My brilliant lonely evening over the tank on our roof

Ive just watched Nim's island in star movies...It is a splendid movie. And I wish I was like Nim or the writer or Jack. I wish I was like the writer with an island like that, a dad like that and a daughter like that. I wish I had the animal friends. I wish I can touch an orangutan with love. I don't think it is really very possible.

But what is possible is where I am sitting now. I am sitting on the tank over the roof's roof...watching a wonderful sunset in shades of greyish purple and fire yellow and orange. It might start raining any moment now. It had been raining all week this week. There's this real cold wind blowing real fast now, I almost can't see with all my fringes of hair covering my face. The sky is getting darker and darker..and the light is fading. The moon above my head is growing brighter and brighter as the sky's blocking me out.

There are apartments all around me. But thankfully they end at the same level as where I'm sitting. So I have a little extra access to the sunset. And yea, over my head…it's just so gorgeous right now. I can't tell you.

I feel like staying here forever.

Shucks, this feels so phony, I can't hear my voice, wait a sec. there's a cuckoo singing..anyway, I can't hear my voice anymore. I’m hearing the voice in my head like the voice of that writer in Nim's island. I'm shivering a little now. And a little scared. And very uncomfortable..there was this man from the apartment looking and I tried to climb the tank with half the concentration on that man..and though I made the climb okay. My left arm near the shoulder seems to hurt a bit.

I want to write and go on writing. But there is a little boy there..oh, he's gone. He just tried to climb the ladder to the roof asking someone younger, possibly little brother or a friend not to come up because he /she might fall down the ladder. He went away anyway. Where was I?

I wanted to tell you this especially.

People are calling it Venus, some are calling it pole star, though I don't think so.. I've seen pole star all my life. It's not this bright. This star or planet is so bright. It glows like this little diamond. Don't cuckoo's ever go to sleep? It's still cooeing, and in the morning they start long before I wake up. I know it because I usually kinda fall outta sleep at four in the morning, and then I continue sleeping anyway. I'm really shivering now. It's so cold, I can feel the goosebumps happen.

I always say, if you close your eyes hard enough and believe....

Today, I say, if you open your eyes wide enough, your sense of touch well enough, You could believe you're in heaven or maybe more. You could believe you're that ballerina or the figure skater, or the artist among rooms of beautifully arranged colours. You could be in that silent orchestra with the sound of water flowing(in the tank), the wind blowing, the aeroplane's whoo as it's passing by and the poor cuckoo killing itself with the song..surrounded by mint blue, navy blue, gray and deep curtains, laced with red, orange and yellow lace at the end..and when you open your eyes from all that air conditioned breeze blowing, you see sparkling diamonds and an incomparable smile of love stuck in the sky. Lol. Imagination is supposed to be something better than what really is, and it just proves I have a poor one man.

Heck, it's just getting better and better, the city is aglow with chains of orange lights. I wanted to write that I don't want to go home, I didn't because it would have been a lie. Some thing about this moment makes life bearable, reminds me of John Keats you know, poor john, poor poor john's 'a thing of beauty is a joy forever.' I'm not afraid of going to my room now, well, it has a side fulla windows anyway, I'm not afraid of going in there and facing the walls and a sluggish research. I'm not afraid of the exams either. Not the least bit. I just want to laugh and laugh so hard and go on writing. And looking up and breathing. I want to go on and on and on. I love you. I do, I really do. I'm so happy right now, I really would say that to you if I saw you dear. And I love myself, just as I always have and I love life more than I have ever realized.

I am human ain' i? Well, it means I have a habit of sifting, converting and applying every moment. Irrespective of what goes on in and around me to my life.

This moment, I have realized that happiness comes from within. You don't need to have millions of bucks to buy it, no, I'm not trying to discourage the ambitious. You simply* need to learn to see. You can take the hard way too. You can buy it too. And guarantee a moderate level of it with all the money and stuff. But if you can't see it, you can't feel it, there's no point at all in any thing.

*conditions apply.

François.

Ohk, that means French. I’m going to French classes. Hurray.

Bonjour :)

I had my first day this morning. And they don’t teach things the Rapidex 30 days style. They teach French from French. All morning I understood what my teacher was trying to say from her expressions. We started with…

L’ alphabet francais

Letters pronunciation

A aa ( like the aa in paa)

B bay

C say

D they

E eh ( ble)…..

And so on and so forth. But my favourite alphabet is ‘W’. It’s pronounced as (dooblehyou)

Then there were these introductions that went like

Bonjour. Ja m’apelle Yushka. (good whatever, or hello, my name is Yushka)

Je suis ‘etudiante. (I am a student)

Je parle anglais, telogu, un peu de francais. J Sounds fancy doesn’t it?? I know.

And so on and so forth about where we stay and stuff. It had been most exciting. They even took us to this library where we could borrow books after submitting four photos and Rs.1000 refundable deposit. Considering not everyone was as self obsessed as me to carry four photos of myself in their wallets, and me being short of money. We all told we’d apply tomorrow when I’m sure we’re sure to forget something or the other.

In the library there was this book for small kids on how to make ‘tartines’ . And it was so pretty. With all those water coloured pictures in it and all. He gets wheat and all, makes it into atta, and makes a bread loaf out of it gets milk, La cre’me and butter, applies it on sliced bread. And On the sliced and buttered bread he applies fruit jam from this delicious looking red jar. And all the while keeps saying ‘This makes me hungry’ , ‘This makes me more hungry’, ‘This makes me even more hungry’. Finally when the tartine’s done. He eats it up as he walks and says what a tasty meal it was!

I fell crazily in love with tartines though I’m not very big on sweet things. And our teacher said, tartines are usually the kid food and all. I thought, kid or not. Some day I’m gonna eat the French tartine and know how the blonde boy enjoyed his food. I also want to eat bouillabaisse with rouille and all, a dish made of different types of sea animals. I just wish I’d come outta my veggie-nism by then. Then there’s this restaurant named after Jules Verne ( 80,000 leagues under the sea) where plain food with no wine and stuff it self costs a 100 euros, but I’m gonna eat there.

Then there were these discussions on all these things, on French localities and stuff. And everytime one of said some little French thing, our teacher said something like ‘tribia’. That’s sposed to be something like very good. And came out saying ‘a bientot’ or some thing like that which I cannot remember. And then I stepped into cool streets with wet roads and a very slight drizzle giving the street air a cool and sloppily moist feel. I bought a chocolate cornetto, tried to walk to the main road, found a book store where they are still renting books for Rs. 2 and Rs. 3, went around, borrowed an Enid Blyton. Well, better than the piles of mills and boons and nora Roberts the place seemed to over flow with anyway. And all evening, I had the most enjoyable reading session in a while. It’s been so long since I read Blyton’s books without counting the faraway tree audio book I listen to to sleep. If you’re an insomniac planning to do the same.. Dorian Gray’s a better choice. All European talk in huge words and lop-sided generalised philosophies. With all this on, I skipped my research time. No, I’m still skipping it. :)

Seriously, how can anyone jump to and fro between quantitative data and the French parfum de joyeaux ? I have to do just that tonight if I plan to lead a guilt free life a few hours from now.

