Training for Life!

"Chandu, studying in this manner, ain't getting you any closer to your Chartered Accountant (CA) designation" on repeat, courtesy Mom.

It kept ringing in my ears until 11.59 am on December 2nd 2011. It had been a good year. Finally my being was heading in some direction, be it in terms of a career, family or even a relationship. So far, so good. I kept attributing all the success to my weekly temple visits, elders' blessings, lesser of mom's rants - more her prayers, Vinaya's support, Kostya's worst case scenarios (where my failure would translate into he being my boss)...

Everything but my method of preparation. Why, I even thought I had the lucky stars over my head - Hard for someone who completely disregards the theory of luck. Such is what the process of CA does to one.

It all started at some god-forsaken talent/'teen confidence boost' shows, with an equally cheesy title called the 'Prince Charming and Beautiful Princess' parade. The Question put forth to me was "What do you aspire to become in life". Having a never-die fascination for guns and putting myself to sleep by picturing a battle situation where I am the only one with ammunition with the name of every enemy (yes, I was very intricate with my dreams) - I always said "Being a soldier" - the one that doesn't have to give up his life (blame Bollywood).

As I grew older and with inputs from the family elders, it was given that I wasn't cut out for an operation theater or a hangar repair shop. So the only other alternative was commerce/business studies. So let's analyse our options. To my parents - there were none - so let's just hold him hostage with CA.

And from there on, being a soldier slowly transformed into something more viable - being a Chartered Accountant. (yes, I found the spotlight really attractive, hence I took part in a lot of such competitions). I blurted such statements not realizing what it would eventually take off me. (Let's cross that bridge when we get there, in the meantime let's bask in the current glory.) Time passed, and such blurts actually tended to grow as my ultimate aim, for the lack of anything better or brighter. I reminisce walking into my first four-hour Core Knowledge Exam (CA - level 1), and telling myself- "here goes to those stage show responses. Finally time to make good, or maybe try..."

How did I make it through. I swear, it were someone's prayers. What else would you claim to me leaving almost 10% of the paper to God's divine intervention, especially when the pass percentage is barely over 40%? First hurdle done - Jan 2011.

The Second exam, also called the School of Accountancy (CA - Level 2), was a bigger joke. The mock exams were as horrendous as the witch in Hansel and Gretel could get. I failed in all my mocks, and my blessed study buddy's (Kostya's) worst case scenarios were knocking on my doors. These exams spanned over two consecutive days and 9 hours of pure case writing. By the end of the second day, only alcohol could show me the light at the end of that tunnel. Getting through this, slowly had me believing in miracles and that end goal of making it across that reptile infested water. Second hurdle - July 2011.

September 2011 came with the mother of all battles - The Uniform Evaluation Exam (CA - Level 3 or easily known as Euphiee) The grueling consecutive three days and over 13 hours of exam writing had a terrifying history to begin with. More than the preps, I kept checking stats of how many people passed on the first try (all three exams within a year). When that didn't turn promising, I turned to check if Krishna came twice in the whole Draupadi Molestation case. When that turned a negative, Kostya and I planned a give-it-all strategy. The exam itself was a blur and the traffic jams on the way to the exam fed to the stress levels (On two days, we made it just in time, inspite of leaving home 2 hours before the exam - read as signs of the impending failure). All I remember was the end of the third day, when I stayed back in my seat, panting and hoping someone would just pick me and put me to bed.

The results for that final exam took three months and over three groups of national markers. Kostya kept joking that they just wanted to make sure, not many made it through that last hurdle - how much humour was involved in that is worth another blog entry. Three months of never-ending waiting period. Three months of nightmares of not completing the exam or even appearing again, next year. Three months of you devising the worst scenarios. Three months of you wishing, you had studied that handbook or the Income Tax Act a lot better (maybe memorizing those above 10K pages, would have helped). And eventually three months of you replaying mom's rants let you believe that you are to fail. That the divine power could have set you up by getting you through two exams and finally ditching you, when it all counted.

December 2, 2011, 11:59pm, a minute to go. Pumping was an understatement, the heart had reached a stage, where the constant oscillation had started hitting a rotational motion and it's temper spat out the screws and bolts. Goosebumps, sweaty palms, feverish shivers, all in a juicer mixed serving. 10 seconds to go ......

And my computer crashes. Even the so called man-made wonder couldn't keep up. I panicked. This is it, God's mischief. Damn you Charles Babbage, Bill Gates, Steve jobs - If I fail, it's all you're doing. Later I realized that stressful moments like these, bought out the best in a man. He tends to do a in-power political party ending, searching for something to blame, searching for something to find solace in, just in case they failed.

