Coffee and a Kiss

“ur coffee is getting cold!!!” 

                Don’t go mad or panic or you haven’t skipped a page or paragraph. I don’t love to start like this, but this is how my mornings start. May be you are new to my wife’s invitation for coffee. Apparently, my mind was occupied by the last meeting with my editor. He promised that he would kick me out, if I couldn’t bring him an article for the next issue. Last article on chaos theory went to the bins, “We want people to read this, and do you think they will at least glance this?” So it’s like, I m on the verge of preparing my CV for the next job and article at the same time. In a quest for an evocative idea my ears didn’t pick Renuka’s voice. The voice which took control over me, as my better half, it’s no wonder why everyone calls me uxorious.

                I wonder what would have happened, if she wasn’t in my life. Oh God!!! I totally forgot her coffee, which sits in the table enjoying the cool breeze in my balcony. Now you know why she was screaming …. Actually shouting… oh no… speaking in her shrill tone. I beamed my stupid smile when I saw her standing in front of me, supporting herself to the wall, with her elbows bent to her hip.

“This is what you do daily, do you want someone to remind you of your coffee? “

“Sorry Renu!!! My mind was occupied with the article”

“hmmmm!! That sounds a better excuse! Shall I get you another one?”

“Oh no!! This is fine! This can keep my brain working for the next 2 hours”

“Phew!!! Too much coffee, isn’t good for you!”

“Caffeine is actually good; it keeps me away from Alzheimer’s and heart problems”

 “Don’t tell me your next article is on caffeine? I don’t mind tearing it now, before your editor does!!!”

I took my cup and joined her while managing a half smile. “Hey every time I see your face, there’s something unique, like a newly bloomed flower”

She eyed me naughtily biting her lower lip, “Stop that!”

I was holding her arms and toying with her ring, while my eyes were busy trying to lock a stare with her, ”You know that I m not lying, you are full of ideas, when I go blank, you are my source code”

She was smiling with her lip still tugged by her incisors, which made me wonder, is she the most beautiful thing in this world? Or am I under a spell by this woman?

“Idiot!! Did u get ur mind onto something, which could be useful for the next issue?”

“I m already onto something beautiful, ur face. The way you tuck the single strand of hair behind your ears, actually I m admire that, perhaps my character for the next story would be like you”

  

She pulled me close with her arms embracing my waist, “You know something; the caffeine is doing all gimmicks in your brain”

“hahaha!! Now you talk science!! I thought you were my recipe for my brain!!”

Her arms brushed my shoulder in the name of a pat, “Listen man!! Caffeine is an impostor. It kicks ur brain to pump dopamine, which are responsible for your elevated moods”

“Now I see the point made by my mom in picking a pretty biochemist in my life”

“Picking??? I m not a gunny bag to be picked”

I know I pissed her, by my wrong selection of words, “Hey I didn’t mean that, it’s like, she couldn’t ve made a better selection”

“Bloody hell !!! selection?? This is ridiculous!!!”

“You can’t complain for everything Renu! Damn!!!”

                There was a moment of silence hanging in the form of thin air between us, trying to widen the gap. With every second passing by, pride and ego took the upper hand, stopping us from breaking the ice. The self love feeling pushed us towards the corners of our living room. This time it’s not me, who is going to ameliorate her morose mood. Now there’s a soft mumble,

“Idiot!!!”

“What? Are you talking to me?”

“Of course!!! Which idiot is living in this house?”

                I can’t stop myself from laughing at her intended sarcasm, “I thought the only trait we both shared was the stupidity”

“I could see you something mischievous in your face; did you finally get the idea for your next article?”

Women could easily picture what’s in our minds, ironically the vice versa is next to impossible. “Sort of!!!” I started to roll my tongue inside my mouth, signaling that I was through with it.

“Yipee!!! What‘s this about? Coffee? Romance? Or a mockery about girls?

“hahaha!!! I like the order in which u say, it has a tinge of everything to it!”

