Zero Percentile - Missed Nothing Kissed Rating

This is Neeraj Chhibba's debut work taking you through the protagonist Pankaj's (from a middle-class family) journey from Delhi to Russia while neatly touching upon how he dreamt big in school, his small sacrifice's with adult thinking, how he didn't get through IIT, his engineering and hostel days in Russia, his friendship, love & sex life and also his business acumen spiced with some Vendetta for his self-proclaimed God(s). Like all things come to a good end the book also ends on a very happy note "Good Guys get Nice Girls."

Written in a lucid manner, Neeraj hit the nail right on the head and he keeps you engrossed all the time making you simply turn pages. The best bet to kill time if you are on a long flight/train journey.

Reason's to read
ØA narration straight from the heart , which each of us can easily relate to
ØLucid writing style typical of young Indian authors, can be read it in one sitting
ØThe storyline & the flow of events can be the fodder for a typical Bollywood Flick

RECOMMENDED for Light Reading

A New World

Drawing the mother into a world of fantasy
Dreaming of her infant in a state of Ecstasy
Details of the child carefully planned and rehearsed,
Names and dresses, even buying toys brain-stormed,

Baby Kicks, while the mother exclaims with joy
With lots of pride, the father claims “its My Boy!”
Besides tummy, their anxiety keeps growing
Worries buried deep, even stress is charming

The 'Day' comes when she can no longer bear the pain,
It's just nature's way of saying “No pain No Gain”
Worried about both, he awaits with mixed feelings in vain
Praying to every God, each delayed moment he goes insane


Loud cry, a paused heartbeat, another miracle happens
Nine months of curiosity ends, now the fervour deepens
Marking the birth of just another one into the world
But for the proud parents, it is the birth of a new world

Hero Ranger

“K.Gajendranath, 9th class D section, roll number 36” the handwritten label read when I handed over my quarterly exams progress report to my dad.

Dad was wearing a checkered blue-yellow-black lungi, sat on the couch cross-legged, a part of his hairy anaemic leg visible through the lungi’s slit - quite usual with any lungi–wearer, as time taught me.

Dad unfolded my report while maintaining his usual composure. He leisurely turned around to pick his bifocal glasses from the duplicate victorian rosewood tea-poi, we bought from bajrang furniture mall last Diwali.

Straight down the nose, dad went through the progress card from left to right, one by one, slowly, curious to see the marks first and the concerned subject next.

Choli ke peeche kya hai…choli ke peeche..chuniri ke neeche kya hai..chuniri ke neeche..Ohh..Choli mein dil….

“Can you please turn off the BLOODY TV now” dad screamed at me while pointing his hand towards the TV. I turned it off to avoid further consequences, and was back in a moment, standing nervously only a few feet away from my seated dad.

I started drawing imaginary patterns on the floor with my left toe, while head upwards, depicting coolness and self-assurance.
“Uh hmmm.” Dad cleared his throat, mobilizing two days’ worth of phlegm within, the awkward sound closely resembling a choking hippo.

“B-grade..hmm” read out loud from the remark column in the progress card, his face beaming subdued satisfaction.

“Not bad uh. Better than last time’s C-grade” dad said with a frown, quite unsurprised, as if preparing to say something more in a few moments.

“You are very very weak in social studies”.

I remained silent. He looked up after two seconds to make sure I was listening.
“Only 52 in social is very very poor” he said with an expression as if he was about to vomit. I became more nervous and my pattern-drawings-with-toe became even faster, my sense of coolness and self-assurance have already escaped.

“How much did that Ramaswamy’s son get? What’s his name? “ dad asked, while shifting his weight from one ass to the other.
“Senthil Ramaswamy. Same, fifty two” I mumbled, radiating nervousness.

Dad looked at me with his eyes stretched out, the eyes seeming even rounder and wider through the bifocal glasses, clearly signalling a cocktail of anger and frustration.

“Tell me the truth you RASCAL”

“Sorry da.aad, I mean, nine.. ninety two” I muttered again, nervously scratching my left arm-pit with my right-hand fingers.

“BABULOO....Come and eat upma betaaa….!” came out a shout from the kitchen, my mom unaware of the proceedings here.

“And how about that S.Ananda Gokulmani?”

“Eighty Nine dad” radiating sincerity and obedience

“There you go.I always told you not to read those damn guides and model papers….TEXT book…always read TEXT book. Even I used to read text books. No guides, no model papers during our time. Didn’t we pass the exam.didn’t we score well huh ?

“May be that’s why you are still a head clerk” I was tempted to retaliate, but guts didn’t back me up.

“Don’t repeat this atleast in your 10th class..remember it would be your board exams”

“BETAAAA...have some bonvita naaaa…” comes from the kitchen again.

I turned a little towards the kitchen intending to respond to mom.

“BLOODY FOOL …are you listening to me here ?” dad screamed
“Ye yes….dad…”

“Better realize now that 10th would be your board exams. Mishra uncle’s son got 556 marks and he stood school first. He got admission into Little flower junior college also. Learn from him” and reached out to the reynolds pen on that ‘victorian’ rosewood tea-poi.

“Don’t expect signature for half-yearly with such pathetic marks in Social”

-----
“Mummy, that day you put god promise to buy me a Hero Ranger cycle if I get B-grade in quarterly exams. Will you buy me this Sunday?” I demanded, sitting on a neelkamal plastic stool by the the kitchen door watching mom doing utensils.

“Eat some upma Babuloo.You should be very hungry. Yesterday night also you didn’t eat anything except four chapathis and two bananas”

“NO. I don’t want upma until you buy me Hero Ranger”

Unconcerned mom adjusted her unruly hair with her fingers and continued rubbing detergent to the stainless steel spatula with aluminium scrubber.

“I will not even drink bournvita” I continued.

(Mom droped the spatula into the sink) “See Babuloo…you are troubling us too much now a days. We will buy you a Hero Ranger, a BIG Hero Ranger one day, but not now. Don’t make so much noise. Dad didn’t give his bonus to me this time. He put everything into his PF” and picked up a stainless steel plate for scrubbing.

