The outcast

The strangest thing about some memories is that, when they happen, they will be grittiest and saddest of all… later turning out to be the brightest corners of past…

It was a night I could never forget… (Trust me, I am not exaggerating…)

Yet another Monday it was. After the exam, I guess I was in pretty hyperactive mood. So I was staying back in the college for doing a futile scrutiny into the question paper, assessing how far I got it right (How far I lost the game, to put it in another way).  There was a tradition of writing the name of those who went for reference in a register at Pala House (Rather a cheap notebook with a savagely disfigured picture of Asin…). We used to sign in it next to our name when we came back in the evening. It turned out that this signing tradition was rather a serious factor of proving your presence at the college, when you are under any interrogation from Manjesh sir, for misadventures like late-coming and bunking classes.

So on this particular Monday your humble narrator due to his overloaded and over wrought brain cells forgot to sign the register in the evening. I was totally lost in my own pocket sized ‘freak-a-topia’ that I didn’t even care to look into the register. It happened once in a while, but usually I would get somebody in the ground floor to sign in for me (Mind you, Manjesh sir had exceptional sixth sense to spot out counterfeit...Hehe). of course if it was some other day, I could have got partners in crime.

At 7, we were down in the courtyard awaiting another blast (These meetings were the rare times, when everybody laughed and sang in unison. A real tension buster it was…). I was standing at my usual place, near the window, beside Hari and Vishnu. Long before the usual procedures were to start, Biji sir took a look into the register, and can you believe what did he find?

Everybody needs a medium of perpetual entertainment. It seemed like god’s entertainment at that point of time was me… (Not even the usual ‘unsigning’ brats were there to keep me company)

So he found out this unlucky human’s name in the register minus a glorious sign. He came to the entrance (the dais, from where the meeting was presided over), and asked for me.

I was pretty brave to offer a shrug and nod to justify my cause. Two pairs of eyes were staring right at me, while another 82 pairs were staring at those two.

“Jesus Mary Joseph, what a grave crime, have I committed? I should be beheaded for such a crime…”

“Get out”. An ice cold voice blurted out. (I can hear the cynics murmuring, that Biji sir never had an ice cold voice as that of Lord Voldemort. Yet a little drama won’t do any bad)

“Sir…”

“Get out…” it was rather a threat. Since the meeting was held outdoor, I had no place to go ‘out’. But it was evident that I was banished from the rest of the spectators to stand at the farthest corner of the hostel building, the gateway.

It was Biji sir, for Christ sake. That man was not that mean or ruthless. And we always thought that he had a certain understanding to what we were doing. I didn’t expect him to banish me just like that.

I started walking out of the party, amidst all the murmurs and hush-hush. My heart sank in some endless ocean (jokes apart, I was really sad.)

Have I done anything that grave that I now have to face this kind of a tragedy? I mean, there were times when much much more serious crimes were going unpunished. He could have scolded me a bit, rather than sending me out like this…

Out there in front of me, there was another universe playing in itself. Amal M Paul had some kind of a one man show going on. And nobody cared to think that somebody among them was standing out there like an outcast. Everybody was laughing. Everybody was clapping. I was feeling like an imbecile, completely severed from all kinds of emotions. I could not concentrate on what was going around. My mind wandered around and every sound that emanated from the crowd made me curse myself.

It felt awfully sour then. I mean, right now I am writing about it, and I am feeling only ten percent of what I felt then. Even that meager ten percent is giving me pangs of pain.

I was counting second after second, minute after minute, with time itself playing shylock with me. The angst inside my head was growing strong, replacing confidence from every dark corner of my mind and filling it with shear hopelessness.

Finally after an infernal 20 minutes when the crowd was dispersed, I was relieved to a lesser extent. Those who were going upstairs were finding it fun to toss in mockery and sympathy, as if they are trying to lessen my pain. But their darts never hit the target, as I already have fallen prey to a full grown pessimism.

