Monthly Archive for March, 2006

Chronicles of two pranksters

The two pranksters are “The first” and “The kid”

1.1 (From the memoirs of the mother)

The first was the first child into the family. Naturally, everyone wanted to peck his cheek. As he grew about 2 years old, he found a really nasty way of insulting them. He would glower at them after they kiss him and then wipe his cheek hard as if they had contaminated his face. He didn’t like all that attention. He hated being called “cho chweet”.

1.2 (From the diaries of the first)

The kid was an attention seeking, crowd-loving person. So after the kid was born, he got most of the attention. The first heaved a sigh of relief; after 4 long years, people were not treating him like a cute li’l puppy. He however felt sorry for the kid. Poor little kid; he would have to suffer all these mollycoddling.

2.1 (From the memoirs of the mother)

The first liked mangoes more than any other fruit. When he was 3 years old and he was in Madras, one of his grandma’s brothers visited his house. A peck-in-the-cheek and a rough-wipe later, the first was left to his own and the elders started chatting. After some time, his mother realised that the first was missing. She checked the door. It was bolted on the top. The balcony door too. But he was not to be found anywhere.
Everyone started calling out, “First…First…where are you?”
No reply.
His mother started panicking. After 5 minutes of frantic search, the first’s uncle thought he heard a noise which sounded like a slurp. He went near the fridge and moved the door near it. The first was sitting there in the gap between the door and the fridge with the bag of mangoes that grandma’s brother had brought. He had a half-bitten mango in his hand. His face was full of mango pulp, which he did not care to wipe in the middle of gobbling up the mangoes. The first looked up at his uncle and smiled innocently. (Looks are deceiving)

2.2 (From the memoirs of the father)

There has been a similar incident with the kid too. But the thing he loved to eat more than anything else was sand. This happened in his house in his hometown. His mother was in the kitchen and her attention was in the food. His father was in the backyard. After some time, the kid was not to be seen anywhere. The kid, however, had found a much more comfortable place to hide. He climbed the stairs with his shirt and pant pockets full of sand and hid in the attic. When he was found, he was happily eating the sand in a dark corner of the attic. His father says he had opened the door to the attic and forgotten to close it. How the kid managed to climb the stairs at the ripe old age of 2 years is still a mystery.

3.1 (From the diaries of the first)

The first’s craze for mangoes went so far that he was always under the mango tree during spring, thinking up ideas to get a hand on those juicy mangoes high up in the branches. He tried throwing stones and felling the mangoes. He was getting increasingly adept at it when a stone he threw strayed into the next house and broke a window pane. After complaints from the neighbors, he gave up throwing stones. But he still didn’t give up the idea of getting those mangoes. Once he tried to climb the tree. The result was a fall and 2 stitches in his head as it hit a stone. The first still has that little scar in his head.

3.2 (From the memoirs of the mother)

The kid at 5 years started thinking he could dance well. (Even now he thinks he can. He often performs some silly move which he claims to be the “Moonwalk”) He asked his mother whether she had seen him dance. She ignored him as she went into the kitchen. He then performed some weird move. The result was a fall and a broken jaw. However, no stitches were needed. The kid now says that the doctor was afraid of using needle and thread; that’s why he didn’t do the stitches. The kid is nowadays trying to hide that scar with some beard.

4.1 (From the memoirs of the father)

The first was attracted towards ten pin bowling during the vacations after his kindergarten when he saw that in TV. After pestering his father, he understood that, to play the game, he needed 10 talcum powder cans/bottles and a football. He easily acquired a football by shouting and crying (The first’s father got fed up with his pestering) . He managed 6 powder cans too. (Not all of them were empty). He borrowed without asking (A more decent word for stealing, shall I say?) another two from the neighboring apartment when he went there under the pretence of visiting his best friend. He however returned them after his game. Good boy!

4.2 (From the diaries of the first)

The kid was a sportsman through and through. His favorites were indoor games like cricket, basketball. There are a lot of things that he broke inside his house (the list of which I’ll be coming to shortly) because he tried to prove outdoor games were really indoor games. His all-time favorite was Cricket. There have been several instances where his mother had confiscated the cricket ball because he was playing inside. He then would get some pebbles from somewhere and hit them with his cricket bat. (This, of course, was outdoors). He invented solitaire cricket.