“Full cheating mummy. I already knew one day you will say like this. Both you and dad are cheating masters. Abdul Aleem got tonty one marks lesser than me in social, and thirty three marks lesser than me in special english. Still his dad bought him a hero ranger. but you still don’t want to buy anything for me” I jumped down the stool not knowing how else to express my frustration.

“See Babloo..quarterly exams are just normal exams. Just like unit test and slip test. Get A-grade in the final exams,. we will surely buy you a Hero Ranger. God promise”

“NO.You said you will buy me Hero Ranger for b-grade in quarterly exams. DON’T LIE.”.

“Will you drink some bonvita betaa..”

“NO. I don’t want bournvita. I don’t want your upma. I don’t want to live in this house”

“GO. GET LOST THEN” mom screamed

With a punctured ego and pumping adrenalin, I forcibly kicked the plastic stool, which was airborne for a moment and then rolled over a few feet, narrowly missing my mom’s feet.

“SLAPP!!!” landed a sudden slap on my right cheek from no where.
“ABAAA!@##” I uttered in reflex. With a palm over my cheek, I turned around only to discover dad was the sole owner of that slap.

“BLOODY FOOL!! HOW DARE YOU BEHAVE LIKE A ROWDY IN THIS HOUSE?” (and rolled his lungi up, showing a part of his hairy thighs)

“BLOODY RASCAL. HOW DARE YOU KICK THAT STOOL HUH?” (his tongue hanging out this time)

“GET LOST IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LIVE HERE…” while pointing his hand towards the door..
Thoroughly hurt, my palm still over my cheek, I gave a quick self-sympathatic glance at mom expecting some support.

“ENOUGH?” she said

“I AM GOING AWAY FROM THIS HOUSE. I WILL NEVER COME BACK” I declared in anger.
“GO GET LOST” I heard a chorus.

With tears in my eyes, I ran across the living room, opened the shoe rack and hastily wore my white-blue hawaii chappal. Unsure about what to do next, I ran out of the door, down the apartment staircase, just like a woman running away from her drunken boyfriend after an attempted rape.
(After a few moments, silence filled the house, except the distant sound of street dogs barking at each other)
- TBC

AZHAGI

When she is around, never can I feel lonely,
Her pep talk is enough to make my day lovely,
Smile on her face, inspires me to face life easily
Thanks god, for you choose me to be trusted so firmly

Not a single advice of mine does she take seriously
On insisting compliance, she whines away so charmingly
If I demand apology, jacks up excuses so interestingly
“BORN TO DISTURB” me is what she claims lovingly

I plead her to call me ‘anna’, also shout at her angrily,
She Laughs out aloud, and calls me ‘budhu’ so gleefully
Extensive list of abuses & taboo, she hurls at me joyfully,
I smile with tears in eyes, engulfed in her love blissfully

I remember the tea you made for me so caringly,
First card with a heart in it, u gave me so innocently,
First hug you gave me lingers in my mind so vividly,
Needless to mention the care that u show so faithfully

Budhu does not exist without u, lemme tell you honestly,
I Love you & Miss you big time, from Yours Lovingly

DEW DROPS

As Nimble as a new born baby,
As soothing as a mother’s Lullaby,
As colorful as the wing’s of butterfly,
On a leaf does a DEW DROP standby

On the Green leaves sitting as a lazy pearl,
Like a bride awaiting her groom, dreams this girl,
As excited at harvest is a farmer from his crops,
Nature delights the mankind with her DEW DROPS.

To Almighty, DEW DROP is just another creation,
For a Lazy mind, a catalyst of Motivation,
In a lover’s heart, it sprouts the imagination,
And to the poetic mind, the source of Inspiration

With its Freshness, all the pain does it absolve
Mere presence is enough, for laziness to dissolve,
DEW DROPS embrace sun’s rays with a resolve,
“SPECTRUM” they emit, showing how life’s shades evolve.

(A special thanks to my Little Sister "Lollu Lalli" who instilled the confidence in me to pen down this poem and to Ranji for being an "hawk-eye editor")

Girl Child - Give her a chance to Live

She breathed life into me, bore me in her womb
All I knew was to weep, she understood my fume,
I babbled; she smiled as if her life was in full bloom
I am ever indebted to you Mom, from my cradle to my tomb

Here comes my sibling, a fantastic person called Sister,
Will support me as a friend, and also trick me as a trickster
All she gave me was care, though I always gave her a blister,
Takes care of me as a mother, her love was my booster

A Woman came in my life, everyone knows her as my wife,
In her presence; my Home’s a paradise & Happiness is rife,
Pessimist in me declared: “Between Mom & Wife there will be strife”,
But in Harmony I lived and they gave me my “elixir of life”

Happiness knew no bounds when in our life entered my little girl,
Her glance was enough, for my gallant smiles to unfurl,
As the years passed by, I poured all my love into this pearl
She loved me like my mother, and made me feel like an Earl

At every stage of my life, happiness, joy and peace was replete,
Without all these women, Life’s purpose would be incomplete,
In spite of all this, why is a girl child buried in a tomb to retreat,
All she needs is “Right to Live”, Why not give her chance to live it

Happy Women's Day - to all the women who ever influenced, still influencing and will influence my life :-)

Dear

As the V day comes, everyone talks of “Love”
I do wonder, all I get is only a day for my “Dove”,
All my days pass by, lost in thoughts of my dear,
How can I express all that love in a day of the year?

There’s so much to tell her when she is near
Her casual glance is enough to make me cheer
A simple ‘Hi” lights up my day like a chandelier
Every time she passes me, all my thoughts just steer,

When she is before me, I come to a standstill like “mere”
And as she moves on, all I have is only my sorrow to hear
I know without her, purpose of my life will disappear,
This very thought frightens me, in creeps an unknown fear

I wanna express my love to her and make things clear
Friends push me saying “expressing love needs no fear”
I muster up courage and want to request her to hear
When I say “I Love you” darling, please be my “dear”

I go and stand before her, her eyes pierces me as a spear
Warmth in her smile questioned me what makes you fear?
She just stared at me and I went dumb like a queer
She said “Enough of waiting give me a warm hug dear”

Brimmed with joy, I hugged her and my eyes filled with tears,
All happened in a second, what words could not do in years

Race - I ran hard!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ am leading a life of my own,
Waking up to big dreams in the dawn,
Assuring myself that rosier is the road ahead,
Momentary is this fight to earn bread.
My dreams will come true, faith on almighty is firm
No Confidence on my ability, I affirm and confirm,

I say my prayers to every known deity,
Confess, tried to also bribe them with a fifty,
Never missed to give alms to a beggar,
To the already served coffee, I add some sugar,
Never did I miss to pray while passing a temple,
Church, Mosque or Gurudwar, praying is simple.
Which race am I running time and again?
Putting efforts not knowing what’s my gain?