When Biji sir excused me to my room, I fought hard to pull myself together. I now felt how bad Hari felt when he was banished once from an earlier meeting by Manjesh sir. I was running back to my room and as soon as I reached into my room, I broke down.

I hesitated to turn on the light, as darkness seemed to pacify me a bit. Inside the bathroom, I stood, and cried. When tears rushed down I felt like I should run to my mom and find solace in her arms. I felt like I was a 5 year old lad who came running home with a bruise so as to fall into his mother’s arms and cry it loud.

I thought my life was going to end at that particular point. There was no tomorrow it seemed. I was even denied of the freedom to cry out loud. Your humble narrator here actually felt like packing bags and leaving the next morning, and never come back. But something was pulling me back.

Was it my pride? Was it the shame I may encounter when it came to explain the whole thing to my parents? Or was it the feeling of remorse of leaving everything in midway and running away into uncertainty?

Somehow, with eyes closed and eyes opened, I spent the entire night, even wishing never to open my eyes again so as to live the life of a petty loser (I must get whipped for writing this…)

The wounds took time to heal. Yet, i managed to escape into the world of weekly tests and other scholastic cacophonies. Of course, the tea and snacks at brilliant canteen helped, as they were served with all the love in the world (Our famed Canteen chechis were tailor made for that task).

Once again the momentary pain and guilt were washed away by the sands of good times. Yet, like a log thrown into the sea, the waves always brought back the bad times, later erasing them with the same tides. Rising and falling with that endless ocean were thousands of lost souls including me.

And all we could do was to rub our asses each time we fell and get on with it…

Coz all is well…that ends well…

new post friends......

I’m having a petty fever. It’s Monday and our college is hosting something like a cultural night. And this cruel ruthless badass fever is making me stay back. Well there are other reasons for me wanting to go to that function, which is why I can’t enjoy fever this time. Gosh, my back hurts. My head hurts. So guys, am unleashing my feverish wrath upon you all. Spare me for this crime.

The Hard Way

Since prehistoric times, the word ‘exam’ has been proving in itself as something quiet of a catastrophe to young men and women. When girls hear it, even god can’t predict what sound comes from which part of the body, but surely can sense the impending danger.  Boys, well they see the lighter side of everything till the night before the exam. But the final 12 hours will even take the bravest of brave wet their pants. You don’t have to face exam every week to know that fact. But by some vague twist of fate, you are in a stature to go through the same turmoil once in every week. Come what may be, it’s Monday morning, and exam is right above everybody’s head.

Well after all that ‘burning midnight oil’ sessions in the night, we may manage to get a couple of hours of sleep (breeze-less sleep so to say, as I am too hesitant to switch on my fan fearing a monstrous electric bill). So with half open (or half closed) eyes we stand beside the road waiting for the bus to come. My empty stomach might be making funny noises, but its cries shall be answered only after reaching brilliant.

Only good thing during the bus journey in the morning is to get some cool morning dew which I suppose, is a unique feature of Pala. But the fun is short lived as our favorite ‘Ummachan’ would switch on his godforsaken MP3 player. “Ishq ada hai Ishq vada hai” it starts to sing. It seems that this particular song has earned its status as an unwelcoming exam special. Every exam day when we would be praying for favorable questions to come, this cursed song plays as if god is bullying us poor human beings.

“Pandaram. Ingerkku veroru pattum kittile keppikkan. Ayalde ##@@$$%% (censored for minors)”

We reach the brilliant campus by around 8. The whole place has certain energy on exam days. Numerous girls would have already flocked in front of the small tea shop to buy paper or phoning their parents. We head straight into the canteen fight furiously for two or three dosas drowned in sambhar(By that time the chutney would have been wiped clean).  Having eaten an unsatisfying breakfast we rush to perform our ritual before heading into the exam hall. What ritual??? Forgot??? Visiting our own tharavaad…

Myself, Hari, Vishnu and Sen would be pouring out our worries and hues before any exam. Seeing our worries washed down the drain, we get an uncanny confidence. “Don’t be afraid even if you have returned a virgin OMR sheet; all is well that ends well”.