Sayonara. ( That’s jap. Dude)

Life at the end of his page is death

He just goes on killing people as he wishes.

He killed Andrei, Andrei Bolkonsky in WAR AND PEACE and he killed him twice too. I cried for him, both the times. The first time, he just goes to this peak of death and returns back again. He looks at Napoleon and the vast unending sky and gauzes it’s height. I wept, god knows, I wept, and went crazy, didn’t know what to do. So I walked along the streets with the book in my head wishing there was a soul somewhere to lean on and cry and not hear the words ,”It’s just a book”. But I could fine noone, and well, there’s mother even then. So I wept on her and she said the same words in exact terms, and it broke my heart again. I wanted to tell her to stop consoling me, and for some reason, her concern made me angry and hot-tempered, but I held it in. Bottled it up, and released it in more tears.

Then I went on with the book, to know, Andrei didn’t die. He made it alive. Blink. Blink. Blink. He isn’t dead? Oh jeez! Am I sposed to curse or celebrate? I don’t know, I did both, and gradually, he really killed him. My dream man, Andryushka lay there dead once again. This time, it wasn’t the active marathon, but a slow sadness that filled in.

Anyway, he murders Anna too in Anna Karenina. She just flings herself across a rail the way a man did at the start. And poof! she’s dead. There’s no miracle. No miracle happens in the last minute to save her. No preacher in the last moment to console her.

I don’t know which book it is from, I forgot the name of the story but it is about two men who start their travel together. One man dies, and the next man competes with hunger and nature and manages to survive through the huge spans of pain. A wolf (not a dog, if i remember correctly) and him, journey through starvation and inch slowly towards death, when the man, in the last minute is rescued by a ship and lives. Tolstoy didn’t have to kill the wolf. But of course, he did.

Alyosha the pot, from the story Alyosha the pot, is dead too. After all that work, all those things he had to go through and made to go without, he had never been righted. He just dies.He never got to marry Ustinya, and hurray! we now know, he never will either.

I believe he kills them to make us hope for the existence of a paradise and a god. And pull the non-believers into believing his beliefs. But those who resist know, that those good men dead, the strong wolf dead, wouldn't make it anywhere. They'll simply rot.

Bye.

How not to treat a poem…

Golden threads I weave in desperation

with pearls of words and thoughts strung

so that you remember me when I’m far away

into the land of strife

I weave, I wander through empty paths

In search of a future non-existent

I stand desolate on this world’s stage

Feeding on the vestiges of happy days

And tired I look half turned to go

Like a bird that returns to an empty cage

A loser am I, I look down and shiver

A reticent tear breaks my armour

P.s: I know how the words 'desperation', 'strife' and 'loser' look :)

I wrote this poem ages ago, as in really years ago in my little span of life. I just found it and It made me feel kinda nostalgic and kinda stupid. It was a time when my emotions went higher than the current flow and little tips of them touched the pages. As always, emotions too high end in regret. So, when I finished writing this, I considered a page and a few minutes wasted and threw it away.

I think it is wrong, just like the way we delete photos we don’t like because we don’t want to acknowledge our ugly side. Throwing this meant I refused to acknowledge the childish side of my emotions. Now considering I just crossed teen years seemed to be a good time to do so.

Geez! I threw away so many things like that. I guess most people do so. But that doesn't make my regret one inch lesser. I wrote a physics record book full of love poems in my 11th standard beginning about this guy I thought I was in love with... it would've been so nice if I kept it. But then, my love story ended up in a couple of phone calls. I laughed at myself, opened the books, laughed at the poems, thought I was being real clever at moving beyond and threw away the book. And it was a fully written in book too. Then there were these drawing books I threw away just as pompously thinking I could draw those mickey mouses whenever I want. Lol. Maybe I can, but I can't colour them like that.. I can't believe in the picture and scrape up enough patience to put blue in blue's place. Maybe they would've seemed foolish, but they would've been with me, exposing my foolishness to no one but me. I shoud've kept them, I should've. I should've kept the glass painting I did for s.u.p.w. I should've kept the little gold cups and trophies I won. I should've kept the letters I wrote for Chetu in my 9th that went unposted.

Moral: Think before you throw.

Kids

 

I think I like kids. But I like imagining kids more than actually meeting them.

You see, sometimes, you meet those kids who have seen more than they should have or heard things they shouldn't have. And they don't know what to do with all that they have seen or heard or they end up using them at random things and random people. I have been the random person sometimes and it makes me all irritated. Some part of you is sorry for them, but most part of you feels guilty for something you didnt do. So you want to run away from that kid. You hope you can always avoid her. And when you're staying in these apartments waiting for the lift and these kids with divorced parents come around you and catch your leg.. believe me, their eyes and ears know a lot.. but their tongues don't and they say something they aren't supposed to say and they don't know it. They expect you to be surprised or something but all you feel is grossed and irritated..or at the most pitiful. And it isn't easy to pity a thing as heartless as a naughty kid, they'd use it to twist you to get what they want. And in while you lose all that pity and end up again avoiding them.
But not all kids are so, some are there. Real sweet and polite. You like them a lot and you don't know what to do with all that liking.
And there are those kids timid and frail, who if you say 'bow' a little too heavily would run up half a mile and hide behind those pillars and peep at you timidly. If you happen to pass by then on your way home near the lift, they kinda stick their chin down and look at you like they're afraid you might harm them. You'd just want to take 'em in and hum sweet and sing to them till they start singing along. You'd want to do anything they name just to have 'em not look at you like that, all cautious. But they wouldn't speak, and you'd end up asking if they had their dinner or givin them a chocolate and not knowing what else to do when they nod their head and take a step back.  Then you'd go away, walking a little fast or a with a conscious attempt to lower your pace to your house. Because, more than chocolates or anything, your absence gives them a more free movement.                                                                                                                                              But there is just one creed of kids who can move you towards hating them. And you still can't hate them completely and it frustrates you. You know these over-smart kids who sass their parents, wear lip sticks, not in the kid way, but in the really well way. And you want to go an wipe it off their lips. And sometimes they make you feel sorry for them or something but then they don't let you feel sorry for long. And these kids can make any person angry easy, and when you look all angry, they don't smile like foolish kids, ice or  fear like sweet or timid kids, they look real contemptible. And the higher your anger goes, the higher their contempt. And you can't take it because the kid is winning over you. It sticks through yer ego. And they lose people after people like that. When these kids come and demand money or an eraser, almost anyone in the world except their parents would want to say no or some might even want to snatch it away after they've got it.  Why, I think even the parents want to say no, but they get tired of all those scenes and all and they say yes without meaning to more sweetly than necessary to keep the bonds unscathed.  
And then there are these tiny kids who simply look too cute to be hated. And they have these big eyes and all. They simply catch your heart. But then they don't know what to do with it. So they just play around and go away. And their mothers get all insecure or something and take 'em away from your arms. And some of them are even sweet enough to say they wont come to their mothers.. you'd feel all high, but you'd want the mother not to feel too insecure as after all they are the ones cleaning their diapers, so you kinda give 'em away. And they sorta look at you. It breaks your heart right away and you want to crawl up in a corner and never give him away. It happens you know. There was this baby whom I sang sleepy songs and rhymes to for hours on a cool summer evening with all that breeze floating around. I could tell you he enjoyed it. He is the only one who really enjoyed my singing you know. He even joined me...and tried to sing 'dancing bears and painted wings' and he not even once mocked at my accent or anything. He just went on smiling like that in white cotton clothes, smelling of baby powder and milk, and humming tunes with me. Even his weight was such a warm soft comfortable thing on the hands. And then, his mother tried taking him away and he wouldn't go. Man, I wanted to take him home right away. But then they played it all unfair, told him lies that they were going out and  going to see lorries and buy chocolates. Phonies, lied to him and took him away. The next time I saw the kid after months ... he knew how to walk and all..he didn't recognize me. He didn't remember me one ounce. And all these friends with me were shifting him from one to another, I didn't want to touch the kid ever again. I looked at him real slow and real long and went away to the ground to play. I didn't see him again. Thank god. I didn't.  