To the office, I am always on time,
Except for work gave nothing a dime,
Tried my best to impress the boss,
Managed my appraisal from going for a toss,
Never hesitated to crush someone under my feet,
So as to realize my dreams & enjoy the sweet
Success comes with a mix of losses and gains,
Increases money, anxiety and intense pains,
Which race am I running time and again?
Which neither had fun nor did it remain.

I have accumulated vast amount of wealth,
But not a single heart to pray for my health,
I have planned well for my retirement,
But forget to think about my life’s betterment,
Wanted to say to myself rosier is the road ahead,
But, do I justify what I have gained - success or bread?
Today, When I sit back and look at my past,
Family, Friends and even my love is lost,
Which race am I running time and again?
Which neither had love, truth or a companion

One thought keeps bugging me & haunts like a ghost
I miss what I lost; don’t cherish whatever I host.

Vroommmmmmmmmmmmmm..............................thud, hud, ud, ddddd........STOP

Single

As the clock ticks 6, darkness of the night gets past
First ray’s of the sun lets the morning approach fast
Reminds the galore of duties and opportunities so vast
But to our bachelor everything is in contrast

Five days of the week he toils hard at work,
Frustrated with the routine, feels like a berk
Keeps dreaming of the weekend to appear,
To hang out with a beer and friend’s to cheer,

Weekend comes; friend’s absence brings a tear
Swamped was he by friends, Ouch!! They disappear
Where have they gone? His loneliness spreads fear,
Why am I alone, left with no one to hear?

All his friends are married, busy in their own ways,
He stands dejected, remembering the good old days
Every Saturday they met, at the least for a cup of tea,
Spoke of everything, their chatter buzzed like a bee,

All their chores were petty, watching movie was profound,
Samosa’s in the recess, followed with babble all around
Followed by boozing, only fun they did expound,
Now he is alone, left with memories that unbound

Lost in these thoughts does the weekend past,
Worried about work blues, his worries spread fast
Where have they gone? His loneliness spreads fear,
Why am I alone, left with no one to hear?

A cheeky take on Inflation

Inflation, Inflation, thy word is today’s sensation,
Expected to slow down the growth of a nation,
During inflation, money gives you the temptation,
But goods, hardly respond to this invitation.

Is it coz of the cost that kept pushing?
Or that the demand kept pulling,
Economist in me, says that’s not surprising,
While my ego says, isn’t that disgusting?

As an investor, to beat inflation is my thought,
Reminds me of the ‘Economics’ lessons, I was taught,
During Inflation, Short term financial instruments are sought,
Alternatively, Properties may also be bought.

Underdeveloped Financial markets should be tapped,
Alternative Investment opportunities are unwrapped,
To diversify risk, Investment in commodities is mapped
You beat inflation as the Value loss in currency is entrapped.

If it is so simple, why in the world is everyone daunted?
Coz, everyone fears the symptoms where basics are wanted.

Terms do change, today is Inflation,
To follow may be deflation, slow down & recession,
To be aware of the basics is the only salvation,
For all, An Investor, Institution & every nation

They say, when there is a will there is a way,
Why fear Inflation, when you can beat it all the way.

My Lady

All along my dreams, she was there with me,
I open my eyes and she was just staring at me,
I shut the doors, but can’t stop her from coming in
I closed my eyes, and there she is or may be her identical twin.

With great bother, I carry out my daily chore,
Every move I make, her lovely eyes ever adore
On my way to office, I am aloof from the beauties walking by,
My mind wonders, why my heart ponders for this lady living by,

I keep wondering of the various crushes in my past,
As I compare with this one which I hope would ever last
The day passed by and the mighty sun bid a warm good bye,
Birds are back to their nest, while owls just set out to spy,

Day in and day out, she was by my side to imply,
In my Success or Failure, Joy or Sorrow she will just stand by,
Feeling the pain of not being able to see her, all the days pass by,
Hallucination, dream or reality, she is always there to live by

“Who is this lady?” was the only thought that tore me apart,
In came the answer, that she is the one to win my heart
Oh God, is this the ‘Eve’ I have been craving for all my life,
Just dreaming and brooding about my better-half called wife ?

Kandaswami, His Cycle and Its Handle

Born in a middle-class orthodox Brahmin family, Kandaswami, 13 years old, wasn't used to anything new. It doesn’t mean he was inexperienced, but was rather under-experienced. He was never offered anything new – what ever he has, belongs to his cousin Senthil Balasubramanian (he is in the US now). Everything second-hand and sometimes recycled - second-hand books, used clothes, stain-rich trousers, perforated banians and bug-filled pillows. Not even an identity of his own. No individuality at hand. Being the youngest in the family, he only got orders to obey, but never the freedom to express. Honestly, he was like a tiger in a circus.

One day he resolved that he would revolt against all and speak up, hoping justice would back him. He went to the temple and prayed for courage. He was vibrant on his way back home. He was confident. He was full of energy. He was an unsung hero at that point in time. He confronted his parents who were sitting on the sofa watching television.

Dad: (while scratching his head) What happened? Wanted to say something ?
Mom: Kanda, you look happy today, whats the reason?
Kanda furiously opens up his entire frustration. He talks about everything – including his cousin’s used clothes, smelly handkerchieves and worn-out triumph cards. But, before he could finish, a healthy slap from no where landed on his face. It took him 2 minutes to realize that his father was the owner of that slap. He couldn’t continue. He was all the more furious, but not confident. Yet, deep from his heart, he always wanted to be independent. He wanted to experiment things. Relieve his frustration. Be self-determining and self-reliant. He never got a chance. Neither did he try taking one for the fear of being called undisciplined. For him reputation matters a lot.