“Give me a hint at least! Don’t say it’s still in shrouds!”

“Yup! I can’t reveal this time, not like the last occasion”

Before I could reply, her wet lips made a gentle buss on me, but this time it was on my cheek.

“Do you still want to hold back ur title???”

Now it was my turn to part my lips, to say

  “COFFEE AND A KISS”

Pattukutti !!!

My Kitchen

The kitchen is not a pleasant sight, if you have your dishes undone and you are in a hurry to cook something for your dinner.  Crumbled onions’ outer coverings and drops of water that lie all over my dining area makes my migraine worse. This isn’t the way my day is supposed to start. The drumming sound of the compressor in my refrigerator sent a mild shiver in amidst of the cold weather. With my milk going sour, the black tea was the only choice to soothe my parched throat. My palms were cupping the mug to enjoy the little warmth of my tea. I know I can be rude and mean sometimes, before moving further, let me introduce myself. I m Amuda… Amuda Rajasekar.

That’s how they call me, but I m here to talk about Amuda and not Amuda Rajasekar. A girl born in a quiet little town in Tamil Nadu, where it showered every month and housed no crimes. I came to Melbourne to pursue my lost dreams of my childhood; the fantasies that I craved for when I rotted in voids in the name of rooms. The girl, Amuda transformed or went through metamorphosis to become a woman, ironically ending up in a cocoon called as marriage. A failed marriage but the butterfly is out in a new tinsel habitat with a new companion, Parvati.

I was married to Rajasekar rather than saying, “I married Rajasekar”. Everything starts pretty good with beaming smiles all over, but once days and my age started to wane, life took a drastic turn. My marriage souring up like my milk and me shedding my surname ‘Rajasekar’ like an old skin. I neither believed in God nor in fate until Parvati came into my life. Parvati, my 17 year old daughter seems to be the lone solace after my years of struggle. Right now, I need to make my dinner, before that I need to alleviate my migraine. Before moving to Parvati, let me dump some potatoes in the pan to make some curry.

The noise in the name of music that escapes from Parvati’s room seems to reverberate my old home. Parvati is a spoiled brat but still she can be a mother to keep a tab on me. She knows a lot more than me, like online stuffs, using apps to go places and all tech savvy stuffs. Having spent your childhood in a posh environment and western culture, it’s no wonder; Parvati could know so much, which I had barely dreamed of. She is a guitarist, sorry electric guitarist, that’s how she wants me to say. I wonder if they have categories in being a guitarist.

She wants to be a rock star, that’s her dream. The guys who haven’t been to saloons and but lives happily in marijuana.  Now she wants to go her friend’s birthday party. I don’t have any issues of her attending a party, but as a mother I can’t allow my daughter to go to a bar with five guys. So she is furious and not talking to me since this issue has turned up in our routine. Now she tries to piss me off by her amplifiers. What I see behind the door is my pattukutti, Parvati and her dumb argument waiting for an upheaval. Okay let’s take one at a time, I m going to knock her door.

Spoiled Brat

Parvati stepped out of her room after me yelling her name… I know it was a stupid thing to do when the speakers go in full blast, that’s how mothers can be sometimes.

Wassup ma ??

Turn down the volume Parvati? You ll lose ur ears if u r hearing like this…

Phew! (with a sigh) what’s your problem ma? Do I need to ask permission even to hear music??

No Pattukuti !!! I don’t want my child to go deaf. What shall I make for your dinner?

I m done with my dinner, you fix something for u.. (Parvati was shaking her head as if my answer offended her)

What did u eat? The maida stuffs?? Pizza’s are no good for you. You look skinny, Parvati!!!

Amma !!! Please stop ur godammn suggestions and advice for every fucking thing!!!

Parvati!!! Watch your language!!! Where do you learn such things?

From you!!! When u and dad were fighting...

(Damn!! I cursed myself and her answer felt like a blow across my face, leaving me to shut my mouth)

Are you done with ur questions ma? Shall I go now?