My phone rings, "Damn you, Kostya, Not now. I've taken these rants for three months". His response was "Bro, They (Canadian Institute of Chartered Accountants) don't realise what they have let in. I am filing an official complaint, for letting us pass". I dropped it all. Took a deep breath and for once felt unreal. Everything came rushing back to me. The stage shows, uncles and aunts and questioning my ever-aspiring CA dream and me responding, "NO, I haven't written the exam yet, but I hope to..", my grandfather associating my CA to family honour (Ironically, our family is not all that educated)

But it didn't matter. All I cared was, I didn't have to go back and fight that three-day war again.
I called up grandpa - and for a moment I repented, for he went on a bigger happy dance spree and for a guy who has 80 years and 2 wars under his ears, the last thing I wanted was a fatality.
- Mom was second in line - and she had a touch of motherly emotion whereby she thanked me for giving her meaning for coming to an unknown place (Canada) and making it all worth.
- Dad maintained his cool and reminded me to stay grounded and that humility counted more than pride. (Yet one could solve the pride in his own voice)
- Vinaya had her quiet yet relieved "sigh", and cursed me over-playing the not so pleasant 'what-if' scenarios.


The Best of all was my younger sibling's reaction - "You passed? - Oh damn! - now I have standards to meet..."

(I wished they were here, for I know they are surely paving my path, from above - This to you - Jojo, Ammamma and Achamma (the last of whom I had promised a ton, in return for her prayers, and yet she left me hanging just 2 months short))

To A Ray of Warm Sunshine...

It had to be the best decision Capt. Shreedhara Menon ever made, when he decided to make conversation with Gopi, on his train journey from Kerala to Anantapur. 'A Ballsy move'- as today's transitional Gen Y to Z would call it. The towering short-mustached-broad-shouldered "Man in uniform" decided to ask his one-hour friend Gopi if he could ask his sister's hand in marriage. Gopi's sister, who sat right next to him. Gopi's sister - Lakshmi. Gopi's sister - the same graceful (literally) 'small bundle of joy' - I had the privilege to call - my grandmother (or as I would love to call, Ammamma, Ammasu, amooma, Muthashi .... depending on what I required of her).

Everyone asks me on how Chandu came into being - and Ammamma's theory to that was....Sandesh was too sophisticated for her, hence she stuck to her love for the moon, and thereafter came Chandu!

Ammamma used to be a once in a year sighting for most of my childhood days. She used to wait right by that gate, eyes yearning for that ambassador car to turn the corner, on our way in from the airport. The moment we step out, it's the tight hugs, kisses and tears. The same hugs that I would run to, even during my boarding days. No matter how old she grew, or how tall she stood (less than 5 ft), those hugs were something that would never be beat!

I grew close to Lakshmi kutty Amma (as the common man would address her, due to her die hard popularity) when I decided to study in Cochin for my college days. I needed support to stand against the heavily disciplined grandpa of mine. And Ammamma was the perfect partner in crime. Even though Grandpa took care of my 'Breakfast like a king' model. It was grandma's evening tea and snacks that were to die for. To her, cooking for me used to be the most exciting event of the day...And to me, feeding upon it. Away from the ears of Grandpa, I used to burp, and her expressions would break into a 'little girl in candy land' smile.

During my Cochin days, Alarm clocks got replaced with ammamma's morning prayer chants. Waking up to them, you knew your day could never go wrong. My buffer was the Gayatri Mantra. By the 108th, if I wasn't up, she was in my room (with her next set of mantras) and with the sound of it, I knew she wasn't happy. I used to guilt trip by mentioning how the gods wouldn't be happy about it. She quipped back saying, she would rather put up with the wrath of the gods than of my Grandpa's.

In contrary to grandpa's theory of light dinners, I was fed like a king all day - under the context of a growing child. Our evenings were dedicated to malayalam soap operas. The older she grew, the more involved she got into them. I still remember this one time, she fell into a mini-depression mode, when Kayamkulam Kochunni (the fable character) was in his death bed, and the episode rightfully ended with that scene.

That was one night when I didn't get my warm milk to drink. Thankfully it was a wolf-call, by the next night episode, Kochunni came back on his feet, and the Menon household returned to normalcy.

That was apart from the pointless debates we had on the neighbour's family and the town gossips. I used to sit through them, just so that I had that time to spend with her.
Weekends were sumptuous (as usual). Apart from that, we had our weekend movies, and our Carrom nights. Since there was no computers or Play Stations, during mum's days, my family mastered the board game of Carrom. So much so, that the duo of Grandpa and grandma, used to pick out coins and predict their fate (like the billiards pros) and a second later, it ended up exactly their way.