5.1 (From the memoirs of the mother)

List of things that the first has broken:
The neighbor’s window pane
A lampshade
A set of fancy tea cups and the beak of the kettle (All were made of porcelain)

5.2 (From the memoirs of the mother)

List of things that the kid has broken/damaged: (This list is not exhaustive)
A wall clock
Two electric bulbs
The puttied interior of the house has dirt marks (of the cricket ball) in several places.
The dressing table mirror
Innumerable glass/porcelain items (His mother even thinks he has managed to break some supposedly “unbreakable” items, inspired by a Mallu movie in which the hero drops a dish and merrily says “breakable”)

6.1 (From the diaries of the first)

The first liked to lie to the kid. He was a big fat liar. (Well….Not exactly fat!!) One of his greatest lies was when he was in college. He lied to the kid that there was a place called “Valley” in their college. That it was a lush green meadow and was a small golf course. There were no students to volunteer to join the college Golf team and so the first joined and was now a Golfer. The kid believed the entire lie from the beginning to the end.

6.2 (From the diaries of the first, Also from some dialogue with the kid)

The kid liked to brag a lot. He bragged more about his parents and his brother than himself. The first realised the extent of the kid’s bragging only when he accidentally met some of the kid’s classmates.
The classmates asked, “Hey…The kid said you play Golf..Really? How is it? Can I have a look at your Golf club?”
The first stood there, not able to speak a word. The first, in fact, hadn’t ever seen a Golf Club in his life. There was a place called “Valley”, but it was nothing close to a green meadow. It was a barren strip of land with rocks and weeds. He was skilled enough to make one person believe his lie. The fact, that the kid was able to convince his entire class about what he thought to be a fact (Later the kid admitted that he had added some more lies to what the first had told to make it more convincing), was something extraordinary. A gleam of triumph flashed in the first’s eyes. Followed by a reverence for the kid’s brags.

The mother and the father aptly named both their sons.
The first was named Deepak which rhymes with “The Puck” (For those who don’t know, Puck is a mischievous sprite in English folklore)
The kid was named Dileep which rhymes with “The Lip” (Because of his loquacity)

Achluophobia

Fear of the dark…Fear of the dark…
I have a constant fear that something’s always near
Fear of the dark…Fear of the dark…
I have a phobia that someone’s always there

- Iron Maiden

Story 1

That day, my English tuition teacher took a particularly nasty ghost story. She was half-way through the story when Ram asked, “Teacher, Do ghosts really exist?”
My teacher replied, “I haven’t seen one to believe that. But my father has seen one. He once was returning home after a long journey. As you know, you have to walk through the road for quite a bit after alighting from the bus. And you know the road is usually deserted in the night. He was nearing the temple pond out there when he saw something silvery white moving. He squinted and noticed that it was, in fact, gliding across the pond. Something whose outline looked like that of a human. He, being a man of nerve, didn’t panic. However, being a wise man, he decided not to stay there any more and continued his way home calmly.”

Map of the road I had to take

Map of the road I had to take

Whatever the teacher said, it made my bones chill. I had to pass by that very same pond to go back home. And it was already getting dark. Why on earth didn’t I repair my bicycle?
When my tuition was over, it was dark. The street however was well lit with the sodium vapour lamps. But in a short while, the only source of light would be the moon. I had to cross around 1 km of a dark and almost deserted road, along the sides of which lies the “haunted” pond.
Soon I was leaving the light and the din. I mustered whatever courage that was remaining in me and started walking. I felt the cold breeze hitting my skin, ensnaring my nerves into a noose that would strangle me. Soon, the pond was way back. But there was still the deserted stretch of road to cross. I was half-expecting to see a woman clad in white saree and with long flowing hair to jump from behind the bush and waving at me. And I completely expected her to have long canine teeth dripping with blood.
I suddenly heard a woman whispering “Hello” into my ears. That sound was so unbelievably close.
I turned around, just by instinct.
No one.
Not a bee around.

I started shivering by now. Whether it was the cold or the fright, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to look back. I was trying to think of the delicious dinner my mother might have cooked; of the jokes that my dad would crack at dinner; of the pranks that I would play at my younger brother.

I again heard a voice. The voice of a scooter. I didn’t turn back. It approached and the time seemed to slow down. At long last it passed ahead. But before I could heave a sigh of relief, the man stopped. To my alarm, the man was wearing a white shirt and a mundu (a white colored loincloth worn instead of pants).
I didn’t dare to look at his face.
He then asked in a looming voice that seemed to come from the infinite beyond, “Returning from tuition?”
I didn’t reply.
He continued, as if he didn’t expect a reply, “Why are you walking? What happened to your bicycle?”
I could hear my heartbeats now, but I answered nevertheless, “Th…Th….The chain is broken.”
“Your father might have been back from his bank by now. You should have asked him to pick you up.”
I was startled as my heart gave another huge thump which was just short of a heartattack. How the hell did he know that my father works for a bank?
I looked up at his face, again by reflex.

