Missing Home :(

I miss home.  ‘Home’ as in Room #623, Girls’ hostel, Symbiosis knowledge village, Lavale. Lovely Lovely Lavale. Two years back around this time I must’ve started my SIMC days. Anxious, hopeful, happy and content. I just got my dream. And I just wish it was still going on.

That place was truly heaven on earth.  Monsoon brought the hills alive, colouring it green and the air cool and misty. Also with the little insects of vibrant colours, the frogs that came inside the hostel to eat them, followed by the snakes who came in to fulfil their role in the food cycle...

Getting drenched, getting sick, ending up wrapped in a blanket on bed, timely checks by friends, going to the campus doctor, getting pissed coz he prescribes only one single pill for all known diseases...Gosh...I am beginning to miss even the stuff I thought I hated there...

I’ll miss the creaky cycles sans bells, pedals, breaks and the way in which someone else would race past me to grab the one last cycle on the stand when I’m in a hurry to reach class.

I’ll miss getting ready long time before the bus timings and hurrying any poor soul that chooses to come along with me so that we get seats to sit for the 40 minute journey downhill to the city.

Dear mess, I know I’ve talked shit about you endless times, complaining, whining and hating coming into you for food (especially lunch) but, please accept my apologies. I don’t mind if there is no aloo in my aloo paratha, I don’t mind having roti and dal all day every day, I just wish I had more days to spend there, eating whatever you had to offer me. I’ll miss my 8 sachet coffee. I’ll miss that wonderful feel when I see veg burger and omelette, my favourite breakfast combo. I’ll miss having gulab jamun from both the floors, having both paneer and chicken on the non veg days in the same way and I will seriously miss getting in happily at the sight of hot tomato soup on a cold rainy day.

 Thrissur now RMCO and I tried it. Big, huge treadmills they have. But nothing beats walking down the hill in the evening with music in my ears.  I know the hairpin bends by the trees and plants I see. I used to know the exact locations of appoppan thadi plants and when the pods are about to burst. My white fluffs. I’ve never blown so many appoppan thadis, to my heart’s content. I dearly miss you my long curvy path.

The helipad, I loved for the view. But the amphi...you know why I love you don’t you? On cold starry nights, to sit on the topmost steps and see both the city lights and star lights is one mesmerizing sight. One has to be there to know the feel. And you have another special reason...just like the fourth tree.

The canteen with its chit-money, the Delhi chat and its chicken chilly cheese roll-my comfort food, the store stacked with noodles of all brands, the ice-cream shop, the coffee shop with its cold coffee strong, Peach iced tea and sour plain mosambi I just loved...

And that ledge from which I lost my phone, the other one on which we used to sit late night, the one near the frog pond, the frog pond itself. Phew! So many many memories have this place given me.

And people. I’ve met all kinds of people in this small place. I don’t boast of making oodles of friends, but I have a handful, and they are true. And when it comes to people, this place has gifted me with someone I never never expected (More on that later).

I can’t wait to go back there, even if it is just to collect my mark list, or convocation, or alumni meet. I just have to go back. For that place has made me feel so much more home than anywhere else and it is the one place where I have been so totally free.

I am glad I went to SIMC. Those of you who has never been a part of it- Oh you poor poor things! You’ve missed the most awesomest campus in the country- and the one college in which you could enjoy  it fully.

The Girl who was never 'caned'

By the time you're in Class 8,if you are a 90s kid, you'd have been 'caned' at some point of time in school. That scary feel which comes when you have to open your palms wide for the brutal stick to fall on it, is something we must all have gone through. But not Serah. She had never been caned.

Pious Sir walked into 8B that day with his tattered old map. And tattered old map always held a cane within. So when he stated calling out roll numbers that day (he never called kids by names, only numbers.), there was that usual nervousness in the class.

Anjo ,Shreshta & I held our breath, crossed our fingers and prayed that our numbers wouldnt be called. God answered our prayers and called Serah instead. The poor thing stood up and tried answering ,but somehow words didnt make sense.

Usually ,Anjo would whisper or scribble the answers on the table for me & Shreshta , but as Serah was one row behind us, that couldnt work. I tried opening my notebook for her to peek, but i guess my wonderful handwriting looked like a bunch of squiggles to her. She was still stammering.

Well, his patience was running out and he walked forth towards Serah, asking her to extend her hand. But Serah had no intentions to taste the cane, so, surprising the whole class, she started running away from him!

