There’s this friend of mine, Ganesh (name changed for anonymity’s sake). He’s a school-college-buddy and lives near my place. We’ve known each other for over over sixteen years now. He’s a guy I adore and admire a lot, mainly for some of his principles which he holds strong. Even though fate’s played some nasty games with him, he’s come out of all adversities bearing a characterestic smile on his face (and a tika on his forehead – our friend’s a devout ‘Shiv-bhakt’).

Like me, Ganesh always depended on KSRTC for his transport needs. That is, until he secured a well-paying job. He decided to put an end to the qualms of daily-commute by buying himself a good motorcycle. And he had no second thoughts about the model – he went for one among the best bikes in the market – The Yamaha R15 Limited Edition. Now, there are only a thousand of such bikes in the market which upped the oomph factor of the bike.

The sudden step-up from mundane commuting to stylish biking was a shot in the arm for Ganesh. He would flash his new toy, zipping through the crowded streets, showing off his beauty. He was too humble to flaunt his bike. Yet, his babe was the object of our collective envy. Ganesh handled his ‘babe’  with utmost care. He would wash and clean it every day, following every rule in the owners manual down to the last dot. In fact, he was obsessed about the R15, albeit in a healthy way.

One fine morning, Ganesh was all set to leave for office. He had an early appointment that morning, hence he’d woken up early to give his bike its daily wash. Making sure that every part of the macho bike gleamed like a new pin, Ganesh mounted his stallion. It was time to hit the road. Turning on the ignition, he pressed the start button. The familiar ignition rattle was music to his ears.

The bike did not start.

His faithful warrior always responded to the first attempt. Ganesh tried again. The ignition-noise emanated again and died down. He tried again. And again. And again.

The bike didn’t respond.

One of the few cons of the R15 is that it lacks kick start. Ganesh remembered his friend recommending him Pulsar 220 because of the same reason. He’d then decided to go against his friend’s advice. Ganesh wasn’t worried. It must be a temporary problem, he decided. He thought he’d wait for a while and try again.

He waited, and tried another hand, to no avail. No matter however hard he tried, the bike failed to respond.

Beads of sweat started pouring down from Ganesh’s forehead. He was running late for his appointment. After a few more tries, Ganesh threw up his hands in despair. He kept his bike back into the shed and took a bus to office. He was fifteen minutes late for his meeting, and his boss was certainly not impressed. After an abnormally-long day, Ganesh reached home, tired and panting. Before he retired to his bedroom, he pulled the bike out of his shed and tried another attempt, in vain. Dejected, Ganesh decided to call it a day. Bikes always have starting problems, he reassured himself. It’d be alright by tomorrow.

For the next two days, Ganesh switched back to KSRTC for his daily commute. Day-in and day-out, he would try starting his bike, only to stand dejected and depressed. How could his brand new bike fall ill despite his careful attention? Machines have the same indiscretions as do humans, he realized.

The very next day, he decided enough was enough. Ganesh called the nearest Yamaha service center. The mechanic said he’d drop by that evening. Ganesh was relieved. His baby’d be back in action within no time, he told himself.

The mechanic promptly arrived, that evening (on a Yamaha RXG, nothing less). Brash and young,  he was a Rajnikanth-worshiping chap, oozing ‘style’ in every movement. Humming a Rajni song, he gingerly unveiled an array of spanners and started work on the bike. He examined every part possible, trying to start the bike every two minutes. The ignition would sputter, and then stop. For a brief instant, the bike made a slight ‘vroom’ sound, much to Ganesh’s excitement. But then it died down, as soon as it started.

Fifteen minutes later, the mechanic stood up and took a stretch. He took a casual glance at the bike’s right side. Suddenly, he fixed his glance at one point. He beckoned Ganesh towards him. His right index finger pointed towards the side of the bike. Ganesh saw it for himself. No sooner did he saw what the mechanic pointed, a smile, or rather, a sheepish grin developed on his face.

The mechanic had pointed his finger at the petrol knob of the bike stood pointed towards the ‘OFF’ position. Ganesh had switched off his bike’s petrol knob in all his punctiliousness to keep his bike ‘perfect’. How in the world would his bike start, when its petrol was turned off?

Ganesh looked at the mechanic, who was now grinning back at him.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. This is MY third time,” he smiled.

P.S.

This post is written as part of the Close Up “Fire Freeze” Contest. Check out their Facebook page, where you can post your own stories. Pour your experiences here as comments. Set the ball rolling.

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I owe this ‘blunder’ to my friend Lokesh (name changed for reasons obvious).

Lokesh is not exactly the best of my buddies, but we’re certainly more than casual acquaintances. He’s a fun dude, and his sense of humor is obscene (<– pun). Loku, as we know him, enjoys quizzing the way he relishes successive pegs of Absolut Vodka. He has all the information under the sun (err… he’s close, really) in his fingertips. Which means, he knows enough about worldly vices too, if you know what I mean.