Whilst at making meals, Ammamma had her string of visitors...and its during those times, when I found out that she was that light to which people were drawn too... You had everything from domestic issues to requirements of blessings...and Ammamma had a solution to it all...And all this happened, whilst she thought of ways to excite me with her food. And as any genius would say - Oh it's a cakewalk..she did a good job at keeping everyone happy. As her Diabetes gained prominence, our 3 days in the week sweet tooth, got reduced to once a week, yet we had a jolly good time at it.

We lazed our evenings - she on her veranda chair, and me on the granite flooring and talked of everything under the moon. Everything from how 'fat Nandu' was growing to, to my wedding bells. She had specific requirements for my woman. Some times we used to get so carried away, that we even discussed on how I would bring up my kids. Most of the time, conversations would end up into her snoring away on her relaxo-chair.

I remember (to detail)that day, when she returned from the Army hospital after a check up. Grandpa and mum thought they did a good job of keeping it from her, until during one of our evening lazes, the "high school pass" whispered to me - "your mom and grand-dad think of themselves as smarter than me". Nonchalantly she said "it's Cancer". I grew cold, and asked her if it worried her. To which she laid back in her chair, took a deep sigh and said with a crack in her voice - "Chandu, people die fighting wars, at least now I have a battle to my name". She feared, but she masked it well - and she did a good job at it

It's been two years now, and it actually struck me hard -Today!
Today, I got out of that vehicle on my way in from the airport, and I stared into that empty space, waiting for her hug! Mum came around and wrapped me, and I was still left with something missing. I wished, she was around.

I waited to touch her feet, as normal routine, before entering the house... and for the lack of it, I felt lesser blessed. I wished she was around.

My home had lost its voice, my grandpa lost his vigor...I lost my friend...I wished she were around.

At times I have blamed myself for leaving.. Maybe she would have been occupied if I was around, not having time to think of her terminal illness. But knowing her well enough and her fondness for Canada, she would frown upon me, if I had passed upon such an offer to go overseas.

Mum was there by her side till the very end..and each time she recounts her last few days, I ought to say she fought like a brave wife of a soldier. (We mutually agreed that if a soldier fought for his motherland, it's the wife who fought (the heavens) for his life - thus rendering the wife to be more courageous - she loved beating her own drums!)

Today I look at all that I have conquered. And not a day goes by, when I tell myself, that it's all her good karma. It gives me some self assurance, that she is there right next to me, with her hugs!

I look up to her towards being that lovable human being, who had done much for the people around her. Apparently, she went down with a fighting spirit and a smile!

She truly did justice to her life, and I loved and admired her for it.

All I can hope for, is my mother would have the same fortune with her grandkids, some day!

This is to you my dearest.. May your soul rest in peace, my love, my Ammamma!

Shashi Tharoor - The mistaken freshman!

His ‘agglomerative Indian’ comment brought some dislike, and now its his ‘cattle class’ comment that makes me wonder if Shashi Tharoor is a little too over-educated for Indian Politics. For those who still contain that question mark on their face, I found it apt to launch our column, with some insight on the hot issue surrounding Tharoor and his ‘intelligent tweets’.

I was elated when the election results steered towards Tharoor’s dreams, not just, because he is a fellow Malayalee, but also because he is a prolific author, columnist, journalist and more. If anything, before being elected to the office of the Ministry of State for External Affairs, he held a much-coveted position of the UN Under-Secretary General, which later led him to come second to Ban-Ki Moon, in the race to the post of UN Secretary General. I even began to think, that Indian Politics had taken a turn for good with young and wise blood sweeping the elections with a majority (Arguably, at the age of 53, Shashi Tharoor would be categorized more under the latter). In today’s age of scraps, wall-posts and tweets, I was intrigued when Tharoor joined the second tier of ‘not-so-much-a-celebrity’ line of Tweeters. I looked at it from his point of view, where he wanted to be in pace with his subjects and more probably turn his office into a tech-savvy den. His fellow politicians made, his 10-minute tweet routine, sound like a time consuming activity, not allowing him to efficiently handle his ministerial affairs along with tweeting. I was thinking to myself, on how scornful could we get, when it is the exact critical ministers who have been putting away our Road and Power development projects, for ages. Ironically, a bunch of opposition party members followed suit of joining the Twitterati clan. Notable of them was Narendra Modi, who no one dared to criticize. Hence, I wondered if Shashi Tharoor is paying the freshman price.