                                                            ******

It’s been 15 minutes since the bell rang. 15 minutes left for the bell to ring. I look into my watch and return to my answer sheet. Jesus Mary Joseph! , only 7 questions answered (3 among 7 are wildest a guess can be. “Karakkikkuth” as we say). I start to panic (It’s nice to panic when you don’t know the answer. It’s double the fun when the topic is what you read last night :D). Now I turn to the last question. Let’s see what it’s like from the bottom. Hopeless, the last question is something I haven’t even heard of. I jump to the 15^th question, and I start to sob. That would possibly be from the topic I left out last night thinking that it won’t be asked no matter what.

I look into my watch. Another 5 minutes has whooshed past. God, why does time run so fast when you are writing an exam (and phoning somebody…). There is no way am going to complete this paper. So I start to play some of the old trial and error method. I start answering from the 27^th question. 3 questions in a row, below upwards. Then starting again from question number 10 and going three questions downwards. A little there, a little here, I somehow manage to give a “not so bad” look to the answer sheet.

Now there are two minutes to finish. So I look into my answer sheet. Some 15 to 20 bubbles are darkened. “Wow that is great progress, last time you managed hardly 17 only, lad”  I console myself. But the work is still unfinished. A-B-C-A-B-C-D-A-B-C-A-D-B. Now that gives it a more classic pattern like look. It won’t fetch you mark for sure. But it’s at least eye candy, right? (You won’t hesitate to think such futility, when in my stature). The bell rings. I hand over my paper.

“Angane ee examum kaivittupoyi. Aah. Aduthathenkilum padich ezhuthanam.”

Now I am outside discussing the questions with some big gun, most probably Kasavan or Sooraj. It’s a rare sight to see my smile fading question after question, hearing that it’s actually an A rather than D (In this case, my answer would most probably be that D). These are the rare moments when you pray with full heart to change that answer to D (who hears your prayers?? Even god is busy screwing up lives of poor Iraqis and Israelis).

The next set of cries comes during the evening when the marks are put in the notice board. Of course it’s being read to us by our Lijo sir back in our classroom. But standing amidst the crowd, staring into that big notice board for hours as if we are using our telekinetic power to change our rank to a better one, is surely a relishing experience (the experience is even more relishing if the vicinity is full of girls eager to know their hard earned rank :P).

During the early days, I used to search for my name from the top. Name after name, with a heavy heart, usually I will find solace in the last 20 ranks. Later on I would directly start from the bottom, knowing that the journey from top downwards is rather painful than bottom upwards when it comes to rank lists.

After knowing my not-so- hard earned rank I would be sharing the sorrow with other fellow compatriots (the so called unlucky pricks, who also joined the boat hoping to make their parents proud, but unfortunately getting nowhere). When we reach canteen, there would be a mixed up emotion altogether. Some may be laughing. Some may angry and some may real sad (I mean jumbo sad. There are honestly working people unlike me). Vishnu and Ajax (Both of them looked like twin brothers. And both of them were jolly good company) would be easing up the pressure with their slapstick humor and anecdotes. When Hari joins me, it makes a mutual pair of shoulders to cry on. So after a few senti dialogues about broken promises and unused study hours, both of us would be back in our old ‘Who-cares-if-world-ends-next-minute’ attitude.  After all we have another week to make wrong things right (it’s easy to say every single time).