Parvati !! I m your mom, don’t see me as a folly!!!

Oh great!! Thanks for reminding me that! But you don’t sound like one…

Stop ur stupid mockery, Parvati! Don’t you understand why I don’t want you to go the party???

As a matter of fact, No!!! Don’t you see how parents treat their children here??? All my school mates go out with guys, I m the one who does nothing, but bull shit!!!

You don’t get my point… we’re Indians and we have our own tradition. Moreover, I m a mother who wants her kid in a safe haven than in a pub.

Amma! We’re in bloody Australia, not in ur shitty village!!! You want all swanky stuffs and education from them, but not their culture.. Bullshit ma!!!

Stop it Parvati!! I don’t think their education has done much to you, other than using your smart phone and a rich vocabulary of shit words. Try to imbibe the good things from them…

I don’t find anything wrong in going to a concert, ma!!! Those guys are really cool ma!! You don’t know how much the thing means to me!!! Do you???

Pattukutti!!! You are in your adolescence, everything looks good and attractive, but they aren’t? Let me cook something for my sweet heart.

Stop treating me like a kid!!! I’m 17 godammitt!!! I know what’s a fucking condom, also to clear your doubts; I don’t have any plans of getting laid in the party. 

I know my involuntary muscles got the better of me, that’s what you expect when your child speaks such gibberish that rips your heart. This time the blow was across Parvati’s cheek. I slapped her. She didn’t say a word; perhaps she was surprised of my act. I could see tears brimming her eyes; anger and embarrassment basking her face. I felt like crying and hugging her, but her harsh words and anger was keeping me in bay. With few minutes of silence hanging in thin air, which seemed like hours, Parvati went into her room and banged the door. I learnt two things, never ever beat your child, no matter what they do, the next one is, don’t try an argument with potatoes in the stove.

Heralds of spring

My presentation for tomorrow’s lecture came to a halt, when the phone came alive with it’s stupid ring tone. Every time it rings, it leaves a sickening feel in my stomach. After her tantrums, Parvati finally went to the party this evening. I don’t want to see tears in her eyes, perhaps she’s the only soul left for me and now this phone doesn’t sound good. When I lifted the receiver, I heard a thick Australian accent,

Is this Parvati’s residence??? If so, can I speak to Amuda Rajasekarrrrr ???

I know something was wrong, with fear sucking in my breath, I choked for my words, “yup, this is Amuda speaking!!!”

We’re calling from Monash Medical Centre, we have a situation here. It seems your daughter and couples of her friends were assaulted by couple of hooligans in the local pub. She is hurt but nothing to worry, just superficial ones.

The floor below me was moving, I was about to lose my control, but the voice at the other end shoved my mind. “Just say she is alive, please say, my Parvati is alive!!!”

Amuda?? Are you here with me??? Your daughter is alive; we’re located in Clayton locality. If you could….

                The next moment I was in my car, with my ignition keys twisting the lock.  Tires were screaming due to friction and my engines whined, every time I stepped on my pedal.  After agonizing minutes of my travel, I pulled my car just in front of the hospital, without minding the security yelling at me, for parking there. With anxious moments binding me, I stepped in to a room with bold letters embedded on it – Trauma centre-Level 3

                Parvati looked small in the bed which was lying in a scary white room. She was breathing slowly with a sling that hooked her elbow and neck. The nurse beside was busy checking the IV and managed a weak smile, saying that everything is going to be alright.

                The patient is on a pain killer, she needs some rest, could please wait outside madam?

                When I was about to turn back, a voice echoed the room, “amma!!!” I saw Parvati was trying to hold my fingers with her lips trembling.

                “Am I still ur Pattukutti, ma? “

                After a long time, my self control got shattered leaving me in a déjà vu. The night when I saw a bunch of divorce papers waiting for my signature. The night in which I lost my strength; the night which ended my marriage; but tonight I m vulnerable to the love of my child. Probably this night will end in a new day. With tears running down my cheeks, I gripped her arms and said,

                “No matter what you do, you‘ll always be my Pattukutti!!!”  