His initial comments on how Force India’s victory can be seen, as a triumph for the agglomerative Indian, were misinterpreted by most of his followers. We Indians, well known for being scornful and masters of flouts, decided to quote him and brush off this win to a German car and an Italian Driver, whilst the ‘mistaken’ politician had intended the quote to be on a positive note stressing on how we standby the mantra of triumph in spite of diversity. If anything, we should have seen this victory as an answer to those absent-minded folks who still wonder if we travel on bullock-carts on unpaved roads. I read Tharoor’s quote with pride wondering how India had scripted its own legacy among the ‘big boys’. (Before I get too carried away with Force India and its laurels, I shouldn’t forget that Tharoor has my spotlight, this month)

And so trouble didn’t end with that for Shashi Tharoor; His latest response to a question dug his opponent’s trenches even deeper, thus helping them to solidify their case against his ‘socialite’ image. On twitter, a reporter had questioned him if, on his next visit to Kerala, he would travel cattle class? (In light of how some high profile ministers have been travelling economy class, thus trying to set an example to their comrades). Tharoor, wittily responded “Absolutely, in cattle class out of solidarity with all our holy cows." The moment he hit the ‘tweet’ button on his page from Liberia (on diplomatic mission), it was equivalent to ‘D’ Day by the coast of Normandy. Heavy artillery showered from every side. The words ‘cattle-class’ and ‘holy cows’ triggered everything from ministers, asking him to quit, to calling him an imbecile.

Unaware of all these developments, my usual morning checks on Shashi’s Tweets, gave me a reason to smile. His reference to the cattle class clearly was directed towards the poor policies of how airlines managed to herd the economy class passengers, as one would do to cattle. And the term holy cow was meant to refer to the sacrosanct issues or principles that no one dared to challenge, and not literally referred to any individual. I wouldn’t blame anyone who criticised Shashi on a knee-jerk instinct (as his humour is truly at a different level). I would lie, if I said that I got the humour on my first go. It did take me a while and a couple of re-reads for the frown to convert into a smile. With Tharoor and his humour, it’s more along the lines of waking up on the same side of the bed, yet being faced with something with a twist, everyday.

But asking him to quit his position was ridiculous. It forced me to wonder how some our cob-webbed politicians could be referred to some basic literature and humour classes. If anything I would commend Shashi Tharoor’s attempt on being accessible to the Internet population. Whilst being the best at complaining that our politicians are unaccountable and inaccessible, here you have a minister who has about 200,000 (and growing!) people subscribing to his feeds on Twitter. (To the world of twitter, it may seem to be a meagre number, but mind you we are talking about a land, where many are yet to even explore Google!). At times I wonder, even if he had this contempt against the general population, why would he even call them cows on a public domain such as Twitter. I would be furious, had his blabber been secretly taped and released. Forget firing him, I would even move a case for his deportation. But again, my emotions are zooming way ahead for we are talking Shashi Tharoor here. With his background as a ‘sarcy’-critical author, I would be amazed if his intelligent wits did not kick in.

True, Shashi would think twice before he tweets or even speaks at parliamentary procedures. That would be an unnecessary lesson learnt the harsh way. But if I were a freshman at politics, I too would first work towards establishing my foundation and building bridges at every career-junction, rather than strumming the wrong strings. If anything, I see Shashi Tharoor as prime-ministerial material in the near future, provided he plays his cards (to come), well and cautiously.

But before I end, this thought lingers, on how the journalist who asked Tharoor the controversial question about the cattle class, wasn’t brought to task; In fact, all that Shashi Tharoor did was repeat the term in the journalist’s query. I guess that is what may force the politician Shashi Tharoor to put the journalist in him, to sleep.

This article was written for the Indian Cultural Association @ York University, monthly newsletter, under the column name of Monthly Musings. The opinion mentioned here is truly personal and is not intended to hurt any person's opinion or feeling.

and the drama continues...

I stood there, not just chewing but chomping my nails... Suddenly I felt burdened by a lot of stress. Stress of performing my character, stress of what Vignesh would say once he got back to school, stress of how the audience would accept a male dressed up as a female amidst the various genuine female actors.

To introduce Vignesh a.k.a Thamma - an Ooty hybrid boarder who had bits and pieces of the Tamil film industry in himself. With his ideas he would flourish within the South Indian borders but would be laughed at, everywhere else. That controversial style of delivering dialogues, that hero delivering his thundering punches to various (2 times the hero's size) villains, the slow-motion walk and run. This guy had everything in him to make it to the top in nothing but Tollywood. It was probably that enthusiasm and sincerity that got him as our stage hand for the Inter-School Dramatics held at Stanes Higher Secondary.

Weeks before the competition, we decided on a story, and characters were laid out. I had my eyes on the protagonist, who had this problem of betting over everything, since the whole story revolved around him. The next character who would be a turning point would be Ms. Peggins. But the fact that the character came with the title of 'Ms.', repelled me. The fact that Peggins was a female character horrified me!
And as Murphy's laws predicts, its always the untowardly that happens, I ended up with Ms. Peggins. The explanation our director had was - "Oh Sandesh, you will breeze through that role. just be yourself". It was a mixture of anger and hatred that flowed through me. But the fear of being kicked out of the play, otherwise forced me to settle with the role.