Bhagyam maami promised to gift him a bicycle on his fast approaching thread ceremony. He dreamt of the latest racer bikes, racing, long rides, etc. BMX was his favorite bicycle. He had every detail of the dream bike, but no one ever cared to ask him what he wanted. They gifted him the oldest existing model of Atlas cycle, thanks to the Pongal discounts at ‘Annapurna Cycles & Tyres’.. He was in tears, but everyone thought they were tears of joy. On the ceremony day, his aunt hugged him. His mom kissed him. And his dad didn’t even look at him, but said “Kanda, take care of this bicycle as we take care of you.” Kanda cursed his gods, but never complained. What made him really happy was that he alteast got something new. Perhaps his cousin Senthil never had a bicycle.

Bicycle gave him the liberty he wished for. He could ride it the way he wanted - fast or slow or medium. Sit on it, lie on it or ride on it. It allowed him to take whichever road he wished. He talked to it while riding, studied sitting on it and shared his lessons with it. It’s bell was his favourite part. It’s handle was his soul. He always maintained full pressure in its tyres and used coconut oil for its axles. He discussed everything - his happiness, sorrow, crush and even about Irfan who always bullied him in school.

The bicycle too started communicating with him.

On his 15th birthday, he promised the bicycle “I shall never part with you.”

The bicycle, with its handle in tears (read ‘eyes’) said, “Don’t make false promises, once you grow richer you would desert me, you would forget me.”

He hugged it and repeatedly vowed to never part with it. No one understood their chemistry. That bicycle was everything for him-family, friend, mentor, etc.

Kanda finished his education, got a job, got married and was blessed with a son. He bought a car. True to his word, he ordered his servant to clean the bicycle, keep it in good condition. He used to proudly show his best friend (bicycle) to his son, but never allowed him to go near it for the fear of getting hurt on the bicycle. The bicycle remained their forever. He used to inquire “Why are you unhappy?”, “You are not your usual self?” He had questions, but no time for its answers. He defended saying “I love you, that’s why I am taking care of you, what else can I do for you? You should also try understanding me..............” Nevertheless, the bicycle was not happy. The family went for a major renovation of the house & his better half got a reclining chair in exchange of the bicycle. Kandaswami was disturbed, but the logical reasoning of his wife convinced him.

He retired with a fat cheque & plans to stay with his children. His wife expired & son was busy in his career. His son ordered the servant to take proper care of Kanda. His son inquired “Why are you unhappy dad?”, “You are not your usual self?” Son had questions, but no time for dad's answers. Son defended “I love you, that’s why I am taking care of you, what else can I do for you? You should also try understanding me...”
Now, sitting alone in the A/c room, medicines & servants to take care of him, Kanda wondered what is making him unhappy. He wanted his son to spend time, talk, discuss with him & make him part of the family. Immersed in these thoughts, he understood what made the bicycle unhappy? But now he was helpless. Had it been a living being he could have hoped to meet it in hell or heaven? He was depressed & felt ashamed.

He heard a voice (bicycle's voice), the chair was now speaking. “When your wife got rid of me I prayed god to make me into a chair so that you could recline on me in your old age. Today, when deep in your heart you thought about me, you are able to hear me. You managed to live without me, but I couldn't.” Kanda couldn't speak a word, only tears flowed down begging for pardon.

Kanda was happy again and his son too was happy. One day he breathed his last sitting on the chair. Son preserved the chair for ages in memory of Kanda. He used to take care of it just like Kanda. Even Kanda’s son used coconut oil to clean the chair's linkages and screws.....

Late Kanda watched all these from heaven and smiled with a sense of satisfaction. Sometimes, he also calls the other heaven-mates (2008 batch) to show them how his chair is being taken care of by his son, down on the earth. They gave him a soft pat on his back and smiled back saying "Hey Kanda, you are the luckiest dude..". This made Kanda all the more happy.

"Really how lucky I am!" Kanda used to feel.

College days

There were times, I remember,
lasting in the heart forever,
couple of years, we spent by
filled with fun, everyday passed by
Chatting in the class, thru emails
dating the nearby females(girls read it as males),
Those frequent outings I remember,
lasting in the heart forever,

When the professors teach,
dreamt of the evenings in the beach,
they demanded discussion,
we prayed for an excursion.
We were bugged by the assignments,
taking a toll on our engagements,
They said, Late submissions will be fined,
We said, Let us postpone never mind,
Professors, not happy every time,
They warned this is the last time.
we googled all our resource,
Intentionally, never mentioned the source,
Assignments submitted that I remember,
lasting in the heart forever.

Days, months and 2 years passed by,
then came the time, to bid good-bye,
Like a tide in the ocean, all were swept,
Missing our friends, all night we wept,
Guilty I feel at the heart,
why the hell did we part,
With a promise to meet,
towards destiny moved our feet
Those tough moments, I remember,
lasting in the heart forever.

Oh god, I urge with pain,
Give us a chance to meet again,
Even if this prayer goes in vain,
sweet memories shall remain
of those times, I remember,
lasting in the heart forever.

Google Has a Sense of Humour

The other day I was googling for 'swayamwaraonline malayalam'. Google had something interesting in store for me.

Cinema Days

The movie started half an hour ago. Kunjuraman Kutty is reluctantly munching pop-corn from the same pack and taking unenthusiastic sips of ‘marinda’ from the same bottle, as did the beautiful lady sitting beside him. This beautiful young lady was named Ponnamma by her parents upon her grand papa’s insistence. (Ponnamma has done BA. She had also done typewriting course from Ayyappan typewriting & Short-hand Institute, closer to her ancestral house). Kunjuraman is about 29 years old. Ponnamma about 23 years.

One sip of marinda by Kunjuraman, next sip by Ponnamma. Ponnamma seemed very happy. She was happy infact. But Kunjuraman seemed to be soaked in agony.

They are here to watch Spiderman-3 in Kalpana talkies. Kunjuraman doesn’t seem happy at all. But, Ponnamma, his newly-wed wife is very happy. She is thoroughly enjoying the movie. She is clapping. She is beating Kunjuraman on his thigh occasionally and stomping on his foot whenever Toby executes a thrilling stunt on the screen. Neither irritated nor excited, the disappointed Kunjaraman seemed cheerless.

