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.

BITS OF EXAM

"The secret of success lies in maximum achievement with minimum effort”. This has been the motto of my life. A physics textbook in my hand and all I could think is of sleeping. I remember my teacher say, “6 hours for women, 7 hours for men and 8 hours for fools”. Now I wonder where does a nine hours sleeper like me belong? I looked at my watch, it was 9:30PM and it displayed “28^th Tuesday”. Two more days for the board exam to begin. I closed the textbook that talked about voltage, current, concave & convex mirrors and other indigestible concepts and theories. I shut my eyes and entered to the world of my own which restricted Newton and Einstein getting in and dreamt of the cars and phones I wished to own.

Amma was shouting at me to wake up. The time was just 6:15AM. She placed a cup of hot tea and ordered me to study. I sipped the tea and felt I needed to brush but went against the idea. There was nothing like a hot and sweet cup of tea on a February morning. ‘February morning’, a question aroused on my frontal lobe. February was the month having shortest number of days in a year – 28 days. If it was a leap year, it would have a day extra. The year in the calendar on my table was 2007, which is not supposed to be a leap year. So the month of February was done yesterday and it gave way to March. So, from my calculations I concluded that today is 1^st of March and my board starts in next few hours and all I’ve read is about a long bearded man who won Nobel Prize for physics in the year 1942. I ran through my room like a dog carrying fire in its tail. I opened my NCERT textbook tearing and chewing my nails to read myriad concepts, theorems, diagrams and problems. Nothing entered in to my brains. All that ran through my mind was the supplementary that followed and that tight slap from my father. With adrenaline rising up I gave a ring to my friend for the ‘important questions’.

     Today I spent a long 10 minutes in the pooja room, which was received by the bewilderment of my mother. It was something that doesn’t occur often. With ohm’s law and kirchoff’s law in the socks, Einstein’s relativity and Newton’s trilogies inside my shoes, reflection and refraction under the belly clogged inside belt buckles and units and dimensions sandwiched between the ends of my kerchief, any Fidel Castro might have prayed for a long time. This was my last hope. My target in the exam was a high 33 percentage that is equal to 23 out of 70 for a pass, which wouldn’t be that tough because last model exam I was just short of two marks. So with these bits of papers and a large byte of confidence I took my pen and the hall ticket and left home, well aware of the 5-year suspension from writing any exam once when caught.

             Attending a funeral is much relieving than standing in an exam hall. Students, students everywhere. All clad in white and blue, not a single smiling face. Everyone recalling every thing what they have mugged up for the past 1-year for a 3-hour exam. A tensed looking aunty was giving ‘arthy’ to her daughter, the embarrassed look in her face gave me a good time to laugh. “What are you laughing at? Don’t you know you are going to write one of the most important exams of your life.” Said my friend. I guess I did a big crime by laughing just minutes before a fucking important exam! Snubbing his words I entered the hall that was at a Siberian end of the school. I was dangerously placed at the second row but thanks to the window that looked at a garbage ground, which could very well be the corporation waste disposal area.

             The stout, plump old lady was particularly not interested in the front few rows. She occupied a place somewhere at the back near Das, whom I believe was carrying the textbook itself! The question paper was tougher than I thought. There wasn’t a single question from units and dimensions or from the ohm’s law. I felt like cheated, an ambush. With the fortitude of an army man in the Kargils, I raised my pen and started killing all the questions one by one and contributed the question paper to the garbage outside. With the help of the bits of paper I prepared, I wrote a highly creative answer sheet that carried a powerful nuclear reactor with a chimney that occupied four pages of the answer sheet.

             Einstein would have had a heart attack, Newton would have shot himself and Kalam might call his vision: 2020 back once if they get to evaluate my caricature. The traitor who helped me with the important questions came running towards me and asked, “hey! Karan, how did the exam go? Would you get through this one?”

“May be, yes! If the evaluator is drunk.” I replied and we laughed together.

            The bus got filled with pricks in white and blue. With some physical effort I conquered the window seat. I looked out and thought about the exam to come. It was chemistry and my chemistry with chemistry wasn’t that good. I asked the fellow sitting next to me, “Which are the questions in chemistry you think is really, really important?”