Weeks go by, and our play takes shape, beautifully. We practiced day and night, hoping to bring the first dramatics award to Josephs. We didn't leave any stone unturned. And that meant that i had to even wax my legs, as the damned character decided to wear a skirt during the story. We knew the competition would be stiff, as Ooty was the hub for schools. We used to joke at times, more than a temple around every corner, you are most likely to find a school in Ooty.
The day dawns. We are driven to our host school - Stanes Higher Secondary. I was excited, totally oblivious to what was to follow.
Just as I thought that waxing my legs would be the worst I would have to go through, our lady professor walks in with a weird piece of clothing in her hands. She hands it over to me, letting me know that I would be wearing that garment. Humour apart, till I unfurled that piece, I thought it would be a blouse. To my despair, it was a bra. I shrieked and went into a sense of decline. And to make matters worse, the professor said that, since I lacked a chest (blame it on me being skinny), this totally alien garment would help me with that. At that moment all I prayed was, God descended from above and gave me a wish. Not money, not wisdom but I would have wished for a CHEST.
I felt even worse, when I thought of what my peeps would say, once they came to know that Sandesh had worn a bra. With constant re-assurances, pleading and swearing to secrecy, I allowed myself to consider wearing it for the name and fame of Josephs. But fate had decided that it wouldn't go down without a fight. Just when I was beginning to wear the weird garment, Vignesh walks in. Gasps, awkward silence, sympathy, wicked smile, muffled laughter; he exited the room.
I thought of alternatives, but my mind just went numb. A flash of what was to follow, ran through my head. But we were due on stage in a few minutes, and probably it was the stress of performing that allowed me put Vignesh and his sight, behind me.

Our play was a huge hit. So much that our protagonist got the best actor, our play was judged the best play.....and our feminine character lost the top spot by a few points. Later on, one of the judges came up to me and said - "It would be weird if you received a certificate stating Best Female Role, so we decided to give it to a REAL girl...Good job though". It was satisfying yet intriguing. I was satisfied that i did my role well, yet worried that i did a feminine role better than a girl.

Amidst celebrations, we boarded the bus and as fate had it, I got to sit next to Vignesh. With his irritating mischievous smile, he leaned forward and said, "Good work Nancy, how did it feel inside?" At that very instant, everything rushed back into me. I was thinking fast. Initially i thought, ill just brush him off and face things as it comes. But the weaker one inside me got the better of me and I offered him a bribe to zip his mouth. (as a foreplay) It never stopped with just one bribe.
All throughout the rest of the time at school, Vignesh had hearty canteen meals, all-you-can-eat candy and pop. All that and more just at the click of his fingers and his signature eye-brow movement

Our annual day comes by, and we are asked to perform the play again. But this time I had coconut shells and a towel, to assist me. It was tougher than having to wear a bra, but the thought of more people walking in ,while I am getting dressed and the thought of more bribes helped me to move on!

How Oliver Twist'ed my days...

Guys ridiculed me when I joined the dramatics club. My reasoning behind that decision was - At first, there would be no bodily harm which was the case in many sporting clubs (hence I stuck to the Rifle Club and during athletic meets, I used be a part of the school band!!!); the second reason being that, if my luck spun well, this would get me into the world of celluloid ( I was and still fascinated by the glim-glam world of film and photography - None of which actually materialized) But I did have my share of fun and distress with this branch.

Everything seemed perfect, when our drama club was invited to Hebrons (A top notch British international school). Once the invitation was announced in our morning assembly, we met with a huge influx of applications to join the club, even though the deadline dates to sign up for clubs were done about 5 months ago. Hebrons was one of those schools where they had an impressive opposite sex ratio - hence the influx.

For once, people around me were trying to pull strings with me, in order to get on that bus to Hebrons. I decided to make profit out of the offers, though in the end I knew I could always say, that I tried my best to put their names on the list, but that stubborn teacher, did'nt permit.

We were in our best outfits. Some of us borrowed our school blazers from the disciplined and well kept students. I remember our accompanying professor complaining of the whiff of cologne. We were just short of taking bath in it. The dramatics club members who untill a few days back were a bunch of bozos and rejects, were given a heroes departure.

The drama went well and we were all so involved and blown away with the performances. Though every time I was drawn towards the Oliver Twist character. Some thing didn't seem right about him. He was just too feminine in every action, but I wrote that off to the character being enacted.