Boarding the bus back to Pala house, we may encounter one or two good songs, which lay to Ummachan’s mercy. All of us had plenty of time to waste during exam day evenings. Nobody kept any regulations that particular evening. So we might be spending longer than usual time before the TV inside Royees canteen. I would have already called home to tell that I screwed up this time also, and I am not giving up and I will be in the first 10 next time (in the first 100 that may prove, but only time can tell..:)). I may be blaming the question paper or the topic for getting low rank (you can’t always tell the truth to your parents. Of course it worked with George Washington and Gandhiji, but it may not work with you). after enjoying one or two lime juices from Royees (an excellent laxative it usually turns out to be) or devouring a precious piece of pastry bought from the Pala bakers, we might go in for a small nap in the evening.

The night would have another bundle of surprises waiting for you. There will be hostel meeting at night, right???

Always, the meeting nights have been the mopst memorable among the nights at Pala House. All except two…

reference round ups !!!

 The Rituals Continue:

What is boredom?

If you ask me, I would say that it is the reference days during weekends. Time would be world’s slowest snail creeping second by second with incredible sluggishness that you feel that you are not born in an inhabited planet. The effect is pronounced in the forenoon session. There would be none patrolling to see whether we are asleep. There won’t be any familiar faces around you. Till 10:30 you will drag yourself between an incomplete sleep and a nerve wrenching problem from the GRB. Usual reference machaans were I myself, Bribin, Rahul, Vijay Baby and Nuwais. I still remember Nuwais running for the bus in the last minute with a half buttoned shirt and partially clad trousers and badly made up hair.

Oh!!! Before we start off for reference, let me describe one particular incident that occurred in connection with our bus. Ours was a bright olive green bud with white stripes on it (or vice versa, I don’t remember). Our driver was a man in his mighty 50s. We don’t know his name actually. We used to call him Ummachan(consider those infinite permutations of that name, hehe). So our dear Ummachan used to nag us with every possible trick he had. One of his favorite tricks was to play a song for almost a thousand times. Brilliant had no hesitance in spending money in fitting good quality audio systems in the buses (mostly, a Sony Xplod or Pioneer. But whatever it may be, it still was never used for the right purpose). So what this guy did was, he had certain odd favorites among the songs played (we gave him almost three CDs, but those three never really appeared in the player. Still it remains a mystery). All the time it used to be a “Theyn theyn theyn” from Kuruvi or a head ache from the film Ada. “Ishq vada hai, ishq vada hai…”it went so on and so forth (the ‘Vada’s in the lyrics is sponsored by Hari, of course) and the most hectic of them all, a Tamil song, “Kaathoram lolakk…” (We used to curse him with the lousiest dialect, yet what he only did was to increase the volume to make it more unbearable). Going through all this toil we were shipped back and forth between the college and hostel.

So on this particular morning, when we were waiting for bus (most of us. some of them always came after the bus was there). The time was almost 8. So this guy Ummachan started to growl his engine so as to make the late comers hasten. It was Richard, Sen and Vishnu who were running towards the bus. As soon as they came yards close to the bus, he stepped on the gas and the bus started off. Richard and Vishnu were running behind the bus like wild hogs. They tapped on the bus, but it didn’t stop. But instead, that wicked driver slowed it down, so that he can make them run a bit more. Finally when he stopped the bus to let them in, it was almost half a mile from the stop.

Richard as soon as entering the bus unleashed his rage onto the driver (He even called every one of that driver’s family members. Boy what a swearing…). There was a brief confusion before the bus started again.

When we reached college, this man Ummachan got out and grabbed poor Vishnu by his collar, mistaking him as the one who cursed him. he started muttering “Ninakkenne ariyilla. Njaney chavakkattu karana. Ennodu kalichaal niyokke vivaram ariyum.” Poor Vishnu got scared like hell and was begging “Njaanonnum cheythille, enne veruthe vidane…” (I am not quite sure he cried then…). The matter reached Stephen sir and from there it reached Manjesh sir. Ummachan was called upon to testify. That evening it was the turn for Richard’s hearing, in the Pala House. But instead of hearing anything, Manjesh sir started firing him. Some sort of a pin drop silence was fallen over the hostel that night, so that every word from Manjesh sir from down below, came clearly to us in the top floor. But that day we were all unanimously supporting Richard n his stand. He was the only one who had the balls to ask against the atrocities of that cunning Ummachan. Of course he got all the beating for himself. But that night Manjesh sir too was pretty reasonable with his argument, since his words too made sense. If such a thing was happening against us, we could have told Manjesh sir about it at the first place rather than going on retaliating against it head on. But that problem was over that very same night itself. Because of that however, one positive thing came into being. No more “Kaathoram lolakk…”