So one fine evening in Winter 2009 saw Loku and his buddies roaming about the byzantine streets of Bangalore. They’d hit Bangalore as part of a mandatory-act of the ‘engineering’ drama – The Industrial Visit a.k.a. IV. All engineering students who mouth cuss words (that would put a B grade villain to shame) at the higher authorities, profusely thank them for including the essential IV as part of the course. “Practical Theory’ was the original idea in policymakers’ minds. But the students effortlessly twist the ‘guidelines’, using gaping wide-loopholes, hence converting the IV into a full-fledged excursion. Thus, we have students visiting Doordarsan Kendras in Ooty, Garment factories in Goa, and even Tyre Factories in Bangalore and Mysore; conveniently avoiding hundreds of better-equipped ‘industries’ in the neighbourhood. A few well-versed souls toil their ass off to actually visit the industries, while the others diligentlypursue other satisfying activities that involve alcohol and practical ornithology (yes, the IV is all about putting theory to practice!).

That evening, Loku and his two buddies were back after a healthy does of both. Practical ornithology was a success – they had actually caught a couple of ‘birds’ by their wings. One ‘bird’ even flew to them; they assumed her to be a dove, but she was actually a hawk in dove’s feathers! The trio ran for the sake of their (sex) lives, to Brigade Road, from where they had  ’healthy’ shots of Vodka (Absolut, nonetheless – all sponsored by Rich Loku!), from a pub. It was ‘high time’! Now, when Loku is high, he comes up with out-of-the-world ideas. Legend has it that, Loku’s main project (which got featured in the papers) was a result of his post-inebriation brainwave. Such an outlandish plan struck Loku’s brain as soon as he his cronies alighted from the pub. Sober and steady as Ayyappa Baiju, Loku narrates his plans to his buddies, who agree without a second thought. Without much ado, the trio get themselves into action!

Their first ‘target’ was the famed KFC outlet at Brigade Road. The dudes barge into the counter. Loku takes lead and petulantly ask:

“Eda p***** mone…. enikkoru chicken roast thaaada m****e!”

Which is  Malayalam for: “Hey mother f**ker! Get me a chicken roast, you as*hole”.

The waiter looks back at them in amazement

“Pardon, sir?”

“Chicken roast!!! Ninakkonnum chevi kettooodedaa tha***li?”

The waiter gets the point and:

“Sure sir. Please take your…”

Before he could complete his sentence, the trio laugh their asses off and escape!

Mind you, these folks spoke in such a calm way that the receptionist DID NOT understand that his parents (and ancestors) were being severely ridiculed!

Spurred by the spectacular success of their gag, these folks  tried it out successfully at nearly half the shops in Brigade Road. They’d get inside, order/inquire something in “nice” language, and before the proprietor/waiter/receptionist/salesperson could respond, they’d laugh their asses off and escape, while Mallu-shoppers would join the laughing spree. The salesperson would require an explanation from the nearest Mallu to get a remote idea about how their parents (and their forefathers) were being ridiculed at the trio. By then, the trio would’ve taken their onslaught to another shop/retail outlet.

After a spree of gags, these folks returned to their hotel by auto. They successfully employed the gag upon the auto driver too; but he was luckier, he at least got paid, unlike plenty of hapless others. Clinging onto their tummies in a bid to control raucous laughter, falling over each other, the inebriated trio trudged into the hotel’s reception to get their room-keys. It was about 9.30 PM and the rest of their batch mates had already arrived and settled into their rooms. Loku, the self-proclaimed ‘gang leader’ placed his arms expansively over the reception counter and winked at his buddies. One last attempt of the gag; they got the cue, winked back, and donned the same innocent expressions that beguiled hapless Kannadiga shopkeepers. Loku put forth his best performance yet,

“Eda panna kazhiveri po******mone, can you please give me the keys for room 204?”

(You bloody motherf***ker, can you please give me the keys for room 204?)

His buddies had already started guffawing, hands covering mouths; Loku tried his best to control his laughter, trying to look serious.

The receptionist  instinctively and reflexively cocked his eyes up from the computer monitor, to face them:

“Enthaada paranje??!!!” (What did you just say?)

Strike One.

Unofficial statistics say that 40% of Bangalore’s populace consists of Malayalees. The laws of probability went against Loku’s gang, the waiter proved to be a Malayalee, and he understood EXACTLY what Loku had said.

Before anything  untoward could happen, they bolted. Loku and his buddies were screwed – they couldn’t go to the receptionist. The nab had the keys and they didn’t have any spares with them. If they faced him, they’d be beaten up black and blue for sure, and would certainly not step foot into their hotel room. For over three hours, the trio hid themselves at the parking lot, shivering in the winter cold. They returned at 12 AM, making sure that the mallu receptionist had left home, and obtained the keys from the late-night-duty receptionist. Loku quietly asked for the keys (in slow, careful English, this time), and quietly trudged to their room, shivering.

These days, Loku makes it a point NOT to speak in Malayalam, if he’s out with friends.