Time comes when each character was being felicitated. Our main character is called upon, as Natasha Singh, who came up and pulled off her English cap, and I was caught gaping. At that time, there was nothing but Natasha Singh in my nut. Fireworks in every corner of my head, I was smitten by this girl. She was cute, bubbly, and was the center of attention for that evening. All I wanted to do was to jump off my seat and do something stupid that would catch her attention!!! I didn't waste time in approaching her and expressing my surprise. She shook hands and thanked us as a whole (since I was blinded by this enterprising girl, I thought she thanked me specially) for attending the drama. For nights and days to follow, the hot topic was Natasha Singh. As time flew, everything simmered down, and Natasha got lost in some corner.

A year passes by. Its the Inter School Football final for the Super-Senior Division. We won the junior and senior divisions and our batch would rewrite history if we won our division too. Winning all three divisions, would be a feat that was last accomplished about 4 years back. Drums, horns, voice boxes, anything and everything that would make a noise rolled out. We were a bunch of let loose hooligans who had the license to do anything we wanted, provided we help our team win. As destiny had it, Hebrons was playing against us. We were glad that a co-ed school was playing against us, because their whole school would be on our grounds and if anything we would have a good cheer battle session. To add to our excitement, Hebrons was the only school who had an all-girls cheer squad. So that added to our vigour in cheering.

Half time comes through, I decide to quench my parched voice box..I keep walking towards our canteen and this voice excuses herself - asking me directions to the washroom. It hit me then, I knew it then and there, I turned and she stood right there - a tad taller, longer hair yet with the same features that made me weak in my knees, a year ago.

I whispered Natasha and I am so glad, she didn't catch me on that. Against the slightest hope of she recognizing me, she enquired about the washroom again, in her thick British accent. I still beat myself on what happened after. I spoke anything but English and when I realised, nothing would work, I stopped talking..I guided her to the washroom whilst she had this weird look on her face. Only if she knew what ran through me. I disappeared fearing, i would do something really dumb (At that moment, dumbness ranged from cheering for Hebrons to pleading to the Hebrons director to make me one of their own)

Call it a fantasy, probably it was her accent or it was her sheer innocence, Ms Singh troubled me through the rest of the game. We ended up winning but yet for once I did not want that game to end fearing her departure and never getting to see her again. I kept gathering courage to at least go up to her and apologize for the weird behaviour. Just when I found enough, I saw her bus disappears through our gates. I felt like i let her go through the gaps of my fingers. I did not feel too dejected that day, since we won and the excitement of the celebrations to follow buried my dejection of missing out on Natasha.

I smirk, every time I think of how destiny decided to tease me,TWICE. I am positive that she never even remembers that comical character who showed her to the washroom. Yet I had a lesson learnt, ever since - to never procrastinate on ANYTHING!
I guess, had she known me as a person, bigger catastrophes would have taken place

(ye ye! call it sour grapes)

Shoulders to hang on to.......

Everyone has had that moment in their lives, when they look back wondering, how one's life changed after a specific experience. Though initially excited, halfway through I doubted my folks' unconditional love for allowing me to move away. Later it dawned upon me, that I couldn't have scripted a better ending to my school years. My parents let me learn to run my own race, the hard way, yet not a day goes by when I do not thank them for it. Thank them so much, that I would do the same with my kids too when I reach to that.

My two years at Ootacamund, has been the 'best days of my life'-hands down.Friends became eternal to me. I write this with a few of the many interesting characters I got involved with.

Guys who I hated with passion, turned brothers from another mother. Such was my relation with Senthil a.k.a - Kaka (for reasons not to be disclosed!). From fist fights in 11th, I stood up for him even when I knew I was supporting a lost cause, in 12th. This so called 'one of the pillars of the SJC soccer team defenses' had the temper shorter than the wick of a new candle. I even lied to the authorities about my nasal operation, to attend his sister's wedding -which happened just 2 weeks before our final exams. Our study hours spiked up to 8 -10 hours a day as we closed in on our final exams. We've had fights on our Formula 1 teams, yet he used to see that he gets me out of bed by 4 in order to do that extra calculus problem. I still hold on dearly to that 'Cadbury Temptation Diwali box' and the lame letter he gave me for my birthday. If anything, that one day I went for his sister's marriage, the whole Kumar household considered me more of their own than an outsider.

Talking of considering me one of their own, the Natrajans hold a special place too. Enter this character Balaji Natarajan a.k.a Bonda (again, disclosure not considered). He was this nerd who wasn't anything close to a nerd. My envy towards him somehow changed to brotherhood. Seemingly unassuming but horribly smart, this guy was the only one who stood between me and ranker's board (We had this big blue board, on which every topper's name got engraved). Initially I hated him, just because he never tried hard, yet got results. Come our 12th grade and we became the nerd team. I am still left puzzled on how my envy turned into admiration for the guy. I remember, the day of the release of our grades, the moment I knew my grades, my fingers were already dialing an international call...Balaji picks up and says- " Da (a more loving way of addressing a loved one of the same age!) I'm happy for your 93%", though not mentioning a word about his 98% grade, fearing that I would feel dejected. I still dream of his mother's lavish lunch, which I just couldn't stop devouring, and being skinny and puny really helped. Aunt would just keep serving me more and more.