Author' Note: I m deeply grateful for all, who have been buzzing me with honest critics and a pat when I come up with a decent one. If not I wouldn't be kissing my 30 th blog now. If you really like this story, try to share in the social networking sites, which you earn me a lame publicity. :P 

Where s my butterfly ?

            It seems the clocks have stopped their parade when they glanced into my text. Bainite, crystallographic textures and microstructures were creeping in my pages like a bug trying to find its prey.  I was already eyeing my watch, in an agonizing wait for the needles to kiss at noon. With my palms resting my face and my eyelids were pretty eager to come down. To my horror, they have already met once and next in queue were my grey cells. They seem to embrace my Pandora world with alacrity, the bio luminescent creatures jumping around me. Floating mountains, rivers tasting like trickle or the shades left in my palms when butterflies touched me.  Now there’s whirlpool, trying to suck all my hallucinations in to an abyss. I almost lost balance in trying my act of staying alert. I cursed myself for not draining a mug of coffee to keep my eyes open, so that I could launch my plan B.

            Now it was my desktop’s turn to go into sleep mode and I decided to take a stroll. Perhaps I was blank with no really thoughts to brew in my mind. The crowded cafeteria and buzzing library were no more attractive to me. Before my thoughts could zero in a location, I found my legs taking me to the spot which I walk across daily- The Lake at my university. It was a windy day that made the water perform its ballet dance in the form of ripples to an empty theatre. Occasionally, the very few eucalyptus trees that adorned the lake acknowledged their presence by a ghastly blow. The blow rendered the dusty brown colored ducks to quack. Most serene things lie in front of us, but we fail to acknowledge it, like the shimmering lake and solitary girl in the lawn beside the lake.

            By now you would have guessed what my plan B was. I slipped myself under a tree not too far away from the girl. There was a sudden burst of clouds trying to storm in and hang above my heads. I had a half smile when I saw for the day’s weather forecast in my phone. “Bright sunshine for the next four days”. I wondered how mankind always wanted to move ahead in a race with the nature. Ironically, the nature doesn’t mind us; neither as a competitor nor finds itself in a race. That’s how Lorenz would have felt few decades back. It’s time to talk about the man who tried to tie up the loose ends of chaos and order.

            Lorenz was a meteorology professor in MIT, simulating weather patterns which were based on 12 different variables. He left his office to grab a coffee leaving the machine to run. When he came back, he found a different set of results contradicting to the previous one. He was repeating a simulation so he was supposed to get similar kind of results, but to his surprise he found a result that could have a different perception on how we see nature. In his repetition, he had rounded off one variable from 0.506127 to .506. Such tiny alteration could have dramatic transformation in the weather pattern for the next two months, leaving behind Lorenz with a profound corollary of “Chaos theory” or the famous “Butterfly Effect”.

“Does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a Tornado in Texas?”

            Lorenz saw that if a system is more likely to vary on change rapidly, it is likely to produce a repeating sequence, to speak in English, it’s impossible to predict that changing systems. This ultimately draws us the trait of most natural systems, the chaos. Most things around us exhibit such outlandish phenomenon. The way the ducks move in this pond; arrangement of leaves in these eucalyptus trees; the irregular color tone of grass across the sprawling lawn shared by me and the dame. They all display chaotic behavior, a science that varies within its limits to maintain the chaos in order within itself.

“Tiny variations…. Never repeat and vastly affect the outcome – Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park”

           

          There’s a beautiful quote, ‘when chaos began, classical science stopped’. Early 20^th century scientists were keen on inventing things to make humankind more comfortable by sacrificing few heavenly pleasures. They were basked in a special ignorance about this beautiful (I love to call it like that) disorder in nature. What they finally saw was an impeccable order in every chaos and disorderliness in most natural systems. Scientists from every field were digging to find orderliness and predict stuffs that were out of bound. Good economists don’t talk about markets for the next month. They knew it’s like plotting a graph with more than 8 or 9 variables in 3 dimensional space and doing an analysis.