Now that was something we had never seen, and never expected to, in Class 8.

'Stop running and show your hand ,or I'll hit you wherever I can reach!' he threatened

'No, No, Sir! Don't beat me! I'll write imposition! As many times as you say!'

The cat and mouse game inside class couldnt go on forever, so Pious Sir gave up and gave her a tonne of imposition to write. We all had a jolly good laugh and were happy that we lost quite a few minutes from the dreaded 45 minutes of history. And the girl who was never caned, remained uncaned.

May be the way i've written this won't make things seem as lively as it actually was. But way back in 2003,when this happened in a morning history class, it was one of the hilarious things that ever happened. :)

Missing the sheep...

December has that distinct Christmas flavour. In school it used to come with the winds that knocked the windows shut loudly.Those little shopping sprees for christmas cards, the whole 'christmas friend' excitement, school carols, the crib making competition.... Later, thanks to Philip uncle, the best part of my christmas became the carol competitions across Thrissur.

I don't wanna write about the beauty of four part singing here. You've gotta experience that yourself. Around a month before christmas we start practising. With the famous chaya and parippuvada combo up in the church balcony or library hall.

This is where the 'V' club(just for valips) was born. With wonderful members including Linu Babu, George Immatty, Joseph Abbey, Abhijith Charles and yours truly...Either we open our mouths to sing, or we open it to let out the next big valip of the year.

How we managed to practise in the midst of valips, cackling laughter sessions, food adi, discussing the uniform etc remains a mystery. But we did. Though I doubt if Mr George Frederick Handel is pleased with our renditions.

Here on the Lavale hills I miss christmas. It has the wintery feel, chilly breeze etc, but my dear warm Thrissur seems much christmassier than here. I miss the infinite number and varieties of cakes that amma would bake back home. I miss those little glasses of wine we sip when each guest comes in. I miss going for endless practices on my Flikky. I miss going to each new stage and the tension before each performance, the anxious wait before the result, the joy of winning, the gloom of losing, the food therafter...

Christmas might be a holy religious day for some. It could just be another international holiday for the others. It could be the family get together time for yet others. But for me, the whole of this season speaks of harmonized notes and mellifluous sounds. And all of the sheep.

Back to that Hill...

I remember that hill slope. The barbed wire fence that went around has rusted now. A few years back, only a single line of wire had broken. And it was through that little opening that he and I raced to the top of the hill.

It was a clear sunny day. Like the old songs said, the grass was as green as you would want them, soft to our bare feet , the sky a brilliant shade of blue so pleasing to look at, speckled with fluffy white clouds. Little flowers grew here and there on the hill in varying shades. It was here that we made a banquet for ourselves with yet another lot of stolen food- A loaf of bread, a couple of oranges and that chocolate bar which had slipped off the hands of a little girl...

Life had taken a quirky turn when I met him. I gave up my dinner table with a spread that would never leave me unsatisfied. I gave up my wardrobe which would house any cloth that I chose point my fingers at. I gave up the softness of my bed and warm blanket. When I had to choose between all these and him, my heart whispered his name, and i was out in the wilderness with him.

I loved him a lot, but he loved me even more than that. Though I no longer had the luxuries of home ,I was still happy. In fact, more than happy. It was all an adventure for my 17 -year-old self. Everyday we walked on further. New places, new people... Sometimes we did small odd jobs for money.And other times we just stole the food we wanted. Some times we made a cozy little tent to sleep in. And at other times, we slept beneath the starry sky. We were happy,content, satisfied. We had each other.

This grand old tree down the hill is now bereft of its leaves. When a guard shood us away in the middle of our lunch that day on top of the hill for tresspasssing, it was under it's shade that we took shelter. We lay side by side in the aftrenoon sun holding hands. The little rays of sun peeked in through the lush green and yellow leaves , but they were soft, not disturbing our heavy eyelids.

He hummed an old folk song ,my favorite and I smiled, turning towards him. He was looking up at the sky, enjoying the picturisque beauty surrounding us. His eyes had their distinct twinkle. I could see those little black lines inside the brown iris. I could see the wind ruffling his hair and his smile. He put an arm around me and I felt good. Safe. I could now sleep blissfully.

Though a lot of things have changed here, the brook is still the same. It still sprays and froths. It rushes by in its hurry. The water is icy cold and fresh. It sped on over the jagged stones untamed by the brooks hurry.