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This is a live-update post. You get the updates as they happen. The live update is over.

The day itself started off on a sour note. Well, as a matter of fact, for the past couple of years, no day of mine has started off ‘sweet’, but generally speaking (i.e. in comparison with others), this day was particularly gross. Woke up with a volley of abuses from dad (who actually caught me by my throat in intense anger ). And dad, who had to go to office early, forgot his room’s keys. He calls me up as I’m about to leave college, barking orders to bring him the keys. Since the situation was urgent, I was allowed (albeit reluctantly) by my mother to take the Maruti 800 (unused mostly, thanks to the Tata Indigo). I dropped mom at her office, hand-delivered keys to a furious dad and entered college, 30 minutes late.

Till then, the day wasn’t as bad. ‘Cause I was actually happy. We had a ‘Demo week’ planned. And today is would have been the ‘Paandi day’, where every single guy/girl would come, dressed up as a ‘Paandi’ (for the uninitated, a ‘Paandi’ is a typical guy/girl from the state of Tamil Nadu, characterised by dark skin colour/loud clothes/loud-mouthed tamil). And I had all my ‘costumes’ ready, and had even worn my flashiest, loudest orange shirt. I’d also taken my semi-aviator Polaroid sunglasses and hidden dad’s worst lungi, and burmoodas for ‘effect’. I hadn’t worn them yet, but I soon would. Or so, I imagined.

The first shock came as a message from my friend Mithun – “Da no demo today.” I got it as I walked to the class, parking my car precariously in the ‘parking lot’. Enraged, I decided to bunk the class, and headed to the library. Chatting up with friends from the electronics department, and after writing a couple of autograph books, I returned to my class. Two hours were gone, and there was seriously no point in sitting in class. Yet, something forced me to sit in class as my staff advisor strode in. Alright, she’s a lady with whom I’ve some VERY huge problems. Nothing personal, but she’s been screwing me up in every possible way, since the very first month of college – the principal reason why I hate college so much. This lady comes in, and puts to display her appallingly-bad sense of humor, only to get forced-half-smiles, and that too, from just the ‘teacher-pleasing-girls’. “Warming up” done, she gets back to the board.

Meanwhile, I get a late delivered message from Mithun, citing the absense of teachers in class. I couldn’t help but smile at the late delivery. As I bent down, reading the message, I heard a voice call my name:

The lady had caught me.

“What are you doing?”

“Ma’am, I was …uh… checking my book.”

Lying comes naturally to me.

Intelligent that she was, she strode over to my seat, as I hid my mobile within the recess underneath the bench. She bent over, took the phone, and muttered ‘advises’ about not lying and crap. She strode off back with my mobile, and hid it within her Distributed Systems text. My 9k worth Samsung Star was reduced to the status of a bookmark!

I was counting each moment, as she taught, and wasn’t paying any attention to what was going around the class. The star was my most priced possession. It is a part of my body – and I felt amputated without it! My mind raced, searching for excuses. But still, I had a belief that I’d get my phone back. As the class got over, I rushed to the teacher. She was adamant. She wasn’t going to return my mobile, whatever be the case. I pleaded and went down as much as my ego did permit. She did not. And before I could say anything else, she stormed out of the class.

I’m so screwed up! Which is why I’m blogging.

The main issue, is I’ve to call up my mom from office, and hence I’ve to communicate with her. And, I’ve been texting friends about some personal problems – one sight of the messages would be enough for serious misunderstanding! Luckily, I’ve the strict no-porn policy, thanks to which I won’t be affected by such problems, if the lady tends to check the phone. But if my mom calls, I’m seriously doomed!

Right now, I’m wondering what to do next. Hopefully, I’ll get the phone back. Hope is the keyword here.

Will keep you posted.

A lot of interesting things happened after that.

So, I walked hither-tither, peace of mind lacking. Classmates offered words of solace, but none could console me. Finally, I took the desperate measure of actually writing a letter to the lady, pleading for the phone – yes I actually wrote a full written request, only to tear it down, realizing the very futility of the act. To add on to my pain, it seemed that the teacher had magically disappeared from the environs of the college! She was nowhere to be seen. Exasperated and utterly demoralized, I trudged back to my class, only to notice that lunchbreak was long over and another lecturer had gotten into the class. She, being a guest-lecturer (hardly a year older than most of us – some of us were actually as old as, or perhaps older than her!), was correcting answer sheets of the series exam in class, letting us free to do whatever we wanted. I was let inside, and no sooner did I rest my ass on the bench, I flopped down into deep, tired, sad slumber. Only to be woken up by colleagues who directed me to the piercing eyes of this teacher, that were transfixed upon me. I was summoned by the lady, cause my paper was being corrected. I went, dreamy eyed, and asleep, sat on the first bench. She realized I was too sleepy to even open my eyes straight and entertained my request to wash my face. As I got back, my paper was corrected and ready. Another failure, duh! I grudgingly collected the paper only to learn that I had actually gotten very good marks (and that’s not a very common thing for me).  First shot of happiness for the day. Woohoo!