11 June 2010

For once, the monsoons have entered our place at the right time. After humid grey mornings, in the evening we can feel cold straight drops of rain piercing your back if you happen to be out. Well coming to that, it can pierce your front too, but you wont have the grit to stand against such chattering rain that way. And then, there's grandma here, cooking hot spicy food every day. And then, there are the mangoes delicious, rich, sweet, glorious, glorious mangoes, oh god. I can't count the number of them I've had this summer. And there are friends available. Summer hols. and all. Some passing by reader would think of this as a wonderful summer, nah, no, this is by far one of the worst summers I've had, with not enough play...as suddenly all my pals seemed to remember their 'age' or rather I'm afraid I admit they're slipping into the middle age laziness at 18. Can't do a damn thing about anything if people stay stuck to their pc's all night, wake up late and again get stuck to their pc's and at about 7 in the evening, come down for a while for a little gossip and small talk. Geez! they aren't even singing free anymore and they'd probably murder me in my sleep for writing all that. But I'll write more. They're all good, happy, cool people. But I liked the confused, energetic, erreneous ones. It was nice. All those fights in the game.
I'll tell you what it was like before.
I used to wake up at 5 am or they'd call me then. I'd brush, take my 'lucky' badminton racket(s) and a book inside the cover...all the coins and little notes and stick them again in the badminton cover...then wear the shoulder strap and blue and white nike(gosh, all that play ripped one pair off).. and then...all jingling with the rattling loose change music I'd go to seven hills. And then there'd be a couple of em already awake..and we'd decide who'd go to whose house to plague and pull em off their beauty sleep. I'd mostly volunteer to go to my best buddie's house and trust me she can be the laziest slimy thing alive before waking up. Personally I believe she used to have compact Trojan wars inside her head on whether or not to surrender her precious dreams to idiot friends. And she, her sis and we used to all go down in our slacks and start the badminton...well, that was the year before...last year, after losing amazing sets of 8 matches in a row with various partners and various reasons, I gave up badminton...and took to simply running around trying to play leg-touch with all those who didnt have the space to occupy the court...but all those years before last..we used to start badminton and play like..till ten, with sore hands...and all those little stones everywhere on the road and around, used to get little black clots in our feet for atleast two of us everyday. Then all tired and stuff, we'd collect the change and buy water packets and those one or two and a half rupee maaza packets..and I'd go home dragging my feet, wishing I lived this side of the street..., 10 blocks closer, 9 blocks closer..and so on till I reached home..by that time, most probably mum would've gone to the office..and I'd sleep it off...afternoon was t.v. time... some of them in seven hills preferred to spend it playing uno and other card games. Then we'd go off in the evening, and I loved them pretty dearly too, because we'd play these chillar games with lots of running around, falling down and laughter. We'd play, out-out, cho-cho, current shock, chain cut, hide and seek and such miscelleneous games and on some ill-fated evenings we played even kabaddi. By 8.30 or so, we'd again be too hurt with all those uneven bits of tar road stones stuck into our feet and the evening wind gets simply too irresistable to be forgotten in speedy games, then we'd sit and play antakshari or dumb charade ( that's dumsharaatz you know) and they were so refreshing after all that play and stuff... they weren't those girly games we laughed about anymore. They were those group games we laughed in an entirety of good humor and happiness.
As the clock's hand starts crossing nine, one or many mums would be screaming from the apartments at one or many of their respective kids...and we'd slowly grow thinner in number. That would be when I'd realize I can't stay on the road singing with pals all night .. then I'd start the bargaining with people on how far they'd accompany me home. Usually it's the temple, but then temple turns out into the car, car turns out into the tree, and then they'd all be lined up on the left and right because I whine I'm too cluttered to cross the road and they'd believe and help me across it..then the girls go home...but the guys come on till home.. I usually tell them I'd give them lemonade, but I know I dont have to. They'll know it'll be too late to drop into. All along the way, we'd talk of all the so called 'item' candidates. The funniness of our friends, the funniness of our 'not so friendly friends' and so on and so forth, and playing around in between. I'd end up wishing home was a block away, 2 blocks away and so on and so forth. It's nice to have pals who stay close and come by with wings at the least intimation.
And now, we barely see each other every 3 or 4 days. We're busy, I know. But we had been busy before too. We couldnt possibly have a tighter scheduled plan than those Eamcet years we played through... Sigh. And there go the bacha party too Ja-kun. All too old to run. But we'd stay young, wont we dear? And weds never ever say no to leg-touch, darling darling ja, darling darling pals.
It's been five glorious summers since we started playing together.
That'd be a semi-decadal celebration for me I suppose. And yes, thank you guys for sticking by through all those times i screamed, fussed, lectured, chased, apologised and ate your heads. Whether or not we go on playing and screaming, fussing, lecturing, chasing and apologising, stay in touch. Man, I didn't believe time passed by so quickly. But I suppose, through happy times it always does and ends up assimilated into sweet memories and significant lessons.