Sitting beside Ponnamma, Kunjuraman Kutty is deeply recollecting those cinema days with his friends Suraj, Imran, Ramana and Lallu.

Kunjuraman and his friends never bothered about the class of co-viewers to the hall. Never worried about comfort in the seats. Nor the quality of the sound. The seats might have been bug-rich and the antique ceiling fans would have been whirring from sides, they were just happy they were having fun atlast. They never even had to bother about the stench of urinals sneaking through the hall-door right into their noses. Nor worry about the filthy gutkha-intensive mouth from behind shooting in litres of gutkha-rich saliva under their seat. Often, aggressive-Suraj starts delivering expletives against the gutkha spitter. The other three joining the expletive-chain in chorus. But Kunjuraman Kutty is now a family man. Ponnamma is his wife. So, decent theatres are a must. Besides decent theatres, “decent” films are mandatory (quotes intentional). Any shortfall would trigger telecommunicative flash news into the inquisitive ears of in-laws and relatives.

Ramana taught him whistling and Kunjuraman became a good whistler after unsuccessful trials. Those days, good scenes were always acknowledged through an appreciative whistle escaping from hundreds of lips in the hall. Now, Kunjuraman Kutty is a family man. Similar other Kunjaramans and Ponnammas are around. Hence, he can’t whistle. Infact, he shouldn’t whistle. His whistling instincts are still alive, although pathetically irrepressible. Its high time Kunjuraman has chosen between ‘dignity-before-Ponnamma-and-fellow-kunjuramans-and-ponnammas’ and his ‘Whistling instincts’. Ofcourse, he has chosen ‘dignity’.

Those were days, when they had the greatest degree of consensus when it came to choosing a movie. They had the same ‘tastes’, same ‘fondness and same kind of ‘desires’ – all youth inspired. Kunjuraman is a family man now. He has to take Ponnamma to ‘family’ movies, only.

Long queues while waiting for tickets, the gossips and comments about girls passing by, the irani tea in the nearby hotel before the movie begins. Kunjuraman is missing these badly. He is now a family man. He has to book the tickets in advance for himself and Ponnamma. He has not choice. Buying tickets in black is cheap.

Kunjuraman is fond of little onion samosas, especially the ones sold in movie theatres. His friends like them too. A mere 5-rupee would fetch him handful of them. His friend Laalan used to say “Onion samosas are the Official Interval Snack for most of the bachelors ha ha ha”. But now Kunjuraman is a family man. He has to buy only ‘class’ edibles for himself and Ponnamma. He can’t even drool over those onion samosas, lest Ponnamma gives him a disgusting look.

Spiderman-3 is over. And titles scrolling up. Kunjuraman is still thinking about his good old cinema days……

The Crush - Episode 12

That day, we parted with a friendly ‘bye’ and I managed not to show any embarassments on my face. I had to feign neutrality. I wanted to introspect my condition badly, introspect myself desperately, and fix the emotionally pathetic ordeal I have been succumbing in. I prepared to write a letter to her. Next day, I saw her standing at the bus-stop wearing a white salwar kameez, which fit her waist perfectly, making her look even more gorgeous. Her shimmering bangles were reflecting the morning sun’s rays, making the day livelier and brighter. The ends of her dupatta gracefully flapping in the wind like a flowing river. She looked like an angel. But I knew, I was going to depart from her for ever. I may not even see her again. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Sun’s rays formed strange prisms in my tearful eyes and obstructed my vision. For a moment, I felt like tearing off the letter in my hand and go on with whatever I had been doing so far. But something in me stopped me from doing that. Without thinking further, I approached her with hesitant little steps and stood before her at a touching distance. She looked at me, with her eyes beaming happiness, and her lips giving out a gracious smile.

I couldn’t smile. I was looking straight into her eyes with my dripping eyes. Then, I simply handed over the letter to her. Without speaking a word, I turned away from her and took an auto to the office. She stood there calmly, perplexed at my strange demeanor. I could sense a slight feeling of confusion muddled up with an uncomfortable nervousness on her face. She hastily unfolded the letter with her tender fingers and started reading it.

To My Sweetheart…

You remember, you put my hand around me while I stood there on the footboard? That may not be an unforgettable moment for you but for me….

That’s the precise moment. That’s the precise moment when you entered my heart without its consent. I looked into your eyes, you looked into mine. It was at that point, for the first time, my virgin heart craved for a woman before me. That day, you carried - and always carry - a charismatic aura around you. I couldn’t prevent my heart more from falling in love with you. And it finally did fall in love, first off. Perhaps, my heart was so susceptible to your magnetism. Your drawing power is more powerful than gravity. Your love-inducing composure and angelic demeanor and your alluring conversations during our times in the bus made me fall flat before you. Thoughts about you makes me perspire like a candle melt. Dear, you got to forgive my heart for it had never taken any conscious pledge of celibacy. If it had, it could have certainly died of a heartache after seeing you. You are the most stunning woman I had ever touched shoulders with. You are the most elegant woman I had ever seen..in the purest sense of the words!

And one day you said you see your brother in me. To my tender heart what a powerful jolt it was. What a terrible tremor it was. So painful our story is. My mind is in splits. My heart is on thorns. That painful tragedy is making me feel shameful. I couldn’t even share this with anyone. Perhaps, this is the most awkard kind of confrontation any guy could possibly make. I cant endure these anymore. Deeply engrossed in your thoughts didn’t leave even zilch harmony within me. Not enough strength could I salvage dear..

Not enough strength…

I wish I had not stood by the bus stop. I wish I had not seen you…I had not felt you. I wish you had not touched me…you had not hugged me. I wish your hair had not brushed me gently, trailing behind the mild fragrance of your shampoo.. I now want to run away. Run away afar into unthinkable horizons. Down into the hot deserts…deep into the wild forests….to get lost into those unfathomable depths….just to keep myself away from your memories…fly off from that soap-like aroma which makes me feeble in your presence. Escape from your charisma and breath that makes me fall flat before you… But my heart is not cooperating, sweetheart…. You killed me. You hurt me. Ambrosia-like were your words then. Acid-like is what I feel now. I want to slaughter myself. I want to hide my face, for nothing is as excruciating as your memories

Before meeting you and falling in love with you, I was an energetic man with a drive to achieve something. A straightforward, honest and hardworking guy who thinks about days forward. Your ingress had changed me completely. I became a hypocrite. I behaved artificial always trying to impress you. Started talking only what you would listen to. Started saying only what pleased you. Started liking only what you liked. I was away from my true self. Too far from myself. I lost my individuality.