Revitalized by the sudden shot of inspiration, I went downstairs to the staffroom to plead about the phone to the teacher. To my bad luck, she still hadn’t apparated. Rumour had it that she’d gone home, and if such be the situation, I’m practically doomed. I was on the verge of tears – well I’m an emotional person, and guys don’t cry. Had to take up a superhuman effort to hold ‘em back. I had to go and call my mom from office, and she couldn’t be informed of the situation, whatever be the situation. My mind shuddered even to think of the occasion if mom’d place a call to my phone. Trudging with a boiling pot of a mind, I reached class again. Friends realized that I was seriously off; their soothing words did quite a bit to lift me up. Soon class was over for the day and I walked out of the class. The lady was nowhere to be found. Some guys had to show their project’s progress to the lady, who happened to be their project guide. So I waited along with them. Along came news that she was actually teaching in a class – I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard that. No sooner, I called my mom and asked her to leave, cause I had to meet the lady. Didn’t mention that part to her though.

Thus started the long wait.

Now, she’s (in)famous for teaching extra-time. Hence, our wait got extended by ten more minutes and finally, she showed up. After dealing with her ‘students’, I went to her.  Thus started an exasperated grilling session. Grilling is too mild a word for it; it was actual verbal demoralized. My legs were pulled and tied up in the ceiling – such was the state of mine. Yet, I forgot my ego and stooped down as much as she wanted me to. I pleaded her, trying to make her understand my plight. Finally, she compromised, saying that she’d give me my phone, if  I buy her Dairy Milk. Guess what, I was so broke that I had to forgo lunch that day. And a lot of bystanders (including classmates) now joined in, supporting her. I was a lone wolf, fighting against a crowd of marauders. (

In the end, she gave me my handset. It was ice cold from the a/c. And the message which I had opened, while she’d confiscated my phone, was intact. Which means, she hadn’t used the phone. My sole saving grace. Plenty of missed calls and messages. Answering them, I walked back to the car.

One thought/decision was engulfing my mind, as I trudged away.

I WOULD NEVER USE A MOBILE PHONE IN CLASS ANYMORE!!

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First year of college.

My Basic Civil Engineering exam was due that day, at noon. I was on my way to college with my trusted travel partner – KSRTC. (Don’t have many human ‘travel partners’ yet ) I was already late and hence abandoned the usual policy of choosing nearly-empty buses only to cram myself into a choc-a-bloc ”Thiruvananthapuram’ red. Five minutes into the journey and I realized what huge mistake I’d made. There I was, clutching a couple of Civil Engineering texts on both hands, with a huge backpack on my shoulders – crushed from all sides by an unruly mob fighting tooth and nail for personal space. I’d an entire text to read, but for fear of my dear life, I could neither open my texts, nor keep them back in the bag – for, both actions would result in irreparable damage to myself from all the ‘churn’ around!

Meanwhile, the conductor came ticket-mongering. After a superhuman effort, I managed to push away a fat man standing on my right side and fished out my purse. A 100 rupee note – its sole occupant silently grinned back at me. Screwed, the conductor guy is goanna swear at me. Yet, without a tinge of hesitation, I passed on the note to the condcutor, who, without looking up from his ticket-machine, issued me the ticket, pocketed the money and walked away. Thank God, I mused.

Soon, the bus reached a nearby stop – ‘Pongummood’, from where, my buddy Praseeth (batchmate at college) got in. He started his usual speech about how unprepared he was for the exams and how he’s goanna fail. He had no idea about the principle of Leveling, which was the only concept I’d learned well. He entreated me earnestly to explain the concepts to him, for levelling problems were the easiest way to score 10 marks in the essay. Realizing it as a way to revise what I’d learned, I started off, unmindful of the crowded environs. After a while, Praseeth’s sharp intellect had picked up the entire method and he was repeatedly mentioning how easy the whole method was. The bus had reached Pattom Junction and we were just a couple of kilometers away from college. He took a cursory glance at his watch and muttered that we’re really late.

Before I knew it, he’d opened the passenger door and pulled me out of the bus!

Praseeth, not always a punctuality person, was a tad too hyperactive today. He ushered me into an auto, and pushing his lean frame inside, commanded the auto driver to take us to college. He silently assured me that he’d foot the bill and that he wasn’t too enamored about crowded buses. Using the time to discuss other portions, we reached college in a few minutes’ time. Both of us alighted, and I took my purse to pay Praseeth – yeah, I’m very stringent about sharing, so I thought I’d share the auto-cost with Praseeth. I opened my wallet and fished for money.

The purse was empty.

Shocked, I took the purse and re-checked ever recess and niche. There were perhaps a few coins that amounted to Rs. 5/- not a penny more, not a penny less. Dumbfound, I kept searching, meanwhile Praseeth paid the money and was walking over to the classes. After some wild goose chase, I realized my blunder.