Back to reference guys. We would reach the college by 8:30 or 9. Every eye inside the bus would be searching hungrily on the roadside for eye candy sights in front of biological hotspots namely ‘Alphonsa’, ‘Assumption’, ‘Sacred Heart’, Shanti’ and the fanfare walking to the college from ‘Little Flower’ and ‘Vandana’ (For those who are not familiar with these names, they are those ladies hostels, where the oceanic masses of girls in pursuit of a professional degree seat are nested). Even if we didn’t catch a glance of any of them, we are still not disheartened, since there is plenty more time to mouth-look inside the campus.

Our Stephen sir knew the catastrophic chemistry of containing boys and girls altogether inside one building (there were some real bad repercussions too...). So he didn’t place girls anywhere near boys while on reference. Boys and girls were in separate rooms. We boys would usually go to the top floor of the building, much more like a thatched rooftop pantry car; it was too hot and dark. But who cares, if it makes a great place to sleep.  I used to take a short nap of about 2 hours before the morning break. And a small 1 hour nap afterwards. All these times I may be having a gigantic yet Arihant (Gibberish) or GRB (More gibberish…) in front of me. Yet not bothering to look into it, I would doze off. After the break I would go near the earthen water pots, to get a recharge. Of course those pots have been the occasional sight round every corner in every floor, and has been playing pivotal role in my brilliant days.

Fact File: The Earthen Pots:

Brilliant never made you thirsty to dead.  So there were earthen pots filled with water every 10 meters in every floor to ease up the “vellamkudippikkal” process. It has been very refreshing to take a sip of that water, when you are already being bombed by killer MCQs and wrenching exams.  Those pots were also markers for “cargo” location. As Hari once mentioned, we were two vayinokkis standing near the coffee shop on the banks of the drainage leaning against the wall with coffee in our hands looking at those beauties standing near the earthen pots. “The blonde girl near the pot to the left of zoology staff room or the white salwar clad girl near the pot on the third floor…” and so it went. Those pots were the unmistaken cornerstones of the Brilliant landscape.

Afternoons were fairly jolly compared to forenoons. We would comfortable reassemble ourselves in new and convenient positions so as to meet the basic requirements of chitchat.

After a round of heavy discussions, finally my eyes go down onto those books. Oh, my god. It’s like the whole purpose of dragging those books weighing two tons from their shelves for absolutely no purpose, makes me even more sober (Ennalum padikkila. Nombarapettond rikkan oru sukham allae..:p)

By the time I ran through the first line of the page lying open in front of me, there rings that sweet bell of tea break. Padikanath pinnem aavaam. But vaazhakkappam pinne kaanathilla.

So here I am, devouring my banana fry as if it’s the most delicious delicacy. Tea time will end soon, and then we found ourselves again in front of the reference books, a whole lot of new books now.

When I am in the bus back to Pala house, carrying my Porotta and curry (And most probable the Porottas and curries for those at hostel too…), its nearly 7 in the night. After reaching the room, my interest is diverted to the usual night routine.

Balu, Nidarsan, Rahul and Mathew would be there in the study room waiting for me… sometimes for their Porottas and curry. But most of the times it would be for some other reason.

The Rituals

The Rituals:

You cannot sleep during the study hours.

That was an unspoken rule in Pala House. At night it was until 10. But if it’s a holiday, naturally a hard working boy (like me…) may prefer to have a nice small nap, amidst the back breaking labor (to the eyes, of course). And the timings maybe just after having breakfast or lunch. Those are the times when Manjesh sir is either busy eating or gone elsewhere.