I was leading an undisturbed life. A life full of fun and friends and colleagues. You made me forget my friends …my people at home…my work at office…my curriculum at college. You made me forget my destiny…you made me feel so awkward…I want my good old life back. Life without tensions. Life full of ambitions. Life full of enthusiasm. A life to look forward to. A life full of peaceful sleep. A life with self-respect. A life with faultless ego. A life devoid of hypocrisy. An adventurous life with a drive to achieve something. Now if I continue craving for you further, I may not justify my existence. I only want to forget you now. I want to make my life worth living. I want to spend time with my friends. I want to spend my life happily with one and all. Out of the blue you came into my life, and created a pandemonium out of it. Not your fault either… I don’t want to think about you…nor can I think of you either. I sincerely apologise for the pseudo-feelings I had towards you…

I apologise to you in toto. Please forgive me - for the first and last time.

Yours lovingly

Swami

Dandiyas and Droolings!

Disco-dandiya has now become the Featured Official Indian Dance during Navrathris, replacing the traditional Dandiya. This period (Navrathri) usually witnesses all eligible male bachelors, individually and collectively drooling over colourfully-dressed eligible female bachelors over the dandiya turf. Needless to say, innocent and sincere participants like middle-aged north-indian maamas and maamis could also be seen in the scene, tapping their dandiya sticks tenderly against those of other maamas and maamis. All with a gentle disposition. Blushing is a typical, yet acceptable expression during such stick-tapping sessions among maamas and maamis. “We are here to honour the very religious motive behind Navrathri dance, unlike those lusty youngers out there” says a middle-aged gujarati maami, smt Ashalatha Lakhani, pointing to a group of youngsters.

Married-maamas and married-maamis is only one of the two sincere and innocent lots, justifying the objectives as laid down in the Official Indian Dandiya Gazzette. The other sincere and innocent lot is of kids ranging from 3 to 12 years; among which one would witness kids (usually shorter than the size of dandiya sticks) hitting their parents and other participants on their bottoms out of excitement produced by the deafening filmy music. A common sight on dandiya turf is of kid killing cockroaches and grasshoppers using dandiya stick and then droppig it in dad’s pocket. “Killing cockroach using dandiya stick and dropping it in my dad’s pocket or mom’s chips packet gives me more pleasure than this f****g dandiya dance” says an angry 4-year-old Ram Prasad Mishra, with a sense of pride on his face. Another kid, a 5-year-old Lalitha Chaturvedi, hurt our special correspondent by throwing a dandiya stick at his jaw.

Dandiyas are usually organised by housing societies, communities, associations, etc to provide a common platform to the youngsters to drool over. Dandiya fanatics from the vicinity get together and tap their exotic sticks against each others’ to the beats of bollywood lively, rhythmic, cabaret-like numbers produced by a 20,000-watt powerhouse.

Dandiya-induced drooling can be active or passive:

Active drooling involves drooling while simultaneously doing the ‘tapping the sticks’ exercise. An Active drooler dresses up in levi’s jeans, t-shirt and trainers or sometimes in a rented garbha costume (including the striking turban) or sometimes a kurtha-pyjama. With atleast one litre perfume under his arm-pits and 2 kgs of gel on his head, he carries himself like Salman before the actual session starts. He makes few quick walks across the dandiya turf to grab feminine attention. He would be eyeing and scanning the entire crowd for good-looking chicks and makes sure he stands beside the best of them before the cabaret-like dandiya music starts. Once the music begins, his attempts to touch her (using elbow, shoulder, etc) begins too. In case she gives him a filthy look (ie kya-tumhe-maa-bahen-nahin-hain-kya look) he sheepishly apologizes to her under the pretence of an oversight and scuttles away. After a few minutes, he could be seen dancing beside another beautiful chick keeping himself busy in the ‘touch-and-feel’ business again. Bloody Fool!

“We are here to honour Mother Goddess, and at the same time to have fun by quenching our dancing enthusiasm” says Mr. Satyanarayan Budani, an IT professional. “True, quite true, nothing else” shouted from behind Mr. Abdul Hameed, yet another IT professional.

Passive drooling involves standing on the ground (or sitting on a wall or a tree) at the perimeter of Dandiya turf. Passive drooling allows performing the drooling exercise effortlessly. Typically aged between 15 to 28, the typical passive drooler is obviously not here to watch dandiya. Neither to honour Mother Goddess. He is here to watch female cleavages, legs and if lucky enough, unhooked bras. He dresses up like a hero, makes himself available at the scene before time and sits calmly like a gentleman with loads of expectations in his eyes. His heart blows up upon the sight of a cleavage or a fleshy leg. He then whispers into his fellow-drooler’s ears and they giggle together - most relishing effort of his life. He would be the happiest person among the crowd if a female dandiya participant throws an accidental glance at him. He continues staring at the accidentally-glanced-female-participant with tons of hope in his eyes (hopes that she would call him onto the turf and give him a deep hug out of love). While staring at her, the typical passive drooler’s mouth would be wide open (displaying his tonsil) till the time his heart breaks when he finds her rubbing together with her boyfriend. Mr. Krishnan Kutty Nair, a mumbai-settled IT professional of about 25-years, refused to comment when he was caught with his mouth wide open.

(Readers can add their observations on this topic in the comments section)

The Crush - Episode 11

That implied I was caught red-handed while I was shamelessly staring at her vital organs. My embarassment had no bounds. My embarassment had no definition. Yet, it had some movement: it spread across my innocent pale face and started moving rapidly down my waist area and finally took a u-turn at the ankles. Then it started crawling up back, passed over my buttocks and finally stopped at the place where it actually started. This embarassed me further.