Dad had given me Rs. 100/- in the morning. I gave it to the conductor, from whom I did not buy change, thanks to the auto-sojourn and my absent-mindedness. There I was, broke, penniless and smiling inwardly at myself! Yet, I gathered myself and wrote the exam. Ironically, there was a leveling problem (of the same type I’d explained to Praseeth), and both of us got it right. After the exam, collecting all coins I could gather, I caught a  bus back home and didn’t mention about my debacle to a soul.

P.S.

Six months later, the results came. Praseeth scored a neat 80 for the exam while my mark was an okay-ish 68. And I heard him proudly proclaim to his buddies:

“You should’ve studied leveling man! I knew the answer to the problem when I saw the question – that was the only thing I’d studied and I got whopping 20 marks for the essay!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

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This happened way back. Rewind to the year 2000, when I was just an itsy-bitsy Seventh grader at Loyola School, Trivandrum. *Ah, those were the days*.  It happened on the eve of a weekly test – unlike periodic mid-term exams where all the exams happened together in a very short time span, our school had a system where there’d be an exam every Monday and Friday. If you ask me, that was a foolproof system which would inculcate the benefits of perseverance and systematic behaviour amongst students. The very few strains of systematic behaviour within me could be attributed to those forlorn weekly tests. Before I get swayed by pangs of nostalgia, lemme narrate my story!

It was a history exam that Friday. I’d learnt most of the portions and I just had to revise/re-read a few chapters, so that I could write better essays. Since I was abreast with most of the portions, I decided to lay idly on my bed, even after waking up at 6 am in the morning. Dreamer that I am, I was in a state of blissful idyll,  probably dreaming about completing level 5 of Roadrash, after buying the venerable Diablo superbike!! Well, as I was immersed in a wide plethora of dreams, I felt something fall into my right earlobe. I didn’t give a second thought to it, and sleepily poked my right ear with my hand, trying to scratch off the recesses of the ear. Thanks to my sleepy countenance, I actually pushed the object deeper into my ear. Within a few moments I opened my eyes wide and shouted in deep pain. My right ear was buzzing like crazy.

The object that had fallen onto my ear was actually a tiny bee and I’d pushed it deep into my ear!

CC Credits: _Pauls_

At the outset, it might seem hard to believe, but those of who have seen me in real life would know better- my ears are enormous. To this date, people tease me, calling me elephant-eared – some say that intelligence is directly proportional to the size of your ear, citing ace chess player Vishwanathan Anand as a case in point. Not in my case, anyway, I’m the guy who actually pushed a living breathing bee onto my right ear!! Mom and Dad rushed into the bedroom listening to my wails of agony!! I kept shouting on the top of my voice:

“എന്റെ ചെവിയില് വണ്ട് കേറിയേ!!” (A bee got into my ear!! Help mee!!!)

First, my parents thought that I might actually be scared from a nightmare and tried to console me, saying there’s nothing to worry. But seeing my repeated wails of misery as I jumped around the whole house, clutching my right ear-lobe in ear-splitting (<–pun) pain, they knew better. Dad brought a pitcher of water and  poured into into my ear. The bee, which was frightened by the reddish-black hole it had fallen into, was maniacally biting and hitting the walls of my tympanum, trying to rescue itself – a few drops of water scared it even more and it struggled, flailing its arms and legs even more vigorously! Dad peeped into my ear, and he could actually listen to the buzzing sound of the bee!!

In a couple of minutes’ time, parents got ready and we rushed to the medical college hospital in our car. All the while, I was madly crying out in pain – dad got incensed, midway, thinking that I was over-reacting to the situation. By God, I wasn’t. His abuses only doubled my trauma!! Finally, I was rushed into the casuality of the E&T department, and a slew of doctors surrounded me from all sides. By now, I was badly trying to control myself – elaborating the situation amid sobs, to doctors, stifling my pain. I clearly remember this lady surgeon there – her face was a mess, literally (Dad still makes fun of her!! ). Well, she consoled me and I was ushered into a push-back seat, lying sideways – right ear facing upwards. The doctors started off in no time.

Interestingly, I was surrounded by lady doctors only! Apart from the chief surgeon lady, all others were very very good looking. There was this lady in a red salwar – her face is still vividly etched in my mind. She held my hands together and consoled me in a very sisterly way. I liked that! Meanwhile, the chief surgeon inserted a screw-driver-ish contraption into my ear. A bang of pain. EEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!! I cried out at the top of my voice – which was pretty much shrill back then, I might’ve rocked the entire medical college junction with that… lol! The red salwar doc placed her hands over my mouth and caressed my face while picking up a few other instruments. My mind was in chaos – and I heard the word ‘surgery’ being mentioned somewhere. I was scared shitless and  my parents’ reassuring faces was my only saving grace. I would miss my history exam, I lamented. I’d prepared so well…

Meanwhile, the doctor removed that contraption and poured some fluid onto my ear. For a few moments, I was in utter bliss – the pain subsided and I guess the insect was killed instantly! Soon after which, the doc. inserted another contraption which, after a few gasps of pain from my part,  came out with a dead bee stuck at its incisor-like end. Finally!