It was Mr. Unni, my neighbor.

Story 2

Two friends decided to watch a movie in the local cinema on a Saturday. They went for the 2nd show and by the time the movie was over, it was midnight.

Unfortunately, there was not a single auto-rickshaw in sight. So they decided to walk all the way home, enjoying the pale moonlight and the tickling breeze.

Sean asked John, “Aren’t you afraid of the dark? You are! You’re afraid of ghosts.”
John said, “Bullshit. Ghosts can’t scare me. If the Grim Reaper comes with his scythe, I will cram it up his ass.”

So on went their talk with their walk and they reached the College Road. It was a treat to be able to walk through the middle of the road, when on daytime, people literally can’t get down from the sidewalk to cross.

John said, “Do you think you’d see a single human being here at this time?”
Sean said, “Considering that you are a monkey and I don’t have a mirror, I doubt so.”
“Bet?”
“Bet it is!”

They went on. Then they heard a bell ring. A man was coming in a bicycle. He was wearing a creased shirt and a shabby lungi (A Mallu version of pyjamas, you could say).
John said, with a truimphant smile, “Ha! Give me my money, loser!”

The bicycle-man stopped near them and asked, “Excuse me, do you have a matchbox. I wanted to light my cigarette”
Sean said, “Sure”, and gave his matchbox.

The bicycle-man didn’t budge, but said sadly, ” I can’t hold it. Can you please light my cigarette for me?”

Sean got agitated and said, flexing his muscles, “You look like some thug who wants to loot us. Get lost or you’ll get something different than what you expected.”

Bicycle-man said, “No sir, I’m telling you the truth, I can’t hold things.”

Sean replied, “Don’t play games? You are riding a bicycle and you say you can’t hold a thing with your fingers?”

Bicycle-man replied rather shakily, “I don’t have fingers sir”.
And he moved his arms towards them.
In place of hands were hooves…U-shaped, like that of a horse.

The next day, there was a traffic jam in college road, when people found two youngsters lying motionless, petrified in the middle of the road.

The boy who lived…

…for 23 years and was told he still looked like a boy…that’s me!
I hear very often from people around me that I don’t look my age; I look like a boy who is still studying in college.
People would ask “Where are you studying?”
I would say rather irritably, “I am WORKING”
They would say “Oh. Your look like you are a student.”
I reply curtly, “That’s because I use Santoor soap. Chehra dekhke umr ka pataa hi nahin chalta”

Yesterday I turned 23. But the “boyish charm” is still as fresh in my face as before. Do I really care now? I used to. Even when people say I’m very funny and I tickle their nerves, I was actually covering my disappointment with the one thing called laughter. Now I don’t. But I pretend to be irritated so that they’d remember that I’m a working fellow the next time they meet me.

There are a couple of reasons for that.
I really don’t think I should waste my time on trifles like this. There are more important things in life — enjoyment, family and friends. One of life’s unexplainable things is the idea of friendship. As we grow older and maturate, and life becomes increasingly complex, it becomes more and more difficult to find people who match your frequency or simply those who are true to you. And I realised that I was very lucky in that aspect yesterday, on my birthday. I simply didn’t expect so many people to turn up/call me and wish me. But here they were… as friendly as ever.

Ok, seriousness apart, (I’m feeling bored. I’m never like this.) I’ll tell you about some little secrets about me. (I don’t mind disclosing them)

The title is because I relate myself in more than one way to Harry Potter, the one fictional character, whom I’d love to see in real.
My parents had to fight with me to get my hair cut. I cannot but grin at an early photo of mine (when I was 1 or 2 years old) with locks of black and messy hair covering my head. I was looking like a girl. (I’ll post the photos at a later time. I may need to scan them.)
Needless to say, my hair grows quite fast that I have to go for hair cut every 1 month. And it is usually so untidy, covering my forehead.
I’m bespectacled, although I can live without them.
I stutter and stammer when I talk to a girl to whom I have a soft corner.

I’m stopping here. I’m pathetic at writing serious things.

(BTW, I started my 9th iteration of reading the Harry Potter series yesterday :D )