Ofcourse, I was not looking at her organs with lust. I was looking at them out of love. True and heartfelt love. Once you fall in love, you tend to have this strange feeling of assuming ownership over your lover’s appendages. Only true lovers understand this strange feeling.

I knew she has a husband. But, I didn’t know she has a brother too. Neither had she told me. I hate them to the extent I love her. I wanted to tell this to her, upfront. But I couldn’t muster courage. I was provisionally gutless.

“I would like to know about your husband and brother too. Infact, I would love to know about your entire family and in-laws and grand generation and beyond that. You see, I am of the reserved types. So, I didn’t really want to interfere in your personal matters ” I told her in a soft romantic voice.

“That’s like a plump pumpkin..Now can you guess what could I have brought for you from my in-laws’s place?” she asked me giving a 32-teeth smile.

Well…hmm..if my guess is something to go with, you might have brought..hmm…mm….LOTS OF LOVE FOR ME…hehehehe…” saying this I stared at her sharp love-inducing eyes, which sopped in rain a few minutes ago.

She moved a little closer to me. And I could feel her breath and sense the mild soap-like aroma from her body.

“You are getting too romantic. Any girl in my place would have definitely fallen for you. She wouldn’t have minded to give you a muscular hug once she gets encaptivated by your powerful looks through those third-rate ancient spectacles” she said romantically, and giggled naughtily.

“You naughty girl !!” said my innersense which was on a roll and was giggling vigorously.

“Now, please close your eyes” she said in a soft romantic voice, typical of a hollywood actress. “Don’t open them until I ask you to”

“Ok. As you please” I giggled..

I was standing there with loads of expectations in my closed eyes.
“Is she gonna kiss me?” – no it’s too early to expect a kiss at this stage of relationship.
‘Is she gonna hug me”- no it’s not the right place to expect a hug. (Nor do I recommend personally)
“Is she gonna hand over a gift to me” – probably yes. But not sure.
“If yes, what could be that gift”- probably an i-pod? Can’t say.
“Or is she gonna …….”

Before I proceeded further with my internal conversation, I felt her grabbing my hand and placing a feather-weighted, 6-inch gadget into my hand.

“Now open your eyes slowly” she said.

As I opened my eyes, I saw her face beaming with curiosity. I still can’t forget the curiosity in her eyes, eagerly waiting to witness my expression once I see the ‘surprise gift’ she placed in my hand.

I slowly looked at my hand to see what that surprise gift was. My heart was pounding heavily and my mind was sincerely practising the various stylish and humble ways to react if it indeed turns out to be an i-pod.

It was a plastic comb. A dirty plastic comb with missing teeths here and there and ridiculous amounts of black oily deposits at the base.

The most embarrassing moment in my life. Infact, the most irrating moment in my life.

“How dare she insult my baldness by gifting me a filthy comb, huh?
My love doesn’t come at the cost of insulting my biological deficiency, you lady!
I may be bald, but I have a fully clean heart.
I may be bald, but I have a dandruff-free scalp.
I may be bald, but I have hair-rich thighs.
How dare you insult me symbolically by giving a comb?
Are all girls like this? Is this what happens to all true lovers? Common, tell me I say?

But somewhere in the corner of my heart, I felt she had a definite purpose behind this nuissance. I had known her for the past 9 days and I definitely feel she has some good cause behind her action. I knew her pretty well. Even my innersense knew her pretty well.

She began sobbing. “Do you remember this?”

Now, what the hell does she mean by “do-you-remember-this?”

Before I opened my mouth and moved my tongue to speak out something, tears rolled down her cheeks like a baby’s piss.

"I am sure you remember this. I told you on our way back from office that day. This is my brother Pyarelal’s comb" saying this, she hugged my belly sturdily and hid her face underneath my jacket, breaking wildly into tears.

I gave an embarassing smile to the middle-aged man at the bustop who has been watching our free show for the past half-an-hour.

Not wanting to forego this opportunity, I gave her a warm romantic hug forgetting about Pyarelal and his dirty comb.

It was a bustop. And I was feeling shy.

After a few minutes of slience and one-side-romantic-other-side-pyarelal-induced hug, she took her original position of standing straight a couple of feets away.

“Today I want to tell you why I love you so much” she resolved explicitly

“Why?” I enquired in a soft romantic voice expecting her to hug me again.

“Had my brother been alive today, he would would have looked exactly like you: same height, same size, same shape, same spectacles, same caring heart, same patience while listening, same ass, same balls, same….#$#$#$#$”

While she continued with the ‘same’ list of items, I was searching for a deep well to jump into. Badluck didn’t spare me this time too.

(To be continued)

The Crush - Episode 10

It was the best relationship I could ever imagine. For the first time in my life I experienced a lust-free feeling.

Next day, she couldn’t be seen at the bus stop. Not even her shadow. Not even the soap-like aroma. The stench from the public urinal beside the bustop started dominating the bus-stop’s ambiance in her absence. That proves the power of her soap-like aroma. Everything looked gloomy. The world appeared to have switched from a Halogen bulb (normally used in weddings, especially receptions) to a zero-watt bulb (normally used in household latrines)

Help! Help! my heart was scanning around for a single indication of hers. I dont know which direction she comes from. I don’t even know where she stays. All I know is she comes to the bustop well before me. Though my bus arrived on time, I didnt board it that day. “Fruits of patience are sweeter” my inner sense whispered into my ears.

It’s been 75 mins since I heard the damn whisper. She didn’t show up yet. I don’t know her number, I don’t know her name. I don’t even know what her favourite tv-serial is. Is this what they call love?

I was upset, in a strange way. So, I took an auto to the office. I was very sad and simply staring at the rear-view mirror. I could see my face on it. Not knowing what to do, I gave a benevolent smile into the mirror. My face in the mirror smiled back at me. This gave me some degree of consolation.

It was a Saturday. Nine days have passed. I had some important work at workplace and I was waiting for the bus. I was still missing her. My feelings for her were still alive. My feelings for her were still lust-free. I was expressively down. Psychologically ridiculous. “Go to a psychologist and have it checked” my innersense advised me. I always respect my innersense. But not this time.