“The key to unlocking the hidden structure of a chaotic system is in determining its preferred set of behaviors called as attractor”

   Our brain could be a perfect example of chaos being staged in an order by neuron signals. At this moment the millions of cells in my heart is working as a cohort in the right sequence to produce a beat or beat faster when the girl beside me smiles at me. These chaotic movements of the heart make it to pump for decades with less wear and tear. Now that we see chaos everywhere, but the first braggart who was chaotic, was our solar system. There pops another question is it possible to identify the butterfly (the driving force) behind the tornado, the answer is simple – No.

“If the flap of a butterfly’s wings can be instrumental in generating a tornado, it can equally well be instrumental in preventing a tornado”

This has led to another hot debate that has been driving several campaigns and political drama. If you can’t predict the weather beyond few days, then global warming becomes placebo and goes in our bins. Nature’s whimsical behavior could be attributed towards its complex roots. Trying to make out the pattern of stars in galaxy or the trivial smoke whirl from an agarbathi. The idea of trying to master nature is out of question, so we try to appreciate what really happens. When we try to exploit or provoke nature, it could be our folly; rather, try to enjoy and appreciate it, it could be your vector for a beautiful relationship.

“Chaos theory tries to find some underlying order in what happens to be random events or data”

The wonderful breeze that flows across with the grey clouds all geared up for the first shower of the month all seem so exhilarating to me. Also my appetite for muffin grew soon, before the first drop of rain landed on my brow. Before I could regain my composure, the rain came down, like children out of their school. The girl beside me stood up while she tried to stuff her Ipod and pink ear plugs in her kit.

“ Heyyy !! I have an umbrella, why don’t you pop in?  “

I thanked Lorentz for not arriving at an equation to predict the weather and my new friend nature for such a lovely day.

PS: Plan A was to look for plan B

Courtesy:

http://www.stsci.edu/~lbradley/seminar/butterfly.html

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/chaos/

http://brain.cc.kogakuin.ac.jp/~kanamaru/Chaos/e/Lorenz/

http://paulbourke.net/fractals/lorenx

http://www.physicsplanet.com/articles/chaos-theory-simplified

http://theconversation.com/explainer-what-is-chaos-theory-10620

http://www.encyclopedia.com/topic/chaos theory.aspx

Cinema - Now and then

            A small piece of glass which was ground to a particular geometry made revolutions. When this glass piece called lens was touched by light, it ended up in producing miracles. The miracle has bent our minds and teased the lobes of our brain. This magical affair between them (lens and light) has evolved through ages in producing visual treats in the name of CINEMA. This enthrallment has gripped people in the past in their seats; contrarily it had brought them to their edges or even made them to run away.

 The first motion cinema (actually second one, earlier one was a kissing scene by a couple, which aroused several controversies) was that of a train approaching a station, when it was screened, the whole crowd fled the theatre assuming a real train was approaching.That’s how cinema made an everlasting impact in the pristine minds of people. The cinema which broke my silence when, “Superstar gets his chewing gum in a stylish manner; Batman hisses to Bane, “..then you ll have my permission to die” or when the magnificent yellow bumblebee transforms into a monstrous roaring Camaro.       

  

            Cinema means a lot to me. Watching a movie in a theatre was always like a picnic, with my mom packing snacks in a pouch and getting to the movie halls an hour before, to avoid disappointments of house full sign. Watching the giant hoardings painted (nowadays they come in flux, which I loathe) in bright colors, with our villains at the legs of our super hero. The days are still fresh like a cream that floats in my cappuccino or speaking in a desi manner, fried cashews that adorns my mom’s payasam!!!