Yashu's birthday

I woke up to a usual sultry summer morning at 4, 5, 6 and finally 7 Am. Remembered it's my friend's birthday, called her up to wish her, cursed my self for not doing so at 12, called another idiot like me and reminded her the same.
We decided to start to her house at 10. Well, 10 stretched into 11 and 12 and Yashu came home and called me. We went there.


I saw a dozen chattering, lively colorful girls all over the house, got introduced and stuff. I greeted aunty and it's such a sad plight that she had been cooking all day, i mean, they are the ones who go through all the pains to give birth and they are the ones expected to work like mules on those babies birthdays, it's the same with my birthday too. Such ungrateful children we all are. And god knows what makes them happy that way. She wasn't grumbling or complaining, I don't think she even thought of doing so. She simply wanted to do her best by her daughter just as mothers always do, the thought of trade and expectations donot enter their peripheries i suppose. And yes, by the way, the dozen dishes she cooked in one morning, all turned out to be one of the most delicious Ive eaten. It's been long since I ate such hot and fuming mother's cooking in the afternoon. My mum works. And currently, she's on a trip to Kerala..I kinda missed her a lot while I was eating all that.





After the food, the girls again rolled and chattered while I slept in my friends lap. She was stroking my hair and playing with it absent mindedly for almost an hour and a half. I slept like hell. Man, women are so kind, selfless and nurturing. Sweet, plain sweet till they start serving you. And then, they turn out into absolute bullies, given a chance, theyd kill you with the sheer amount of food they'd make you gobble. No exaggeration. I have never been bullied over food that way by anyone, ever. No, not my grand mother, or mother, or aunts or sisters compare to them. Aunty, the person who cooked, simply asked a couple of times and stood by silently not accepting her deserved compliments fully. She didnot bully us. The others did. No offense Ravali.

Oh well, I had this sweet and fresh mango juice and all. Had fun, then after a little chaos about a lost mobile they all went home. Only three of us school time friends had been left over. The birthday girl went to dedicate a few minutes to the family and we were left to watch a movie playing in the pc. Karthink calling karthik, It was dull, dark and slow. I wish we watched Simha instead. Well, anyway, then my fingers started itching and I took these pics...After that session, we just lay on bed, talking of school days and college days, prejudices and boys. I don't know how important what I heard is, I simply know that that moment is. Important. Very. The afternoon sun and hot wind were blowing in the room. We had a full meal, and our heads felt slow like some dull thudding heat was punding lazily inside it, not painfully but drowsily. Like a part of your mind is too sleepy to work and another part is all sharp and fit not allowing it to drift completely. So we talked. It was easy to move our lips and close our eyes. And in those dull confiding words and secrets we forgot to tell each other(me and ja), there was an apology. For all the time we could not spare each other. For our inability to hold each other evenly significant through time. Because our priorities change. Because we forget friends till we strongly pull forward the number of emotional transactions we have had with each other. Because, once we go home and enough time passes, there would be left only an impression of the happiness. A video in our heads..till we hear that voice again. That confiding, comforting voice that brings out the best in you. Simply because, we have seen other's worst and still held on and will go on. Because nothing I do can push her away and vice versa. The only thing that can make us drift is time. All these words are left unsaid in the mind. But they bake themselves into fluent expressions, said without thought or effort but said best without meaning to be said so. I could've gone on listening and talking to her forever. But could and did are different things. Our school pals were coming by. Me and ja, got into Yashu's dresses, got all pretty, went up, met friends, our batch, out sssssy batch with anu and teju dropped by in the end. There was another cake-cutting session and we got onto the roof, sat there on the water tank, over looking the place. We posed and posed for pics.. dozens of them. I sat between Sushie and Shweta, and yes, I know I'm smart. Theyr'e both strong contestants for the sweeest girl of the century badge. Wouldn't harm a thing ever unless it's themselves. We went down, and me and ja exchanged our dresses and had another photo session while the others waited for us. Then we skipped dinner. Man, i still regret it, and aunty made biryani again..I went home and got hungry there.

And I remembered, I didnt wish Yashu a Happy birthday last year. And this year, it was like one of the most important events of a most beloved friend, like it had been before we got into bachelors.

2010, May 2nd evening.

I haven't been well since a couple of days plus I had been a little busy too. These were the reasons I gave myself for not writing the blog promptly but I found time to complete half of Catch-22, May editions of vipula and chatura etc. etc. So I guess It was just laziness again. Lol.

On may 2nd, it rained here. An hour before the rains, there was this cool summer wind blowing hard and the clouds screamed and flashed before it even started. I took all those videos and all. And I don't know how to upload vid in blogger thing... think it's too much trouble anyway. Here are a couple O pics.


The sun was bright as the rain poured on but there were no rainbows as far as we saw...anyway, in a few minutes the huge Grey cloud gobbled him up.



This is the creeper before it started raining, it was swinging with the wind.


Those are my feet in a puddle of rain water.


This is a smiling house soaking in the rain. It seems my brother when he was little used to ask if he could take the trees into the home because they were getting wet. I wish I could shelter this one.


After the rain slowly subsided and the sun came out creeping in the west.



Yes, one more picture of the same creeper. Because it just looked so unbearably lovely in it's bright hues of yellow and green decked in rain drops against the deep gray skies.

And yea, by the time this session was over I was drenched and shivering what all with the fever on. My brother and kid sister returned from swimming talking about drowned roads, fallen electric poles and hanging current wires in rain water...followed by a traditional power cut. Hahha. Because I didn't have to go out that day...I'll say. It completed the rainy day.


Ciao.

I'd like to start with an apology for my delay in posting this one..

The plants that grew or are growing in our house

I have no rights on them. Whether they live or they don't is all the responsibility of my brother. Though yes, once a month, under unavoidable circumstances, I water them with a sleepy or a sour face. I like plants. I just am too lazy to care for them. When I grow up, I ll have sturdy trees that require little care. Meanwhile, the only part of these plants that belong to me are the photos.




My brother bought this Black rose plant...well, he calls it black, the rest of us call it Red. It lived for a season spreading absolute beauty and it died sometime back, he trie. I always thought it's petals looked like velvet.






I am not sure what people call this one...but it's a gift from my cousins Sahiti and all on my parents wedding anniversary. It needs very little maintenance, very little sunlight and care. And the little care that went for it has been contributed by mother.








