the school and kicked myself for spending too much time hearing songs. On the way back I saw father in his field. This time I couldn’t escape his sight. From about 200m away he shouted.

“What is your result?”

“I failed” I cried out to him.

“What? Louder”

“I said, I failed!” I gave him the reply so loud that the women plowing the field started gaping at me.

Father didn’t tell anything for a while and then asked loudly, “What about Vadakkeparambu Kanaran’s son Gopalan, did he pass?”

“Yes he passed” I replied.

“pthuu!”A splash of spit came from his mouth and started scolding me. “You son of a dog, useless idiot…” Gopalan was from a lower caste and this was insulting for my father. But before he could fill any more filth in my ears I shouted out, “Raman Adiyodi’s son Vishnu also failed, father” Now this was great news and he was relieved and went back to scolding his workers on the field.

Back home my mother at my sight came running to the footsteps and asked, “pass or fail”

“Fail”, I said. Numbly she returned to the place she came from.

I sat on my fathers long king size wooden chair. Enjoying its comfort I let my thoughts wander. I slept off after a while and was woken up by my friend Sunil.

“Da Krishna! Get up. Come let’s go to the school, I wanted to check my results.” Said Sunil and dragged me from the chair.

“It’s already dark and its raining too” I protested.

“That’s okay, I’ve got an umbrella”

And before I could say anything I was in the rain sharing umbrella with Sunil going back to the school again.

The school was deserted and the black board list was kept in the corner of the hallway. Sunil lead me to some classes and finally found out the list of meritorious student’s list. Sunil, unlike me was good in studies and his hard work was evident from the list of students who got distinctions. This list was written quite neatly and had 3 names on it. Sunil read out the names, “Susanna Mariam 85%, Sushamma P, 84.5%, Sunil K, 81.2%, oh! As always girls on the top” said Sunil and winked at me. I smiled. Then the sight of another piece of paper caught my attention. My legs started trembling, my hands were shaking and the world around me had stopped moving. I was looking at the students list who got a first class in SSLC.

“N. Raja Krishnan 63.6% - First class”, Sunil read out my name and result from the list.

EXPLORE HIMALAYAS

When I was just going through my old diaries and write-ups today, I saw something that beguiled me. It was a travelogue that I wrote 6 years back and had completely forgotten. Well, but I wouldn’t forget that trip and in fact it was the finest two weeks I ever had in my life. I thought why not blog it.

I did not know how and why I gave my name to the squad for students who were to leave for Himalayas for trekking. “It would be fun”, claimed some of my friends. Probably I too thought the same and gave a try.

It was ‘Thiruvonam’ day and as usual I was the last to reach the railway station. Actually we didn’t have any idea about our destination. Then our staff said, “We are going to New Delhi now, from where we will be proceeding to Mussoorie, a beautiful hill station, where all of you will go for trekking”. Mussoorie! I have heard of this place. Yes! It struck me later as it’s the place where the great writer Ruskin Bond lives. I have heard about this place only in his books and now I am going to see it and I was all excited. After a long and tiring journey we reached New Delhi. Next day we planned to see the capital city, though it was not there in the original agenda. The first place to visit was the Lotus temple. Baha’i house of worship, the Lotus Temple is open to all regardless of religion, or any other distinction, as emphasized in Baha’i texts. The temple was marvelous. Pin drop silence prevailed inside the temple and nobody was allowed to take photographs. But we could not resist the beauty and thus the authorities snatched our cameras. We got our cameras back but had to leave that place the very moment. Next we went to Connought place and passed some time there in the name of shopping.

That night we left Delhi and after 8 hours of journey we reached Paonta Sahib a small town, which was founded by the tenth Sikh Guru Gobind Singh. This town was situated on the banks of Yamuna River in Sirmour district of Himachal Pradesh. The adventure and trekking organization ‘Explore Himalayas’ is situated here. Mrs.Sharma, a charming, plump lady in her fifties greeted us. She happens to be the head of this organization. We were given rooms there and for the breakfast we were given ‘Alu paratha’ with curd. Now imagine a South Indian eating this, that too in the morning. Moreover the parathas were so horrible that I didn’t break the fast. Then we said goodbye to Paonta and got seated in a Qualis and started to Mussoorie.

On the way to Mussoorie we visited a Buddhist spiritual institution and the monks explained facts about Buddha and the institution. Nah! That’s all lies. All we did was stare at this Spiritual haven that had a locked gate. A student monk came running to see us and he threw an apple and said they tasted the best. And yeah, he was right! Taking a bite from the apple we continued our journey to Mussoorie. When we reached Mussoorie we were all shivering with cold. One of my friends loved this place immediately because he didn’t need to waste his money buying cigarettes and he made some smoke circles with his virtual cigarettes, we too repeated the same. Since the temperature was too low than expected we dropped the idea of staying in tents and moved to a lodge, which had a rocking name, ‘Rocky’. For the first time after leaving Calicut we had good food in a restaurant named ‘Hotel Green Vegetarian’. But the hotel wasn’t faithful to its name. They made great Omelets there.