My heart said “Swami, all that’s happening is true. Voila! Go head!”
My mind said “ I doubt. They are pure hallucinations. Hence, a thumbs down from my side”

On my way back home it was raining heavily. I missed the direct bus and had to walk upto an intermediate bustop. None of the auto kaarans were willing to take to my place. Ha ha ha ha.. I laughed at myself. He he he he..I laughed at my horrible condition.

"Hello Bosssss How are you?". I heard a very familiar female voice behind me “Hehehee..heights of hallucination” I whispered to my innersense “What happened, why are you not responding to me” I heard the same familiar female voice again, but this time, coupled with an elephant-like jerk at my arms. There she is…

“Go ahead. Go ahead and say Hi” my heart said
“Hahaha.. you moron! It is pure hallucination..!” my mind said.

I listened to my eyes. She was indeed there. "Hi” I screamed, and continued in a low romantic voice, “How are you and where were you all these days? I was very worried about your whereabouts, you know?”

“Tchu..tchu..tchu..tchu...dont you remember I mentioned about my visit to my in-laws’ place and that I would see you only on Monday”

“mmmm..No. I don’t remember” I said with uncertainty, in the same low romantic voice. “You duffer..you teddy…you pumpkin..I told you but you might have forgotten. Since you don’t work on Saturday’s, I said I would be seeing you again on Monday. Understood?”

“Yeah..yeah…I think I remember…”

"You will not believe me if I say this. Though I was on a vacation, you were there with me all the time. I felt your presence all the time. I was enjoying your company. You are so good, I really like you. I love you so much" she let it slip….

YESS! YESS! YES! YES!

At that moment, I was floating on a cloud made up of ‘cheerfulness’. I was swimming in a virtual fluid called ‘happiness’. And the excited hands of ecstasy were molesting me left and right. Top to bottom. Front and back.

“I too love you but also hate you because you always speak about your married life” I wanted to say. But I didn’t have the courage.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. They were ‘tears of happiness’ (sandhosha kanneeru). I mustered courage, without my own knowledge. "After a very long time, someone said they love me truly. I am very happy today. I am very happy with you” I said with a gentlemanly disposition, in the same low romantic voice
She was also moved. Went senti. Tears rolled down her cheek. "Do you really feel comfortable with me" she enquired.

“Yes. I do. I feel very comfortable with you” I said quickly (without a pause) and was desperately holding my breath for her response.

"Why didnt you ask me about my brother or husband? About what they do. Where they are. You are so dumb. I just feel I am imposing this relationship on you. I always feel you just nod your head but never truly listen to me” (By this time, I already starting feeling that I ‘owned’ her. That she was mine. I already started giving secret glances at her gorgeous body, arms, neck, etc)

“Can you please look at my face while I am speaking to you?” she said in an irritated voice.

The Crush - Episode 9

Three days passed like three seconds (though this sounds like a dialogue from one of Bharathiraja’s movies, it indeed happens in real love-life too. For example, it happened with me) Only true lovers realise what I mean.

I started feeling sick. My throat felt nausea. Honestly, for me, the entire world resembled an assortment of puke-inducing components. That’s the degree of my nausea-ness. That was the extent of my sickness. Also, I would like to describe my condition at that time as a “biological outcome arising out of a psychological drive called ‘Love’”…Yes, a sacred ‘Love’..

Yet, I was damn sure about one thing: she was also enjoying my company. Second thing: She used to impatiently wait for me in the bus stop. Third thing: She is taking her time to open up. Fourth thing: She is of the reserved types.

Next day I met her at the bus stop again. We boarded the bus. I asked her “dont you do make-up, lipstick, eye wallah, lip liner?? She gave me a naughty smile and said “I am married, I need not woo someone now”(with a simple, short “ha ha ha”)

I felt irritated. I knew she didnt ridicule me and she was kidding, but that was like stabbing with a knife into my over-sized belly. Ofcourse, it was painful. Then she suddenly squeezed my hand, dragged me towards her (a gesture before blowing a secret into someone’s ears. Even T.Uma Shankari – my 9th class tuition-mate at Anjaneyalu sir’s tuition - used to tell me ‘jokes’ this way only ie pulling me closer and then whispering into my ears).

She moved her lips close to my ears. I thought she was gonna kiss me now and say “enough is enough re swami. I love you” But she didnt do either. She said "my hubby doesn't like me wearing make-ups, jeans and modern dresses, so I gave up on those superficial paraphernalia 3 years back. Last time I wore them was when he proposed me. After that, things happened pretty quickly and I have a kid now. I thank God everyday for such a wonderful life".

I was still alive.

I felt like slapping her. “Common, dhey thadi swami! dhey thadi!!” my inner sense encouraged me to slap her. But I controlled myself. Coz, I knew it was out of jealousy. More of helplessness. Or is it a common feeling out of love? I don’t know.

Ofcourse, I didn’t want to hear such good things from her. I can’t bear if she is happy with her husband. Coz, this reduces my chances. I wanted to tell her one thing upfront: “next time you are with me, I dont want you to talk about your damn hubby, damn married life and damn past”.You will talk only about how you admire me? How much you love me? How good I am?” Ofcourse, I didn’t have the courage to tell her all these.

“Does a man’s courage-quotient reduce once they fall in love?” My inner sense asked me the question. “Google it you moron” I responded angrily in return. Really, I was very angry.

I could only smile at her. Believe me, the rage in me, if let out, would have destroyed the entire bus, including the fat lady sitting to my right. Honestly, I was enjoying every moment with my sweetheart. So far the most memorable moments I lived in the company of a woman, whose name I still donno know. I have never asked her.

“Is this what we call love? Is this a common syndrome among lovers?”

Frankly, even she never asked my name. Yet, she talked to me a lot about her childhood, school life, married life and college life (she is reasonably qualified. M.Com discontinued. She also appeared for CAT last year and scored a decent 47 percentile) I don’t remember most of what she told, coz instead of listening to her, I was only staring at her eyes, nose, thick eyebrows, tender hands, smooth neck, silky hair, etc. I know for sure, she is comfortable in my company. Also, somewhere in the corner of my heart, I had hopes that given a chance she would hug me. She would not even hesitate to kiss me. I know she also loves me a lot. My inner sense also says so.