            Movies and my dad are so inseparable; I wonder how many movies we had seen. I still remember the day when he took me to “Jurassic park” movie.  The moment T-Rex (Tyrannosaurs) came on the huge screen; my mouth was wide open in disbelief and fingers gripping my dad’s arms tightly.Tears ebbed in my eyes, when the little girl Anjali dies in Maniratnam’s epic “Anjali”. I still doubt, if they make movies which has equal dosage of enjoyment and emotional elements.

            There was a period getting a ticket to our superstar flick was next to impossible, but now we have transformed through ages. We have moved towards “no queues, no worries”; with one touch flick we have the tickets delivered to our mobiles using apps and tech savvy stuffs. We have passed through Edison’s Kinetoscope to 3D stereoscopic fusion camera. The technology has jumped leaps and bounds in making movies that can teleport us to different world.

            Iconic directors believed in the art of storytelling using very little techniques. This art was mastered by Akira Kurosowa, Steven Spielberg and a very few (sorry if I had missed your favorite). The art is being slowly tarnished by the new age directors with technological wizardry. We now have movies that believed more in its 3D content and viral advertising propaganda. “Avengers” was a classic example of former and latter entities. The technological evolution and the art of storytelling haven’t been progressing at the same pace. The technological complexity seems to under play the narration or convey the message which it was supposed to.

Christopher Nolan could be the find of this decade perhaps; he has the craft of utilizing the technology to tease our grey matter and produce a cinematic excellence. Such craftiness was seen in Martin Scorsese’s “Hugo”, the film that made the best use of 3D (next to avatar).  Some make movies for the sheer joy; they have for movies, like Tarantino. There could be no concrete plot but still the way each characters are etched , will make us sit through this pleasurable ride.

This discussion has its own boundaries within Hollywood, so it’s trivial to extend the debate with Indian or regional cinema. To some extent I should be happy that we still love to narrate or hear stories, just like a kid who loves to hear it from his/her granny. It’s a pity that Indian cinema is often reflected by Bollywood’s Khans and sensuous heroines. Every major film festival (Cannes, Toronto etc.) often have Indian celebrities as models for their vogue, we aren’t identified as film makers.

The country that is making films for the past 100 years has no dearth of talents. It fails to recognize them or it is biased to one particular section. FFI (Film Federation of India) recommends one film each year to Academy Awards (Oscars!!!), in that manner our ticket to Oscars was Barfi (a Hindi movie). I appreciate the pool of films from different languages, but still can’t they find the best. Bengali movies are aesthetics of true art and not to forget the South Indian films especially Tamil movies. At the end of the day, few cinematic excellence gets the reward it deserved (Aranya kandam- National Award-Debut Director)

This could sound as an elegy to the fading quality and failed recognition of true cinema. The celluloid world is looking down the barrel, with its major investors filing bankruptcy (Eastman Kodak). The transition towards digital era couldn’t be much debated due to crisis engulfing even most big companies. This has pushed us into a new era of independent and innovative film makers.

This new age has thrown its doors open for aspiring film makers to make intelligent films at shoe string budgets. The films that can wield technology to explore the creative land and evoke an emotion. The films have evolved to pro-filmic color and anamorphic dimensions, If this progression of technology continues leaving behind the quality, we would be left with popcorn entertainment and 3D glasses to shunt piracy

“The cinema began with a passionate, physical relationship between celluloid and the artists and craftsmen and technicians who handled it, manipulated it, and came to know it the way a lover comes to know every inch of the body of the beloved. No matter where the cinema goes, we cannot afford to lose sight of its beginnings.”- Martin Scorsese

Courtesy:

http://www.wired.com/underwire/2010/10/cinema-breakthroughs-busts/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_film

http://www.imdb.com/

http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/cinema.html#R5mZ8tlXMg7B7gWl.99

Pieces of my past

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Every day bears it’s own recipe; a recipe that’s quite unique and never tries to replicate another one. This day was one such with its own blend of joy, happiness and tinged with grief. I was sitting in my bed with arms perfectly rested beside me and my toes down on one side of the bed. The quiet battle orchestrated between my grey cells and retina. Some could say that, something was eating up my mind, with my eyes locked with the limbs. My eyes were trying to focus on the wiggling of my toes, but my brain failed to indulge in such cheap pleasures.