It took an hour more to clean my ear – the poor bee had lost a couple of its appendages inside my ear which remained pierced in my ear-walls. All the people assembled there were dumbstruck at how a bee entered my ear and were mentioning how lucky I was! They were almost sure that I’d need a surgery and that I’d actually lost hearing ability to my right ear – the insect had gone deep inside, millimetres away from my tympanum!! Thankfully, I came out unscathed.

I was discharged from the hospital at 8:45 AM, with a long prescription of medicines which I had to ingest for a month or so, in order to prevent any further infection. I had a lot of minor wounds in my right ear and they needed some strong medicines for quick healing. Anyways, I reached home, dressed in a jiffy and made it to school in time for the history exam at 9:30. The exam went well and I secured a neat 82! Dad and mom were happy!

Ever since, I make it a point to sleep with ears covered – even today!

P.S.

I was reminded of this incident when i saw the Mohanlal movie ഭ്രമരം | ‘Bhramaram’ which has the star scratching his right ear, falsely assuming that a (poorly computer animated) bee has gone into his ear!

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Time: 7:45 AM, 22nd December, 2008
Coordinates: Mens Hostel, MES Kuttippuram
Occasion: Jashn ’09 – IEEE Kerala Silver Jubilee Celebrations, Valedictory Function.

I was among the 120-odd delegates attending the event, the sole representative of the IEEE Student Branch of my college. While other colleges had huge delegations to the tune of thirty plus students, my Fellow IEEEians  simply refused to attend the event for fear of  impending end-semester exams. My Branch Counsellor literally forced me at gunpoint to attend the event for sake of the college’s prestige.  I had to wage a huge fight with my parents to get permission to attend the event, at the end of which I boarded the Mangalore Express with buddies from MBCET and reached Kuttippuram the very next day, at about 4 AM. The MESians surprised us with their hospitality and kindly accomodated us at their wonderful (not sarcastic, seriously nice) Mens Hostel.

We were told that the programs would start early that day, and thus we had to be up and about by at least 8:30 AM. Haggard due to lack of sleep (due to some long winding ‘nightly conversations’ ), I had flopped onto my bed no sooner had I reached our room. I opened my eyes when my friend Arun from Mar Baselios shook me up to my senses. Everyone had gotten ready and I was among the few who were yet to bathe and dress up. Cursing, I grabbed random clothes from my bag and walked lazily to the toilet/bathroom area at one end of the hostel – we were housed on the third floor of the four storeyed hostel. Half asleep, I tried to open at least half a dozen (occupied) bathrooms only to mutter apologies at cuss words from the respective occupants.

To my delight, I finally got an empty bathroom and barged inside. I placed my clothes and watch by the windowsill and took a bath. It was refreshing – the water was ice cold, but I actually enjoyed it. I shook off my tired countenance and recharged myself. Basking in the glory of the new-found energy, I pulled out my towel that lay beneath my clothes, without looking at the windowsill where it was housed. That was when I heard a strange ‘chink’ sound. Something had fallen down, apparently. It was glistening and silvery-white, I could actually see it fall, through a corner of my eye. Dismissing it for an instant, I resumed… until I got back to my senses in shock!

Frantically, I checked the windowsill, beside my clothes, for my watch. It was missing!

It was my watch that went straight into the Indian Closet!!!

Cursing like a madman, I did everything I could to salvage it – to no avail. My watch was already on its way to the septic tank deep down. The only hope of rescuing it was upon some future-archaeologist who’d examine the remains of my precious Titan ‘Chronograph’, rotten amid human excreta, with avid interest! Flush red with embarrassment, anger and dismay, I kept the incident under the closet (<– pun!). After all, the watch was over five years old, and septic tank, it seems, was written in its destiny!

P.S.

The very next day, I heard an announcement at the main stage about a lost-and-found watch at the college premises. I was like ! These people actually fished the septic tank for my watch without even my mentioning the incident! Joyous, I ran to the announcers desk, all agog with hope!

Shalima, the purdah-clad girl at the announcer’s desk smiled at my flared-nostril expression.

“I don’t think this watch is yours!”

She held a tiny watch in her right hand and flashed it before me. It was more a bangle than a watch, all gold-plated, with a tiny time-dial. An expensive ladies’ watch.

Muttering some choicest expletives under my breath, I thanked Shalima and left.

P.P.S.

“Son, where is your old titan watch?”

Mom’s irritated voice woke me up one fine Sunday morning.

Uh oh. Amma… I haven’t seen it in a while. Don’t know where it is!
Mom: It must be that scrawny bitch of our servant! She’s been stealing my money for long… now she’s also taken your watch! One day, I’ll catch her red-handed, and then….

I didn’t hear the rest of what mom said, for, I’d closed my eyes again with a smile on my face.:D

I now have a flashy Bosch watch, thanks to my uncle who’s a dealer of Bosch.