Enough said about the heroes, one of the villains in my school life was Pon Srinivas. Pon was from a background which spoke for itself. This guy had everything from Rolex watches to Skoda cars. He is a warm guy at heart but first impressions will make or break it for him. In my case, it was not just break, but SHATTERED. This guy was successful on every front, on making life miserable for me. Yet today, when I look back, I would dedicate my whole self to his tortures. I changed...changed for the good. True, he could have initiated those changes in me through better means, but then I wouldn't remember and cherish Pon for who he was. From a family of successful businesses, this guy was ever ready to help with doubts on the stock markets and the business world (which would be equivalent to today's WII's and X-boxes)...On our last day, before leaving school, he came up to me, close to tears (which was totally against his big-shot image) and apologized for his actions. He had just one line for me, which to date rings in my ears "Da, you've evolved a lot...Just do not hold any ill towards us!"

All throughout my boarding life, I thought I had no friends and that I was more in a war against those name callings and fun making. Yet, now I look back and realize that it was that same fun making, which taught me to suck up and face difficulties rather than giving up on them. I thought wrong of each and every individual who helped me get through those years. From stressful examination days to fun-filled movie nights, from fights to sticking up for each other, from homesickness to football and athletic cheers and chants, every day had a new lesson for me.
I might have fell short in appreciating it at that moment..But as my dad says "Absence makes us grow fonder". And for the past 4 years since and for time to come my Ooty days have only grown fonder!

P.S - I dedicate this blog to the rest of the EXPLOITED batch (SJC, 2004- 2005). Space doesnt permit, yet I cherish my days with each and everyone. Dineth, Pradeep, Muthu, Juzer, Shekhu, Imran, Monish, Faisal, Farhan, Saadiq, Bovas, Riju, Gopi, Arvind, Chandan, Prasena, Nirmal, Satheesh, Appachu, Roshan, Vignesh, Rizwan, Jishar,Yogesh, Rahul, Mithesh and anyone whom I 've missed. Wherever I go, whatever I do or whatever I become, you guys shall always be a part of the reason.Once a Josephite, always a Josephite - Blues and Whites!!!

My 'Joseph' times - revisiting the old lane!

I fared pretty well in my 10th boards...Those nervous times of making my folks proud were done and over with. Considering what i had undergone in the past 6 months, i was firm on two turnarounds in my life, which indeed put me on a new track...One, i would never take sciences and the second being i had to get away from my mom's pinches and strict rules.

The farther land seems to have greener pastures, So was this decision to move away from this pampered and secured life under my parents. I was given umpteen options, and i ended up choosing to go to a Boarding school for my decisive years. I would say the hyped up boarding life image led me to take that step. And not just any boarding school, It was an all-boys school in the blue mountains (Nilgiris, tamilnadu). Excitement rather than fear ran through me all while. New clothes, new amenities, new rules, new friends and above all a new life. No more nagging parents, pesky friends, terrifying curfews, burdening education and what not. As unassuming as i could get, life was just about to be played by my rules, I had it the way i wanted. I see, i decide and I live, was the mantra to be followed back then.
Little did i know of this poker game of life had in store for me. Instead life was about to be lived as per the rules of Italian congregation named the Patrician Brothers.