 He gave a half an hour lecture on the main topics and they were convincing enough for me. Happily I noted them in my brains and reached for the soft bed in my room. Patting myself for the great work I’ve done that morning, I silently whispered to myself, “The secret of success lies in maximum achievement with minimum effort.”- A motto that fueled my life.

THE GREAT INDIAN RAILWAYS

India is a one big Goddamn country. Some places you have people everywhere and the others deserted. People here tend to move with crowds, no body want to be left alone. Just look at the trains, its always crowded, jam-packed, riotous and stinking. It’s said that an Australian population is right now traveling in the Indian trains. And this country can be well represented by the train. We have all kinds and all classes of people in these trains. I’ll divide them in to three. Indian one, India two and India three.
India one includes the high class people like business men, successful movie stars, cricket players, corrupt politicians and other born rich useless idiots. And they chose the 2-tier AC or 3-tier AC or the 1st class compartments of the train. They might have missed their flights, perhaps. Now, the India two is the long sleeper class compartments. It mainly consists of the upper and lower middle class people. Each one will get his berths. Uncles, aunties, dad, mom, children, grandpa, grandma all of them chatting, talking and speaking. Railway food not good, bathrooms are dirty, too many beggars these days. All starts with different problems and ends up with same solution – the authorities have to be complained, and yeah, nobody does.
And then come India three, the general compartment, the air of fart and floor of piss. Its like a slum on move. Crowded, congested and dirty. It’s the India of lesser known but much hyped about, lower class – helpless and the destitute. Unfortunately I was traveling in this general compartment of both the train and life. If I wanted to pee, I’ll have to sacrifice my seat and have to push and punch through myriad men and women. Once I get there, I can see its occupied, not with a single guy, but many, sitting not shitting, just for space, just for surviving this long journey. Hence it leaves me no choice but to wet my pants.
I had a dream, like any other fool in the compartment. I wanted to travel in the compartment less taken – the first class. For me its no looking back once I get into Bombay, the city of dreams. I will never return unless I get to travel like the India one. I took this as a challenge and this challenge was the force that drove me from here. My biggest aim was to become bollywoods greatest movie star. Not hearing for the first time. Isn’t it? Yes, and you guessed it right. I did become one, but that was not the end.
I had to sleep in the pavement, had to stay hungry for weeks and had to kiss the directors ass to get a chance in his movie. Then I lead my life as a cameo. All I had was a photo of Shah Rukh Khan in a torn off purse. After years of struggle, painful, horrible and cruel days, I became a star, the ultimate hero of bollywood. The Shah Rukh Khan of my purse was burnt to ashes. I am his new rival. He comments me at times but I give my reply through my blogs.
And then a day came when the pilots of India went on for a strike and I had to reach my shooting location in Kolkata. My agent came from nowhere and said, “Sir, we’ve arranged a 1st class ticket from Mumbai to Kolkata in train. I’ll make sure about your security. According to the news the flights wont be operating for about a week.”
“oh! What the hell, don’t they have any private jets or helicopters?” I asked him.
“I tried, but no luck.” he replied.
That left me no choice, but to travel in the train. Once in the train, I looked at my ticket. It had my age on it, which was 5 years lesser than what I was. Just then something struck me. Long ago, maybe the same train, I arrived in Bombay with lot of pain and a wet pant from Calcutta. Now I am going back. Have I accomplished my dream?
I asked the TTE, “Where’s the next station?”
He said some place name that I don’t remember.
When the train stopped at the next station, I stepped out and started walking towards the last compartment of the train. People were gaping at me, excited and thrilled. I got into one of the general compartments. After all these years, I’ve changed, my names have changed, Bombay has changed, Indian film industry has, the Indian economy has, but the trains’ general compartment hasn’t. It was the same, the same situation when I started chasing my dreams. I walked through the bogey, many offered me seats and seated me. They touched me, pinched me, kissed me and also made a fight to get a glance of me. The people’s attitude towards me might have changed. But it was the same man, woman and kid I saw years ago. The challenge I had taken was forgotten and I snubbed it away as a joke. Then the train started moving and so did the journey of my life…