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For the uninitiated:

Vishu (വിഷു ) – celebrates the beginning of a New Year in Kerala. Read this article in Wikipedia to know more.

Like all Hindu Nair families in town, Vishu is celebrated with pomp and grandeur at my place. Even my atheist dad joins in the festivities and allows himself a ‘Vishu Kani’. I’m also a great believer in Vishu, especially the ‘kani’ part. For a successful Vishu Kani you wake up early in the morning, and walk to the pooja room with eyes closed. There you open up to see the picture of Lord Krishna, basking in the glory of the lamp’s light, accompanied with the ‘Kanikkonna’ flower, fruits and the sweet smell of joss sticks. The cynosure of vishu is the ‘kai neetam’  – a ceremony where elders gift money to children/younger people in the family. And that makes Vishu the most awaited festival amongs us kids/young & jobless people!

Vishu 2008.

Since my mom is unwell, it was incumbent on me to set up all the ingredients for the Vishu kani the night before this Vishu (14th April). Careless guy that I am, I did things slowly and made sure that the Vishu ‘thattu’ was set up  with utmost perfection. It was almost 11.30 PM when my work was done. Everyone at home were fast asleep by then. But I couldn’t bat an eyelid till 12.30, despite the best of my efforts! That was when this friend messaged me. Reminded of my old sleep-technique, I called her up. And we talked! An hour and forty five minutes later, during which I ranted meaningless crap, told half my life’s story, bitched about guys/gals I hated, and even sung a song(on her request), she could bear no more and bade goodbye. It was 2.05 AM and I still couldn’t sleep! Left with no other choice, I switched on the PC, and sifted through IMDB Top 250 movies. After scheduling some five-six movies for download, I flopped onto the bed and slept soundly.

I vaguely remember dad & mom repeatedly trying to wake me up for the Kani, but I brushed them off, impenitently muttering that I need more sleep. Five to ten minutes of effort might’ve pissed them off, for I can’t remember any further effort from their part to wake me up.  Finally, I did wake up! I opened my eyes for a split second, to escape from the searing light sifting through the windows, but shut them down again for fear of polluting my ‘kani’. Slowly, gingerly, I stepped out of bed and carefully started taking measured steps downstairs, hands guarding my closed eyes.

Just as I got out of my room, a raspy female voice pepped with surprise, awe and mockery stopped me, mid-way:

“അയ്യോ! കണ്ണിനെന്തു പറ്റി?”

(OMG, What happened to your eyes?)

Shocked at the sudden, unexpected voice (which resembled the cackle of the proverbial Witch), I opened my eyes, only to my horror.

It was my servant who bore a very contorted smile on her face!

MY VISHU KANI RUINED!!!

Mustering all my calm, I closed my eyes once more and answered that I was going to see my Kani, went down and saw the beautiful sight of Lord Krishna adorned in garland, just for form’s sake, cause my Kani was already gone!

The ‘kani’ effect perhaps, I got a meagre ‘kaineetam’ of hundred bucks (and I had to put up a fight for that too!). Guess what, dad unceremoniously borrowed that from in the evening curtly mentioning that he had no change in his purse!

What a plight!

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This happened four days back, on Wednesday.

Hectic preparations for Aagneya ’09 were on. Being a member of the core-team, I had to be present at the Aagneya Room all the while (well, when classes aren’t going on, that is!). That day, everyone was preoccupied with some job or the other. Including our unofficial ‘Staff-advisor’, Robin ‘Sir’. That left me forlorn in the A/C room with a couple of Sony VAIOs and tonnes of work to do. The posters had just arrived from the printers and were scattered all about the table. Cleanliness freak that I am, I stacked them all up and shoved them into the draw. The posters were a tad big, so I had to make some effort to stash them inside.

It was then that I remembered that my bag was still in class. Leaving the room in charge of Govind – a friend and Aagneya team member, I rushed back to the class and got back with the bag. Meanwhile, I got a phone call from another friend and about fifteen minutes had passed when I got back, only to see this arbit guy listening to a particularly-arrogant tamil number in the lappie – much to my chagrin! I shoved him out of the room and resumed work. That was when these guys from the Invitation Team came up, asking for fresh posters as they had run out of stock. I asked them to wait and opened the draw.

I had the shock of my life. The posters and brochures were missing!!!

Trying to keep my calm, I double-checked all three drawers. I emptied the contents of all three and rechecked. Nada.

Unnerved and panicked, I called everyone up. No one had a clue about the missing brochures. Soon, most of the core-committee reassembled in the room and started a wild goose chase. Even after 15 minutes of wild-search, not a shred of the poster was to be found. We tried phoning up everybody who was seen in the vicinity of the room. Everybody had a tailor-made “No”. All of us lost our mood, and started swearing at our sheer bad luck on what was already a train-wreck of a day. I was desperate, on the verge of a breakdown. 36 posters, simply vanished into thin air! Could anyone have stolen it? Duh! But what would one get from a set of printed brochures? Still, some of us were skeptical. We had already lost a diary with vital contacts. Could this just be a coincidence?