Enter, St. Josephs Boys Hr. Secondary School also tagged St. Josephs College, to avoid confusions with St.Josephs Convent (all-girls school), a.k.a Sub Jail of Coonoor,Ooty, TN. The day i walked in, i was proud of taking this courageous decision. I was filled with excitement, dead sure of conquering this much talked and feared about 'Boarding' life!!
I meet the concerned authorities, who get a good impression of me, since they never catch a glimpse of a smiley face at the start of the school year. They wondered either i was a nut case or else i was a genuinely interested child. At the spur i would have stuck to the latter, later through the year, i would slowly transfer to the former. So i get my own bed, my study table, my own box room (where we store our clothes, goodies etc...) allocated.
So far on a recap...here is a totally oblivious teenager, who has just struck gold, patting himself away to glory for the decision taken about a new start, to a complete new zone with hopes of a better life.
A peek into what this school looked like.. 16 playgrounds out of which 5 were the sizes of a olympic football requirements. 5 basket ball courts, an indoor NBA sized court, badminton courts, squash courts, a shooting range...basically u name it and we had it...except for a conventional Nilgiris school of horse-riding and swimming pools. At the start, i could give anything to study in such a school, who had facilities matching its accolades.
If it mattered 38 acres of land, 10 pigs, 500 + chickens, 78 cows, 2 roosters and 1 bull ( we envied that the last two characters, especially when they hit the mating season,. we had 600 teenage boarders who envied this one bull for his variety-filled and commitment-less life). It didnt matter but still, it was pretty impressive for a school.
So may grandparents drop me at school, get me settled and are about to leave. I would be the only one to bid them a good bye with a heart while the rest of the wuss bags were crying their hearts out. little did i know, that soon i would join the CRY CLUB!!
the first few months go about settling in the new environment . Trying to create my own territory, trying out friends, school work and above all, time tables to match!!!
A typical school day went as such- At 6 am we have Brother Francis or Mathews pulling of blankets of us, as they realised their voice boxes and whistles wouldnt work. Later, pulling blankets duly gave way to buckets of cold water. U get half an hour to wake up, commit to your morning duties, run down to the box room(which was literally a 3 minute walk out in the cold) , change into our uniforms and run down to our study halls (a 3 minute run!!) and settle for our morning study hours. Thanks to my excitement levels, it helped me keep up to the schedules. Imagine those typical 'Gulf' butter babies, who were used to spending hours in the washroom. I had a habit of bathing in the morning which was laid to rest for 2 years. Bathing at single degree temperatures was a 'negative'. I run down the memory lane when our complaints of meagre hot water supply fell on deaf ears. We gave up on our demands and had succumbed to the Brother's rules.
The whole rush in the morning gave way to a quiet morning study session which lasted a good 1 1/2 hours. By then we would be a pack of hungry wolves ready to devour anything that was provided in the name of breakfast. On the contrary, SJC believed in breakfasts being the king of meals, and true to its title, Breakfasts were the bests. The main items varied from Baturas to shapeless idilies to torn dosas etc. On top of which we were given butter or jam spread breads annd steaming chai. Mind you, the patrician brothers never believed in limited food. But the same didnt hold for time. We had exactly an hour for breakfast of which about 15 mins took a bunch of hungry boys to say the grace. Then more time flew as we had some gossip of a femme next door (St. Joseph Convent), or in the case of nerds - bragging about solving that unsolvable problem. So we typically had half an hour to eat as much as possible.

School sessions went on from 9-3:30 with an hour for lunch which usually consisted of the typical tamil lunch of curd/lemon rice. by 3:30 we are onto pastries with that signature steaming Chai. By 4 everyone is scrambling around to make most of that 1 hour games time. As i mentioned before, there was never a shortage of games to be played, around the campus. I usually stuck to shooting and badminton, after having no luck with basket ball and its sister concern - football. As time flew, football would grow into me. But my love for the guns and raquets never died.
By 5:30 its our bath time. We used to consider hot water , our liquid gold. When one only gets hot water baths 3 times a week in a hill station, nothing could be more precious. Infact the water used to be so cold that we feared excreating and washing up after. (Now i know why the north americas stuck to rolls rather than mugs of water).
by 6 we are back to dinner. The whole drill of saying grace and catching up is repeated thus reducing our stipulated dinner time. I hated dinners at Josephs. I just could'nt wrap my head or rather tastebuds around rubber sheets of paratha and chappathi. The curries were as blant as it could get. At times we have substituted it for water. Its during this time that i developed salty dal and rice as my staple diet. By the end of which we were back to a strict 2-3 hours of study time.
Usually before bed time which happens at 10, some of us used to visit the church - which we found to be a sanctuary. by 10, lights are usually shut out and at times we used to have surprise checks by the Brothers. We rested in a dorm that could vist about 150 students comfortably. the only non-comfortable part were the washrooms. U had 120 students and 6 indian-styled toilets. If it weren't a senior and if one took too long, he could expect a bucket of water from above. It was more like a 'corner and smoke out the person' strategy. Though in our case there wasnt smoke, it was just chilly water. In other words, once inside a toilet, u not only fear of washing later, but also of the untimely and 'against the will' drench sessions. Most of the times, we get to watch a scuffle between the drencher and the drenched where the drencher is under heavy pressure and the drenched is frozen to his nuts.
As the noise settles, most of us are either flustered or have a lil more for some mischiefs, which ranged from wetting one's bed to veggies (which i initially thought was a delicasy) to horrifying acts...Usually by 11, everything settles and the noise is substituted with a variety of snores, each one bigger and better than the person sleeping next to him.
At times when i find it tough to sleep, i make a song out of these snores or use it as a lullaby to put me to sleep!
A recap of all that happened in a day, the excitement of what holds the next day and of course the in sync snores were more than enough for me to drouse.