All this melodrama came to an end, when I heard my mom calling my name, perhaps a nickname ‘bobby!!! Do a final check with your passport and visa papers!’ I was all set to leave Australia for my research program. The much awaited day of my life and perhaps the most important rung in my career ladder. Things have started to move with alacrity in the last couple of weeks. It was an acid trip for me with my mind caught in a whirlpool of events that has occurred in the last couple of days.

Felt a shot of adrenalin pumping in my blood, when my feet touched the bathroom floors. I never knew how I made it to the bathroom with my mind lost in a labyrinth of emotions. The cold water from the shower head rushed across my body and brought back my senses for a while. By now there was a whiff of steam from my mom’s idli kadai, making a mockery at my olfactory lobes. With a least resistance to this teasing appetite, I rushed myself to enjoy the breakfast.

Three idlies were lined beautifully in my plate in the form of a spade with a spoonful of coconut chutney and milagaipodi, making a perfect color balance in my plate. I wonder how long will it take for me to experience again such culinary delight. Every part of the breakfast tasted divine putting my plans in a spot of bother. My mom was making a remark, “Australia la idli kedai kadhu, ingeya nalla sapudu” (“ u won’t get idlies in Australia, so eat well”) .

How does it feel, when you know that you can’t taste your favorite filter coffee; walk across the road not caring a shit about the incoming traffic or you don’t have to wait for the signal; play the roadside cricket with broken bats and worn out cricket balls; travel in footboard in overflowing buses, just trying to catch a glimpse of that girl in red salwar; here comes the worst part, that you’ll be denied chances of watching thalaivar’s first day shows.

Man, this really sucks, wondering what I would do, being totally teleported to a different place, which is devoid of pleasures that I ve been enjoying since my childhood. I m wondering, do I really need to go through all this to earn in 5 digits and pay a sizeable amount in taxes for the Australian Government. The battle was still on inside my head, while my hands were busy trying to explore the empty pockets of my trousers.

Voices seem to echo from the living room and my brother came rushing inside the kitchen. “appa s calling!! “ Once I went inside the living room, I could find dad’s friend Chandrasekar uncle chatting with my dad.

“ enna thambi Australia kelambi achha?? “ (“ r u all set to fly Australia??”)

“ aama uncle, iniku night flight” (‘ m leaving tonight uncle”)

“aparam enna, payan Australia poi neriya earn panna poraan, inni ungaluku oru problem ila” ( once ur son earns u won’t any problem)

            I could see the hollowness dwelling in my dad’s face, but still he tried to conceal that with the smile of pride. Perhaps he was thinking about the first day of my school, where I was crying holding the bars of the window exhibiting all my tantrums. Wondering how things have changed or we‘ve been rushed through the banks of our lives when the fate was flooding.

            “ naan than romba kashta patuten, en payan atleast kashta pada koodathu,” (“I ve been toiling all my years, my son should live a comfortable life”)

            The eyes of my dad were ebbing with tears and he was looking at me, waiting for me to approve his last statement. Neither my head nodded nor words escaped from my mouth. My dad’s hands were holding my elbow, he does that when I look grim or sad, gesturing ‘everything’s going to be okay’.  I choked for words, but still I replied with my tears running down my cheek.

            “For your dreams“

Ps:
I tried to write a honest one, without much fiction. 5 digit salary and taxes are the fictional part.

PResENT mISssss !!!!