I don't know this one's name either. I brought it from grandma's house in Penamaluru to Hyderabad. It lived in the rich loamy black soil of the village and looked very strong. I didn't have the heart to watch it's roots being uprooted by ammamma to give it to me. It hurt. But well, I took care of it though tiring bus journeys, handled it like glass and crystal and brought it home successfully. When my brother told me to get the pots and mud for planting it. I delayed it for almost four days. It stayed there in the balcony in a bucket of water.Finally brother gave up, got the required material and won the plant. He tended it. It's his I believe. And in rainy evenings when I stand out there in the balcony and look at it. It reminds me of my failure. Anyway, it lived through all the mess and is currently flourishing. I wish I could move it into a larger pot. I won't, it's a boring task.

There are more plants to write about. A lot more. But they'll come tomorrow.

Lots of laughter.

There is no introduction para.

Under the name of democracy, they pass the reins of a country from son to son, through lineage. The oppositions are separatists feeding on differences rather than strengthening the similarities. And the oppositions are oppositions because they do in the morning what the administration does at night. Between the very dangerous and the less than very dangerous, my only defense is a vote.

A rubber stamp that enables every law-abiding dutiful citizen to fool himself into believing he counts. A prime minister sits there under a government struggling for it's own existence. The government which is unable to agree upon a decision. And that government and it's representatives make decisions regarding 'nuclear bombs' among us. And that decision is named yours and mine because we voted. Because we voted for the wind, water, life, skies, our families and the wonder of earth - a possibility of extinction. Because we voted fear? No, we didn't. We voted danger.

They can brand you, they can break you, they can take everything you love and cherish and you know there would be no place for justice. The best we can do, is to escape from their view. Take care we do not question too much, too loud or too honest lest we be made to enter the big game as a small pawn.

My friends all tell me, stop thinking, be crazy, have fun. They sound like pleas of loved ones asking me to be ignorant because the ugliness outside is too large to fight or to live without a fight. The possibility that we haven't really grown as social animals, we have simply destroyed everything that binds us together to the earth and are moving towards a dismal walls in darkness is a sad one ne? As in, we know that one more plastic covers puts one more question mark over our existence, but we go on thinking someone by that sometime will know to do something, Will pull us from the mess we have created(with the exception of those who do not think at all). We know they're talking about 'nuclear' there, but we sleep thinking our thoughts do not matter. It just so happens that they really don't. None of my thoughts or yours matter.

We cannot protect ourselves against the opposition with the lashes of so called Indian culture...what is Indian culture? No person, religion, god, man or book can prescribe it. So they use the imaginary evils of the mind to destroy our neighbors. The real inhabitants, adivasis, are left to serve a greater purpose ? What purpose? Lol.

Then there come absolutely powerless common men, with a thorough lack of 'Chillar' or 'kantri' qualities... made to believe we count. We do? Lol.

Morals, honesty, sense of judgement, skill and hard work are separated from happiness.

They give us the crumbs of comfort in the name of technology and keep the power themselves. What they do not wish to tell us are 'Confidential government' information. But I thought they were public servants..? Lol. It's all catch-22. Those who question are branded rebellious or crazy and made to continue to serve. Those who do not anyways serve.

Why must my blood be drained in the form of taxes...Why must I pay an income tax when I'm paying taxes in the form of roads, housing, water, transport, etc. etc. ? Why must I pay more tax because i work more and earn more. Why am I being penalized for my efficiency? Whom do I question? Where do I ask? Who is responsible to answer me?

The government during elections?? Lol! They don't need to. They are all very united in this aspect, they all take care not to give us any more than we are used to. We know we won't ever have to wake up to a surprise of an honest admission or the result of thoughtful effort.

After all, aren't most of us the same? We use all the loop holes we can for the gratification of our wants and then we expect someone else to be self less. Isn't going to happen. The first honest step into politics will face the greatest risk of head, or maybe there have already been many first steps, maybe they aren't heard of because people like you and me, refused to support or follow them. What comes out of strengthening the good? Nothing, but out mistakes exposed. We won't. That's what the movie politicians say too.

The only reason to work for is that the society moves in unpredictable circles of change. Unless we stand up for what we believe as right, no one else is going to stand for us. But if we do stand, we face a risk of broken legs( Catch-22)The former is a future possibility, the latter is true. We all know. I didn't write all this to inspire. I wrote it to just laugh at my complaints.

MORAL: It's isn't anything I made up, It's Darwin's theory of nature that says " It isn't the strongest or the most intelligent that survive but the most adaptable." Lol! learn to bend lower, go unnoticed honey, that's the best advice anyone can give you. The advice we fought when we saw the first bribe being given or taken in front of our eyes. That Darwin's theory holds us closer to the nature more than any philosophy. Bribe, be happy. But make informed decisions. When you go to bribe remember not to expect justice. Remember you've insulted it right in the face. And no person need come to bail you out of the chaos result of your own actions. Suffer, be happy. Isn't that what your life is all about?

AT CHETU'S

These pics. have been taken on the first of january this year at Chetu's place. I kept post-poning the visit for weeks. And finally it was decided that I go on 30th and next finally it was decided that I go on 31st and finally finally I made it in the first morning this year. I, as usual woke up late...at around 7:30 when I had a bus at 8:15 and got ready at merupu teega speed. Since I was all fumbling and running around, brother dropped me at the bus- stop where the direct bus was waiting for me...Hopped in and slept. Just opened my eyes at the ECIL stop and got down, didn't know how to go, nil balance in my phone. All the shops which might have recharge cards were closed. No panic. I was still too drowsy to be worried. Asked in a couple of shops, bought some roses because I liked them. The roses guy told me about a bakery and all...the card wouldnt work due to new year traffic.. blah blah blah...made it. Took a share auto. Made it there. Aunty came to pick me up, went home.
Their home is a beautiful place. It's located amidst small farms and is half an hour away from the city. Every part of their house is fillled with some sort of art, colour, energy. The kind of nervous energy that I always liked best about Chetu. Intangible assets of the house include incredible music. Every thing about them goes on with music. Bhavu(Chetu's twin) goes more with wit and design though. But everything there reflected taste and effort. And yes, it has unordered parts but they only made the stay more comfortable.


This is Aunty's garden over the roof...I'm not going to try to name them because I coudn't even count them. It was a clear afternoon sky and the sun was on a mediocre smiling range.
This is a corner of the garden on the roof..That's a bird nest and that's web surrounding it.
I took a few more pics of us guys. They look good. Though I grieve for my absurd hair turn out that day. We were happy and smiling through every pic and that I suppose makes up for the defects.

We had a bon-fire in the night.. They sang a lot..warmed us up...in the end, with some warmth and burning sparks left in the fire Chetu sang to me. Then we shared the Ipod and sang together some nonsense. It was a Kodak moment and I hope I caught it. I didn't. But the image of her smiling and singing by the fire is there in my head. Thankyou Chetu kun.