But our peaceful retreat is often disrupted by the evil sleep buster, Biji sir. He would come round anytime, whenever he feels a bit exhausted. After all, 80 students have sacrificed themselves for the sake of his entertainment na…

“Ravile irunnuranguano niyokke. Enitte enitte. Poyi purathu ninnu padikke.”

When our half opened eyes gaze at him, he would try hard to suppress a laugh.

Now am standing in front of the main entrance of Pala house. The outstanding personality of the hour. I am not alone. Usually I may be carrying my heavy NCERT textbook or any question bank. And I may be witnessing many a laughs from other inmates. From ground floor, from first floor and from my own top floor. I still remember Ranjan with his 32-toothed grin pointing his nasty finger at me. I would mutter to myself.

Don’t worry assholes. Laugh when you can. Next turn would be yours.

But being there is a kind of fun actually. Once Biji sir is back in his den, I can just go around anywhere in the ground floor. I mostly tour to Gohul’s and Praveen’s room. Then to Nikhil’s room. There mostly he must be scratching his head with a piece of paper in hand (supposedly his lecture notes). Ambu, Amod and Sen must be roaming in the courtyard. Of course they are the ones you should be afraid of. Like any other savage primate, when taunted, they will throw stones at you. Even at Balu in the top floor study room, they threw their stones at. Amod had a fairly good aim. So whenever there is a showdown in the making I may nicely slip off the scene and let them be on their own. I may quietly go into Hari’s room. He must have got some of his mixture or chips or biscuit left.

Munching in the snacks in my hand I make my way to my former position, where I was destined (I mean by Biji sir) to be and study. Of course everything other than study occurs.

There is also an interesting routine we practice in Pala house. Its much like taking a break. We may take some clothes (Oru perinenthelm…), soak I in water and take them to the terrace.

Fact File: The Terrace:

Pala house had a terrace so splendid that it almost always looked like it is kissing the skies. A long deep wet kiss. There was a constant breeze which may mesmerize anybody who enjoys it for a minute. Despite having some unnamed underpants hung from one of the line near one end, it was great scenery looking from there. The steeples of the new church of St. Jude, Kizhathadiyoor, was visible among the trees as a white cone fallen from the skies.

It was the favorite spot for late night gatherings. After everybody’s asleep we used to stand over the sides of the terrace and pee down on to the sides of the building (usually in the morning somebody would report an episode of a light drizzle..:D)

Its beauty increased at night, when the stars shimmered overhead. I still remember lying there at night with Hari narrating his life’s story. You feel like the stars are hearing you too. And that they are twinkling in response to what you are saying. Soon I will narrate that wonderful night. That was the only night I ever saw a halo, a full circular halo, around the moon (Boy that was worth a watch).

We also got enough peace of mind sitting there and studying. So in every way the terrace was a small time paradise.

Some nights were a bit busier than others. There won’t be enough people around the TV during the dinner. Guys would be talking less and rush back to the hostel after quickly finishing the meal. Those were the days which usually fell around the end of every week. Those were the days when you can find more people in front of Manjesh sir’s room than in front of the coin Pay phone (Usually the most popular place inside Pala house, for every one among us felt it necessary to inform our parents that “mum, dad. I am still alive”)

Those were the days when you have to ask him permission to go home. And that in this case my friend, is harder than getting a parole.

I myself don’t go well with my family that they celebrate every day of the year I was away. But that wasn’t the case with others. Everybody wanted to go some day or the other. Some people made it once in a week. For going home, you got to sing in a register. And overlooking this register would be the eagle eyes of Manjesh sir. When in the queue everybody thinks of the most heart wrenching reason to go home. But once in front of him, it’s not the same. Many of those poor souls walk out of there with sunken eyes and cursing hearts (I guess it’s because of their curse that Manjesh sir got married the very next year).