In all the hullaballoo, no one noticed Jagan crawling down, pulling something down from underneath the table. It was white in colour, glossy and was green on the other end.

It was an Aagneya poster. Mystified, we lifted the table, only to realize the gaffe.

Apparently the drawers in the table were too small to accomodate the 60cm-long poster. As I’d shoved all 36 of them into a single draw, they fell down through the hole behind the drawer and lay safe on the floor.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. I quitely slipped out of the room, beetroot red in embarrasment!

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Ah, it feels heavenly to blog after a hiatus!

This post marks the start of a new series in this blog: The Daily Blunder.

Everyone has his/her own embarrassing moments; weird situations which would turn them beetroot-red in embarrassment. People do strange things trying to cover all those momentous gaffes up, burying them in the deepest recesses of their mind…

Not me.

I make ten times as many blunders as any normal guy. Perhaps I’m a tad too retarded ’cause the dumb things I do would make even Tom & Jerry seem ‘The Godfather‘-esque! And I don’t give a bloody damn about publicizing my faux pas! Hope you people will find the series as interesting as my previous posts…

It was a very very fine morning. Extremely fine, till I was rudely shaken up from the company of Mr Morpheus (not the one of ‘The Matrix‘ fame!) by my Mom shouting at the top of her voice at 7:30 AM, that is. Due to some, ahem, ‘extra-curricular activities’ in the previous night, it was a bit late when I’d hit the sack. (Not porn you evil mind! I had a website to design and upload. And that too, in JUST three hours!!) Four hours sleep is mandatory for me to stay conscious all day. I hadn’t even clocked two hours of sleep that night. Groggily, I shoved off the bedsheet, went upstairs and brushed my teeth only to realize the fact in horror. I was late, and I had to reach college by 8.45 that day!

After a dressing-up session which lasted five minutes precise (and would even put Darsheel to shame), I gobbled up a couple of Dosas with my always-punctilious dad looking daggers at me for perennially being late. I was wearing a worn-out pair of jeans and a gross, orange shirt which curiously made me resemble Munnabhai MBBS. For a few invigorating minutes, I pictured myself in Sanjay Dutt‘s celebrated role, hurriedly converting his home into a hospital in that ‘Subah Ho gayi mamu’ song. Another Darsheel moment. Dad had to slap me hard in the back, to bring me back to the real world!! I hate my life! Don’t I even have the freedom to day dream?!

Well, Munna cost me dearly, so to speak. Would you believe my luck? Just as I was rushing out of my house, all dressed up and bag on shoulder, my neighbour had left!! And he was waving back at me instead of asking his dad to stop the car. It was already 8:10 and I badly needed a miracle to reach Sreekariyam on time, so as to catch the college bus which was my only ticket to reach college by 8:45. I realized I didn’t have much choice. I ran. I ran till my lungs burned! After sprinting for about two hundred metres, I stopped, panting, longing for some water. Guess what, I’d forgotten my water bottle in all the frazzle! Swearing, I waved at the Yamaha Gladiator that swiftly approached me. The man was kind, he offered me a lift! If I had money in my purse, I’d gladly have gifted it to him in all the happiness!!

Two minutes in his bike, and I was swearing again. I’d rather have walked all the way. This dude was such a slowcoach. It was almost 8:25 AM!, over 15 minutes after I’d started from home, when we reached Sreekariyam! No sooner did he stop, I jumped out of his bike. I was in luck! The bus had just arrived at the stop. The benevolent conductor was trying his luck with this cute first year girl, so I had enough time to reach the bus. I ran. I didn’t notice a white-clad male figure in my way, first. My eyes were at the cream colored college-bus, revving its engine. I shoved the white-clad guy off with my right hand and sprinted as fast as I can. At that opportune moment, I felt a searing pain on my right forearm. Something sharp had brushed my hand. As I looked back, I realized the blunder of my life.

The guy I’d hit was the exasperated traffic policeman!!!

I’d caught him off-handed and had almost pushed him down squarely onto the road. He started showering me with a volley of choicest abuses and was now chasing me. I muttered a quick apology and galloped to the bus, quickly getting in through the back door; an instant before the bus started. Within a couple of seconds time, the bus had outmaneuvered the policeman. Thankfully, the traffic at the junction was a tad too high for the cop to ignore his duties and pursue his attacker. Shuddering in relief, I sat down in an empty seat. Few had noticed my rendezvous with the cop; those first years who had seen the incident were chuckling (not loudly though, I was a pretty-famous third year at college, after all!!)

Nevertheless, the policeman did have the last laugh. The pain on my forearm was actually a bruise he had inflicted with the sharp end of his whistle in all the rage. It was extremely painful and took a week to get cured.

My bruised hand!

Now, whenever I see a traffic policeman on the road, I make it a point to stay a couple of metres away from him!!

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