We watched Julie and Julia in the night and both of us agreed it was a bore. All this night out meant we couldn't go bird watching in the morning. And I regret it. So we sat down by the front door steps and went on talking, Chetu gave me the ringtone of Nodame Cantabile music which I haven't changed. We recorded some telugu songs in our mobile after many re-takes as I couldn't match Chetu in either pitch or tune. And then we heard a little bird singing along. The bird went away.

I started home wards that afternoon.

And sometime during that day she cooked Chings hot garlic noodles for me. And they're my favorite. Half because they are good, half because they bring along sweet memories that make me happy.

I wih I could elaborate more on everyone there..but I think it'll be pretty rude, so that's all you're getting.

If this makes for a boring read, of not much use to anyone, forgive me.

Ciao.

And Chetu if you're reading this, I'm missing you. And I miss the violin music you played that night.

Random talks of an Indian summer afflicted head

It's the height of summer in India, Andhra Pradesh. The heat it..let's say, really hot. Icing to the cake- frequent power cuts. More icing- I have exams these hols. Bonanza icing- It'll be the end of may before my playmates, scattered all over India make it here.

In the mean time, I'm spending my time sleeping at night so I can wake up early and sleeping in the afternoon so I can cool my head and work at night. The remaining time is spent taking a little rest from my heavy sleep schedule..the rest includes eating ripe jack-fruit, lazing, day-dreaming, talking, drinking galleons of sugar-cane juice and so on and so forth. Got it ?..dinne king la batikeydam antaru.

My cousin aged 10 is here. She's just as hyper as usual and optimistically speaking adding colour to life. Rationally speaking, ayya baboi gola ra!! Okka second kurchodu. Pch Pch. My relatives and mum and all are going on happy summer vacations, and I'm left out of them owing to my exams.

Then there's this blog, roju deni gurinchi raastam cheppu..? Vetukkoleka edustunna...poni akkada emanna super duper fan following aa ante adi ledu...Nenu na solo daily commenter ki andaru chadavagaligettu letters raasestunnattu undi..Ila aite ela?

Mm..Yes, summer ante mangoes, kani elagu ikkadekkada mavidi chetlu kanipinchav, sutti super market mangoes kemo feel raadu..em cheyali?

Ma anna paapam mokkalu penchestuntadu... Ee summer time ni, apartment bacha party baa vadukuni, aa mokkala aakulto pandaga cheskuntunnaru...chalanattu...ma apt. lopala pedite light saripodu, baita pedite, ... fried veggies aypotunnay...what to do??

Ekkada chusina pillala gola, manam kuda gola cheddama ante ma batch inka hyderabad parisara prantalaku kuda cherukoledu..

Inka birthdays, bharata desam lo sagam janabha mottam ee march last week to may last week lone puttesaremo...boldu birthdays, party laki velladaniki time ledu..giftulu ivvadaniki dabbullevu..sagam paisalanta tindiki aypotunte, migata sagam wholesale ga gift shopulu meeda petteyyalsi vastundi..Poni chakkaga oka card chesi iddama ante mana art ento pata model ball pens lekka, appudappudu assal padi chavadu..

Edo, ilanti klishtamaina (telugu sarigga raani fellows ki, it means complex) kashtalato, elago ala summer nettukochestunna...

Foot note: Rachmaninoff's music's super good. If you haven't heard it, it's available on youtube.

Oscar Wilde


He's my favorite short story writer. I've come across many brilliant people's many brilliant works like Tagore, Frost, Tolstoy's short stories, etc. etc. They're all incomparably beautiful but nothing touched me like Wilde's 'The happy prince'.

It's a very famous one, most probably you would have come across it too. Across the swallow that loved the flirty reed and the prince who formerly lived in a castle where sorrow was not allowed. Read the story or get the summary from Wikipedia. It's a short read, but a very humane one. When I read the end of this story, for the first time I wanted to believe in god. Just so, I can believe in the happy ending.

'The nightingale and the rose', that's where the concept of smearing white roses with blood started. A nightingale hurts itself on the thorns of a white rose for a (human) physics student's love. The student gives the rose to a girl who rejects it for jewels. The student goes back to metaphysics and chooses not to believe in love anymore. Why do I like it? I like physics students, I don't like him being portrayed that way. But it's Wilde's story and a very good one too. As usual the best part of the story according to me, is the nightingale. Animate animals go very deep.

'The selfish giant' is another story full of faith. I don't know why Wilde's stories always end in undecided grief or paradise and I appreciate the portrayal of grief, but paradise is beyond me. But I know if I read any of his stories before I was ten I would've been on my knees praying all day and all night by now. C'mon which child wouldn't want the reformed sweet giant to end up in Christ's paradise in the end. Which child would ever want such a friendly giant who lets them play in his glorious spring garden to consider him dead as in plain dead. You wouldn't want to take that way, so the only happy way out is to believe.

'The devoted friend' is an attack on literary critics. That they fail to see the moral and see simply the words heartlessly. It was good but didnot leave as great an impression on me as the others.

Wilde wrote many other stories, a lot of drama, which include 'The importance of being earnest'. 'Lady Windermere's fans', 'A woman of no importance', 'An ideal husband'. 'The picture of Dorian Gray' which I've read, which I also think are good. But I just enjoy the animals and giants more.

Do


"Syl said, it took me a long time but I’ve finally figured it out. When it comes to men that are romantically interested in you, it’s really simple. Just ignore everything they say and only pay attention to what they do. It’s that simple. It’s that easy."

This is an excerpt from 'The last lecture' by Randy. No, I'm neither going to introduce his lecture sprawled all over youtube nor am I going to say about his book...because I think I'll start crying then. I'm just telling you this much. It's one of the best videos I've ever seen.

Coming to the excerpt, I just thought I'd like to share this with all the young women out there like me.

It's true isn't it. Not just in romantic interests but in almost every relationship. Words are pretty, words are plenty but words can be empty. Deeds cannot be. Work and patterns of work reflect a person. Mt turtle , my photos, my blog, my degrees, they are me. And they show me clearer than myself. The day I posted something on consistency, if you asked me, I would've said I was consistent from that day onwards. If you asked me today I'd've totally believed myself and said I am still consistent. But I'm not. I stopped studying for the amount of time I planned to, I broke the blog chain and all that. It showed I'm not what I presume to be. When, by a clear assessment of words, me, a rational individual could not gauge my limits, when I cannot believe in my own words, how could I believe in any other ?

Work earns respect. This is simple right. Then we also agree that respect is a prerequisite for love ? Those who cannot earn that much, cannot ask for affection.

EARTH DAY

How many earth days do we have in a year...?