At 5’o clock next morning, our trainer Mr.Thakur, a balding, short and a macho fellow gave us instructions. His instructions had a touch of army discipline and I hated him right away. He explained all our training programs in Mussoorie and that included an early morning jogging which all of us loathed. We had to run about 2-3 kilometers, but after 500 meters we all struggled for breath like asthma patients. One day we bunked this morning jogging and Thakur busted us for this and as a punishment he made us jump like frogs around the streets. We abused him calling, ‘nayinda mon’, ‘pulayadi mon’, ‘thendi patti’ etc (meaning: 'son of a dog', 'bastard', 'street dog', in that order).

This was an advantage we carried. He didn’t know our language and we were well aware of his Hindi. But just then he started speaking a language we never heard anywhere. May be he was abusing us back. Later I understood that the language he spoke was ‘Pahadi’. Pahadi is a language that is spoken by the ‘Pahadis’ who are found in the mountains of the Himalayas (Preity Zinta and Kangana Renaut are Pahadi speakers who are mostly found in the plains).

Later that day we were taken to a place 2 kilometers away, where Mr.Thakur demonstrated the rock climbing. At first we failed to do it, but we tried hard and made it. Next day we were introduced to a new activity called Rapling, where we had to descent from a mountain or a hill using ropes. Looking down the hill, we saw nothing but clouds and fog, which made us all panic. At last, like a brave man, praying all the Gods, I descended. Though I stumbled here and there, I made it quite easily. What made it difficult was the panicky and that little vertigo we all had in the beginning. Next day we went for trekking. We had our backpacks ready with a bottle of water and some salts to keep the leeches away. We had to trek about 24 kilometers through small forests and rocky places. Here we were not to make any noise, otherwise we may not recognize the avalanche. The thick fog made us to wait at some places till it disappeared.

At this point of time an incident took place, which I will never forget in my life. A man with his fully loaded donkey was passing through the narrow passage we were trekking. A deep valley overlooked us at the other side. Mr.Thakur told us to give way for the donkey. I moved a bit for this animal to pass and was dangerously at the edge. Without any provocation the donkey made a deliberate hit at me as it passed. I fell and rolled. At the nick of time one of my seniors showed the presence of mind to pull me up and I was saved. I thanked him a lot and showed my middle finger to the donkey, the man next to it and to Thakur as well.

The day passed like that and the next day we were to trek again, but this time through the concreted roads to Landour. Ruskin Bond fans do not need any intros on this place. Landour is where this simple man is putting up. This was all I wished for just to enjoy the beauty of Mussoorie. Yes! Mussoorie was certainly the best place I’ve ever seen. At one point we saw ‘Pari Tiba’(fairy mountain), standing like a picture on a canvas. Later that night we had the beautiful sight of Mussoorie glowing with all the lights of the town. That was something ‘see it to believe’ and my ordinary words wouldn’t do that. On the last day we caught a ‘birds eye view’ of Mussoorie through a ropeway. Looking at the beautiful sight down I felt like staying there forever. Leaving Mussoorie was a very hard affair, but we left and bid farewell to this paradise on earth. In six hours we reached Dehra Dun. Here we saw the Indian Military Academy. But couldn’t go inside as the gates were closed. In Dehra, we did monkey crawling as a part of our programme. We had to crawl like our ancestors from one end to the other through a rope. We left Dehra that evening and were back to Paonta Sahib, where we visited the famous Gurudwara and a shrine on top of a hill.

That night we had our farewell ceremony. Some of them sang songs that eventually turned into lullabies. In the end we danced to some rock music and gave an end to this great expedition. We reached back to Delhi and visited Rashtrapathi Bhavan. We all wanted to see President A.P.J Abdul Kalam but unfortunately that day President went away to a place named Calicut in Kerala! Then we saw India gate, luckily this time the gates weren’t closed. We went back to our room and packed our bags, which felt much heavier now. Then the train came, we fought for the window seats and that’s it we were back home and the boring schools continued.

18 days passed like lightning. I still recall the days in Mussoorie. And then I reassured myself that I would be back here for my honeymoon. And I have to thank the Kendriya Vidyalaya sangathan for arranging this trip for a rate cheaper than Calvin Klein trousers and I think this is the only one good thing they have done so far.