But those who do make it, comes out victoriously waving the victory fingers, as if they just conquered mount ‘Manjeverest’, the hardest mountain made out of flesh and blood.

When they are away, it’s like being given a shot of some soporiferous medicine. You sleep through the whole weekend. During my Reference days, I go to the college and sleep it out there. Why testing the tolerance level of other inmates, right?

Always incomplete, it was, without having everybody around. When Balu and Rahul goes home, the whole top floor goes into hibernation. Without any one among us, the life in Pala house was a misery. We were what you call, one single organism. And these days when there isn’t any restriction to what to do and what not to do, life seems drab. That one year despite all those pressure and tension, was worth living.

Nights in Pala House

Hari paranju njan englishil ezhuthunnath karanam feel porenne. I am trying to incorporate some demonic Malayalam in between. Spare me brothers…

So this piece of crap is dedicated to my fellow crapper…..

The Night at the Pala House: (As in ‘the Night at the Museum’)

Each night at Pala house was one of its kind. The fun was never ending. Precisely at 7:30 we would get orders to ceasefire and go back to our rooms. And the crowd in the courtyard would dissolve like morning dew (Or our wardens were made to believe so.). The first step of a deliberate plan is to see what Manjesh sir is up to.  In our study room, there are two benches located at the two ends of the room. So we would sit face to face with somewhat 5 feet in between the benches. Any life form transiting through the room would pass right through the middle of the room, in front of us.

My usual position would be near the window (It was one hell of a window, by the way). There is a 5 inch space between the wall and the window. I will get stuffed into this place in a way that the entire study room comes under my field of vision. Balu would have been seated exact opposite to my position. Nidarsan used to come by our side only after 8 or so. Mathew would be present round the clock, unless or otherwise he had some fight with any of us, which was the usual scenario (To see Mathew leaving the room, cursing us was worth a site. I now think that, his innocence was what we always put to test). Njanum...

Those were the days when our hostel owner Joy had deliberate plans to siphon in more money from current bill (10 rupees per unit. What is this??? Cucumber city???). My first two current bills were approximately 50 rupees, I guess. And such a huge bill can even make Vijay Mallaya weep. So I turned off the fan in my room. And the light too. Without light and fan, how can I study sitting inside my room?

There is a fan and a tube light in the study room. Verenthu venam? So I quickly changed my shelter from my room to study room. Under that fan and tube light I spent time 24*7. I was the scum that the study room never got rid of. Instead of using my fan and paying foolishly to that ruthless hostel owner, I made him pay something extra. Study room was my second home to be precise (only thing that did go wrong was, that I made study room like hell for others).

Back to the “story: life” (3:1 hehe).  Manjesh sir would go out on7:45, to our canteen. A very brief time to celebrate. As soon as Manjesh sir’s shadow passed the wall, we all rise from our positions and stretch ourselves a bit. Stretchy stretchy njn Nidarsante room vare ethm. Directly opposite his room was the room of Kesavan. Next to Kesavan’s room was a small space in between the walls (There were other places where there were spaces in between wall.  Only we and the god knew what all we used to hide in those crevices. I mean, necessity is the mother of invention right??). Through that, we could make out our hostel wardens dining inside Royees canteen.  

The stage: study room.

The actors: Balu, Nidarsan, Mohammed, Rahul and myself…

The Play: Pala Charitham 3aam khandam

The audience: Amal, Jassim, Chandu and Sibi

And every moment was history. We played cricket there (Plastic bottle became bats and weekly test question papers became balls). We debated on anything below the sky about which we didn’t have even the slightest idea. Katrina Kaif’s figure and Hrithik Roshan’s vigor and Sehwag’s power, almost everything was a topic for discussion. We chorified and therified each and everyone present in the room. We gossiped about all those hot cargoes back there at Brilliant. We played nasty pranks on every padipist in our floor. We danced and yelled like wolves and fooled all around there. But one rule was prevailing although nobody needed any prior mentioning. All this should be over in 15 minutes.