I've been getting messages all year, naming everyday as some day...first it was good now, the days just lost value i suppose. One day is environmental day, one day is earth day, what's the difference? And then there come the water day, conserve petrol day, conserve electricity day..how many days man? Getting bored of them. And yes, i understand the need of showing off to each other that we are aware of the looming risks ahead of us. But well, for one more day and people might just get fed up of the game. No offense meant.

And yes, HAPPY EARTH DAY i suppose, but what comes out of wishing? Whats happy in an earth day? I don't know...flow lo vachindi follow aypovali questions vaddu..

march 20 sparrow day anta telusa...next year ki gurtuntudo ledo ani kangaru padipoyi... nenu pichukala photolu teesanu...
And then again, earth day ane excuse pettukuni I'll just show some earthy, planty pics i've taken...simply, because I've taken them and they lie in my pc unused.
Blog lo pedite kaneesam O padi mandi chusi, 5 guru consider chesi, mugguru aalochinchi, okkaranna comment chesestarani pettestunna...

And yes, I didn't write yesterday and yea I do lack consistency :D



This is a pic. showing..., you know what it's showing.

It's taken in Tenali, Andhra Pradesh, India, they're reaping rich earth for a living and I consider today an apt time to show it off. Who else knows the earth better than them.




I actually wanted to write about the book called 'The good earth' today, the story of a Chinese farmer...because the word earth always reminds me of it. It reminds me more of earth than the existing earth and I suggest you read it, not because today's earthday or yesterday's wednesday but because it's a really touching book. It's written by Pearl S.Buck and has a very humane yet practical edge to the classic. It ranks in my top 3 and I'm sure it'll be in your top shelf too if you make it.
I'd like to market it, nag you and force you to buy, just because I want to see it being appreciated the way it deserves. It's a masterpiece. A pulitzer winning book.

Good Luck.

CHETU AND ME

Her name is Kavita Chetana and she is my best friend.

She has a lovely, honest smile that spreads all over her face and I think it's the brightest smile I've ever seen.

She's the one on the left by the way and I'm the one on the right.

I wish we stayed closer so I could go to her whenever I want to.

We call each other almost everyday.

She's more like me than anyone I've known. We make different decisions, act differently and all, but we hold the same standard of principles.

She's sweet and kind and bends a lot to facilitate others, that's one place where we differ a lot.

I saw her first in an over sized t-shirt and bermuda kinda skirt kinda short kinda thing on her first day at eighth standard in Cal Public School.

She came to school by a bus and always waited for me at the cycle stand, i went home by a cycle and always waited till the bus took off to hear her smile and say bye. It always makes me happy to see her that way.

We fought a few times, but always made it up within a few hours. And even in the deepest fight, we never thought 'never her'.

We write letters to each other on paper, because it gives us more to remember.

She's the best thing that ever happened to me.

Thankyou Chetu, for every smile and moment you've given me. Happy or not, tear or a sunray, every thing is a rainbow, a wonderful array of cherished emotions when it's shared with you.

FRIENDSHIP

My mum's colleagues gave this to her at the end of a meeting..there's friendship written a little down on it(Must've taken the 'ship' part too literally). It's currently located in my room spreading patterned golden light.






















I like looking at it, it makes the room bright.Though i considered it an unnecessary accessory at the beginning and i still consider it the same now, though it's not very handsome to look at in the morning, it livens up the room without hurting the eyes at night. Adds a tint of gold to every corner in the room.

Guess everything about light is wonderful. The sun, the lights, candles, mirrors, rainbows, glass...

Hiya, it rained today in Hyderabad at around 5.30 in the evening. I took these pics then, there was a huge wind, the breeze was giving off a wet earth smell everywhere, the climate was warm and it drizzled thin sharp blunt cold drops of rain. People were all busy picking the clothes they left on their terraces and balconies to dry. I went up onto the terrace with a camera. Though I couldnt catch the rain or the wind but there's the sun and sky for you.

My first presentable pottery work: The turtle




I don't know which kind, but as you can see, it's a turtle. I made it last summer at my pottery class.
We first made the shell...on the wheel, it's a manually operated wheel following simplest of the simple mechanisms...the wheel is put on a concrete base so that the wheel is slightly elevated from the ground with it's center as the supporting point...the wheel has a hole where a wooden stick is stuck and used to rotate it by rotating the wheel. Then idiot kids like me throw the mud onto the wheel and stick in their hands, sometimes the potter tries to help the kids by sticking in his hands too and making a base and basic of a pot but adamant kids like me say I'll do everything and stick their hands in a little further, a little stronger...poof...the mud collapses into crap.. is thrown away as usual. So on and so forth after kilos and more kilos of soft and rich clay strewn about on sir potter, the interested viewers and the new dresses of is-posh students in aprons, we finally learn to make something nameable. As in, some end up looking like pillars some like flowers, but most commonly they end up looking like chippas beggars will most certainly refuse.
After such valorous repeated attempts there comes a time when one spark of genius and skill and effort all coincide...then comes a beauty such as the base of this turtle.
Then we take the base sit down with some water...most of us forget the vessels for it so we end up sharing, pulling and spilling the delicious molten chocolate looking mud, use it to shape the mud into something that looks like a head...some geniuses make rasgullas or gulab jamuns(as they imagine their mums making) and throw it on the poor base...and poof again..the mud collapses to everyone's delight(you see, we're competitive students) then as we go on making it...every five minutes we hear someone hissing and cursing the mud, after which they become jobless and end up plaguing the few ones that by a chance of luck seem to succed...through all this, silent (you know it's a lie already) but violent me goes on skilfully using her creativity and skill to make a rasgulla, press my thumbs on both sides...make two more little mustard seeds and stick them in their repective places called eyes and then slowly, carefully add a piece of mud to the head making it look like a neck and then more slowly, carefully and skillfully than ever, i attach it to the shell to the envy of everyone.
Hahha, relishing in my success i make its legs and stick them in, then i choose the design on the shell...well, i have one in my mind now( inspired from my cousin Sahiti's most repeated mehendi design in our ninth standard), but i dont have a pulla(thin stick made of coconut)..?? what to do...then i saw hope glimmer...i saw a fifth class kid with the required pulla trying to design his poor gonna die in a few minutes turtle's head..and as soon as it did, snatched it away and did the design. . And some how i finished that and the lines on it's legs...and TADAI!!! My very own pretty pretty pet turtle's ready...the plus point is that this pet saves time (Its been lying nameless behind our T.V for a year completely covered in cobwebs and still alive),money, food, space and the cleaning procedure...and it's such a pity you can't have it. It's my turtle, the work of a genius for you all to envy. And because people don't seem to notice it as much as they should. I wrote this whole entire thing..as a morale boost it's your duty to leave a compliment in the comments space...those who know me(since they seem to be dominant among my blog viewers)..kangaru padipoyi negative comments cheyseykandi..i'll make you pay for every word.