The one thing I despise the most is cleaning my shelf.  Puff of smoke that emulates when their habitat is disturbed and the sickening smell of rotten bugs give me a sickening feel.  I was standing before my age old wardrobe that never lost its sheen despite its cacophonous music at its hinges. Left with a Hobson’s choice, I was prepared for my battle. A small white cloth across my face making me a perfect cast for age old Jayshankar movies. At the recess of my book point, a small book glimmered despite laden by a continuous layer of dust.  At closer examination, the crest embedded on its cover lay majestically. The emblem of my school and it was my school diary with a simple motto- LIFE AND LIGHT. The sight of my school souvenir brought back my numb senses alive and soon I was flickering through the muddy pages of my diary.

                The pages had more remarks in red than my scribbled handwriting. Words like ‘Mid Term, Quarterly Half yearly exams, Report cards’ echoed my nightmares of my school days, which I badly missed now. Before I could linger my thoughts in that, I stumbled onto the page that brought back my wombs of my memory lane. It was the timetable of my 5th grade starting from Monday to Friday. A smile spread across my face, when I thought about the mornings after our brief vacation.  

                “The moment that I loathe the most is Monday morning! My bed sheet is over me wrapped like a cocoon while I try to gaze at the beautiful designs which appear like stars in a cloudless sky. The cries of my mom asking me to get ready while the hot water steams in the geyser.  

                 Impeccably dressed in a white and navy blue uniform with my hair neatly groomed and a perfectly drawn viboodhi on my forehead. I was sitting in my usual place near Subramaniam, who always stood first in my class. Toppers were seated next to mediocre students in order to help them, so that’s how I earned my spot. I never fell in the list of top 20 or the list of last 10, but in a group that is good for nothing. The  group that always needed a beating to push on.  

                To make matters worse, it was our first after our holidays that too it started on a Monday morning. Most of the students were silent owing to the fact that, we are likely to receive our answer papers of the Quarterly exams. I was mumbling my prayers while my friends let out a silent laughter making a mockery. Two friends of mine were prying near the door’s entrance trying to catch the glimpse of horror.

                Our Science Miss was never a horror but the big bundle of papers with twines entangled definitely wasn’t a pleasing sight. The two guys came running inside shouting, “papers!!! Miss has papers!!!”   

                The word papers made me sit upright, bringing my prayers to a sudden halt. Her strides were long and swift in reaching the dais. Once the bundle was laid in the table, she turned to face us with her traditional smile. “Students, this time my correction has been very lenient and I have awarded marks quite liberally. So I don’t want anyone standing near me begging for some more marks. Do I make myself clear?” I know this was a usual dialogue that every teacher iterates every now and then. She was no exception and joined every other in shouting “Yessss Misss!!!”

                She began calling out our roll nos. to distribute the papers and to my horror the papers weren’t in order. Whenever a roll no. slipped from her lips, my heart came to my mouth. Within couple of minutes, I knew I had to take a leak with my contents of my stomach doing all acrobatics. All the drama came to an end when my turn came and my marks hanging in thin air- 71 !!!

                I was tad disappointed that I couldn’t make it above 75, but still my mood wasn’t sober. By now Subramanian was eying my marks.

“You made 71! (With his eyes all set to bulge out from his sockets!) Good! I made only 86! If at all she awarded full marks for my long answer, I would ve touched 90 !!”

                I was looking for a perfect reply for Subramanian and I found one, “I don’t think she's mean, she has given full marks to me for that long answer! The diagram of yours doesn’t come close to a round bottom flask; it’s more of an elongated test tube”  

                I know I ve added more fuel to his burning rage, he was fuming and staring at his so called round bottom flask,

                “She can’t do this to me, I m going to ask her about this” he shoved me aside, moving furiously with the answer paper clutched in his arms. “ Misss !!! Miss!! You haven’t given me full mar…..”

            That smile never died when my school events unfolded before my eyes. Dust and bugs too joined me in this nostalgia. I was prepared to continue this crusade with more allergenic storms for company, leaving me with my 3^rd grade report grade.

PS:

   Thank you all for joining me in my journey. If I was able to kindle your memoirs of your school days with a drop a tear ebbing your eyes, please share those etched moments.