If Manjesh sir ever found out what the hell was going on the top floor he would have put our heads under the guillotine. But thanks to the eye of third floor (Ahem ahem… none other than the humble narrator), nobody got caught. I would have my eyes fixed on manjesh sir’s whereabouts as I watch him like an eagle circling over its prey (If he ever come to read this blog, I want to certify that my death is not accidental).

But then, even the best times got to end someday. That day was not very far. I once got caught spying on Manjesh sir. It so happened that I was sitting in the corner with my shoulder at the edge of the window. Enik cherinju nokkiyal Manjesh sirnte room kanam. So on a particular night the sound was a bit over the cut off. So he came out and was standing outside his room surveying all three study rooms (It seems like the whole world has gone mute when Manjesh sir was around). I was leaning forward onto my shoulder and was keenly watching him. I thought he couldn’t see me through the corner of the window. But alas, there was he looking right into my eye and giving out a scary nod. Oru 5 minutes inakam Manjesh sir top floor study roomil ethy. The rest you know, na. I was suspended from study room for 1 long week. God, it was awful. But then, for that week my rank was somewhat ok (the current bill was not ok). So I begged him to sit and study in the study room. The 3 feet tall lean lion agreed.

Like Arnie announces in Terminator, “I am back”, I hit the study room. And we made our timings to extend after the sleeping hours. Balu and Rahul and Sibi would be awake long after our terror warden dozes. We will put off the lights in the study room and gather on the floor. The discussions will continue ad infinitum. And even if the sound goes a bit high, nobody cares. I would be standing guard of the place so as to remind other amigos of any threat.

Balu, the man from Ranni. I kinda worshipped that jock. He was masculine, bright and so much full of energy; nearly every other life was lit up by his presence. Everybody was his friend. Our late night talks were all concentrated on his life experiences (Look at us god, we have not even touched 20, yet we had experiences worth narrating, that’s what we call generation gap). There were stories about his place, Ranni, stories about his schooling, his friends and all those beauties whom he was after (He presently studies in AFMC, a batch with only 4 girls. And that rotten rascal has hooked up with one among four…).

And there was Nidarsan, the guy from Kottayam, as lean as a pencil and as happy as a king, he was.  this guy, was a walking talking amusement park. Always cracking jokes and always getting self goals. At nights he too had those tear dropping tragic loves stories to narrate. How his dad would always back him up and used to train him at the Kottayam stadium, for making him an athlete. His words always had a special flavor of being at home.

Coming to Sibi, another night talker, the quiet one I may say. Sibi was the hardest working guy in the top floor. Yet his ranks were never really bright. We say god is fair. But in his case, if you ask me, god was being a son of a bitch. Never giving him what he deserved. At night when he would finally exit the room, he would be having his old cricket matches and school fables to narrate to us. Balu , Rahul and Sibi were in the same school after 10^th. So they know quite a lot about each other. so it was always fun to hear them narrating each other’s thepp stories and poking each other.

Sometimes we would have guests also. Mostly it would be Hari, from ground floor. But his expeditions would rather be risky, during the wakey wakey hours of Manjesh sir. And once he got screwed up too. hope he mite be narrating that story for you some day…

I guess the midnight hour is close at hand. So we would disperse to our rooms, bidding each other a ‘good night’ or a ‘Screw you’. For a second the lights in our rooms would flash and then go out. I mean perfect darkness. I would have my windows opened so as to let in some fresh air (and a lot of mosquitoes too). It helps me save my current bill by not turning my killer fan on.

As I begin to doze, my righteous conscience would ask me.

“Eda pulle, ni innu vallom padicho??”

And I would answer it back. “Mindathiri. Entrance exam naale ravile onnum allalo. Pathukke padichalum mathy”