IN A DEAD MOTH'S MEMORY



THIS MOTH CAME HOME ONCE. BY THE TIME IT CAME, I GUESS IT ALREADY WAS VERY WOUNDED BECAUSE IT COULDN'T FLY VERY WELL AND MADE A CONVENIENT PHOTOGRAPH...WHICH REMINDS ME..I DIDN'T TAKE THIS PIC. MY BROTHER ARUN DID. I SWITCHED OFF THE LIGHT AND OPENED THE WINDOWS HOPING IT WOULD GO OUT FREE. I THINK IT WASN'T WELL ENOUGH TO GO OUT EVEN IF IT ACTUALLY MANAGED TO SEE AND UNDERSTAND THE PROMISE OF FREE AIR. STAYED THERE ALL NIGHT. BY MORNING I FOUND IT THIS WAY.





I TOOK THE ABOVE PIC. THAT WAS THE WAY I FOUND IT IN THE MORNING AS SOON AS I WOKE UP. RIGHT UNDER THE TUBE LIGHT NEAR MY DRESSING TABLE. I DON'T KNOW WHY I DID IT BUT I STUCK THE DEAD MOTH ON A VASE I MADE... IT HURT MY BROTHER SO..AS SOON AS SHE NOTICED IT, IT MADE MUMMY TOO TAKE A SAD EXPRESSION. I DIDN'T FEEL CRUEL. I THINK IT WAS JUST SOME KIND OF ATTACHMENT THAT MADE ME STICK IT THERE AND THE SAME ATTACHMENT THAT'S MAKING ME POST IT. WHEN I REASON THINGS OUT, A DEAD MOTH IS A DEAD MOTH. NO MORE. BUT OUR MINDS HAVE TRICKY WAYS OF DENYING REASON WHENEVER AND HOWEVER THEY WANT TO. REASON CANNOT HOLD THE SADNESS IN DEATH. AND YEA, IT'S BEEN LONG SINCE I REMOVED IT FROM THE VASE AND THREW IT IN THE DUST-BIN. I SAT BEFORE THE BIN FOR 2 MINUTES JUST LOOKING AT IT AND THEN IT WAS OVER BUT NOT AS COMPLETELY OVER AS I THOUGHT IT WAS.

English exam

( I wrote this as soon as i came home after writing my 2nd year English exam meaning to post it, I didn't but now i am. Better late than never I guess )

ENGLISH EXAM

There were all these poems of Shelley and Keats and Tennyson and short stories of Tagore and Dickens and Spender it was a treat preparing for the exam.

So somehow after a quick last minute prep. i reached the exam hall. Since it was the first exam and all, i went pretty early to the hall. I sat there opened my books, closed them, revised, again opened,again closed, paced this way and that way. Finally i kept my books away, closed my eyes, put my head on the knees, shut my ears and did a breathing routine. Then i brought my head up and suddenly my eyes fell upon this girl (of an average height, conventionally speaking normal looks, long hair with lots of flowers) who kept on looking at the gate as if waiting for someone, just as i saw this, Turutu ruttutu...hero entered...what hero carrying?..her hall-ticket...who hero? ....her husband...newly wed i guess...she..looked looked..he looked looked...slow-motion.. she went went...he came came...not taking eyes off each other... she slow slow fluttered her lashes..he slow slow smiled..she totally leaning on him...he..looking lost lost...eyes dreamy dreamy..screaming love both of them...prelude to a kiss that didn't happen...he suddenly gave her the hall ticket which she took and opened her book and started preparing. It was then that i remembered that i was supposed to be tensely waiting for the exam to start. I once again recollected the names of all the authors and stuff. Received my 'All the best', calls, which I'm pretty senti. senti. about. breathed in and out. Checked the list they were pinning up for my hall number ( It was 3, i like the number 3. so i considered it a good sign, b.t.w. i condemn signs and crap all the time, but when it comes to exams, mmhmm..everything affects me.) and went into the hall. I checked my hall-ticket,sat in the place i was allotted (which b.t.w. is a tiny wooden chair) in a well-lit room and checked my watch( the watch belongs to my grandfather, another sentiment). The exam still had five mins to begin...two feet away from me, there was this guy with sparkling eyes, curly hair, a few pounds over-weight, he looked at me and smiled, being polite i smiled back, he asked me " baa prepare ayyava?" (did you prepare well?) I was like " parledu" ( not bad). He just bluntly asked me " exam lo chupistava?" (will you help me through the exam), i said no, he said selfish, i said thankyou, he said " nenu ee exam lo pass avvadam nee kistam leda?" ayya baboi emanna senti. na. I wasn't responding, so he just continued like...ee exam lo fail aite na life waste avtundi, enduku chupinchavu, nuvvu chala selfish, etc.etc. Because i still wasn't responding, he paused for a moment and used the philosophical and logical side of his mind and told me " knowledge is meant for sharing, enta panchite anta perugutundi" Ay baboi! vadi teliviki tattukoleka li8 teeskunna, intalo exam start ayyindi. Adento na kharma, na qs. paper kasta egiri vadi daggara padindi...nenu teeskune lope he picked it up and wouldn't give me..one-side he pulling pulling, one-side me pulling-pulling fully tensed, what if someone sees and thinks im helping him copy, what if this leads to insufficient time, etc. etc. the guy just won't leave the paper, he was asking me "please, please, idioms okkati cheppava, pls pls" baboi, chivariki elagola teeseskuni, malli atu chudakunda exam raasesanu.Just as i gave aways the paper and was coming out, he started targetting the invigilators now, they were of my age, and he was like. im older than you, you have to listen to elders, tell me this one thing, the exam time was over and he just refused to give the paper, he wasn’t even writing! just resting his elbow on the paper with the pen in his mouth and thinking. Anyway, i wrote well, wrote everything and just came out all jumping and silently screaming " flying colours" cmon yaar, it was english, I’m from cbse, it'll obviously be easy and there was this aunty who was loudly crying crying over the shoulder of another aunty. so loudly, as if the world came to an end, and i, the insensitive moron stood 3 feet away, called everyone and jumped up and down screaming i did my exam well over the phone soo.. loudly, i probably didn’t even need the phone. They stopped for a second and looked at me like i was some assassin fresh from a murder dripping with blood..ok. maybe not that much, but seriously, real bad looks...i shut my mouth and went out, dad came to pick me up, we went home, i was happy, so i bought a chocolate fantasy pastry for bro. and some cutlet ragda for me and went home, started telling my bro. all that i told you in almost the exact some words. Except, they were completely in telugu.

Now, the moral of the day, the point i want to tell you through this ordinary musing is, life's a comedy when the exam goes well, a tragedy if it doesn't.