He was looking at me when I opened my eyes from my sleep that day. He showed me the little mud path he'd spotted on the other side of the brook. We were off again.

The stones were sharp beneath my feet. I still hadn't gotten used to walking barefoot.I'd never realised how much slippers and shoes meant to the human kind.The water was knee deep and the bed was uneven. The stones showed no mercy at all. It was hard to walk across with the rushing water and the jabbing stones under my feet. I tried not to show it, but I kept slipping and sliding and he could see shades of red and purple on my feet. He came closer, held my hand and helped me walk. It was a relief to feel the sand and grass.

The mud path gave way to an old rickety bridge that swung lightly with the wind. There was a little village ahead on the other side. Dusk was setting in soon and the breeze turned chilly. Momentarily, goosebumps arose on my hands. He ran his hands on mine and hugged me tight. We stood on that old bridge like that for a while. Little orange dots in the distance showed us the village in the increasing darkness now. He wanted us to walk faster, before we were left stranded on the old bridge in the darkness.

He walked on ahead , gingerly, testing each step for me to take. I followed, holding his left hand, which he'd held out for me. I didnt realize what happened when suddenly he pushed me back. The bridge was shaking, and i was sitting on it, and I was holding on to thin air. It was completely dark now and i couldn't see him. I called out his name but all I could hear was my own voice echoing from the deep valley. Frantically , I tried feeling about for him in front of me, and my fingers felt cold as they traced a gaping hole right in front of me. He was gone.

I must have screamed out loud because some traders near the bridge's other end coming from the village rescued me. I never thanked them for their kindness. I was shouting out for him. But I knew it was in vain because I could hear them talking about how deep he must have fell....how he couldn't have lived... I screamed. I wanted him back. I couldn't live without him. My sweet traveller, my love, my all.

But I lived. He'd taught me to. And I went on to more places, met more people , learned the ways of the world. I'm not the innocent little 17-year-old anymore. I've changed. But he never changed inside me. So when the roads I chose brought me back here years after, I still feel him. The hill, the tree, the brook....they light up my memories- bring him closer to me. And tonight I sleep alone- beneath the old tree, wishing upon the stars above to show his smiling face in my dreams.

An Angry Rant

He's six years younger to me. Why does he get to do things six years before I could?

I had nothing against having a baby brother. Sure, I wished for a little girl with whom I could play "Barbie" & dress up. But I was cool about him being a boy.

It's a story told again and again, but still, why did i always have to let him win? Did I choose to have a sibling 6 years younger to me?'Isn't he younger to you?' Is that my fault in any way?

It was never okay when my report card showed marks less than 90 %. But when he brings home a mixed bag of Bs and Cs and Ds it's always Okay.

It's alright if he goes to the corner store at night to buy anything he likes. And I should plead with him to 'accompany' me? I'm not scared of the night. Or the 'creatures' of the night.

I've always wanted to go out with my friends, watch movies,eat out go for little trips. And the permission was never granted. And he gets to go and do all that.

In the first post i wrote about my first adventure. About my first bus ride. I realise it is way lame. WAY LAME. Because my baby brother has been there,done that and more ,4 years before i did.

He can leave his plate on the dining table and leave. He needn't put his dirty clothes into the Washing Machine. The idiot gets to choose what he wants to learn and where he wants to go, when i couldnt with all that marks i had.

All because he is a BOY?

Note to self

1. Follow Lejin's DTA

2.No masks. They were only for him and it's over.

3.Think of what u've come through,then u won't feel bad abt anything.

4.Someone LOVES you a lot.YOU.And that's never gonna change.

My Duet with Celine Dion

'And you're heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere in my heart and...my heart will go oooooooooooooooon and oooooooon......How's it Georgetta?'

'nice....but you need to put more...'feel' into it.'

Georgetten's my cousin. My first Photoshop teacher. My music helper.My guinea pig when i buy a new flavour of Tang.My Yellow Rose.

Oops! before i go on being sickly sweet ,let's get back to the story. I was in Class 11 and i was gonna perform for the Charity Day Event at Chaldean Centre.Of course you know what i was going to sing.Georgetten had come home to help me out-give me tips,correct me,make the whole thing sound better and all that.

'Why do u make dat sound? did u bite a chilly?' i asked kuttan(my brother)

I was trying hard to do this thing perfectly,and this idiot was sitting next to me making these stupid sounds.

'Di, i was trying to give the 'feel' sound. Georgetten and amma laughed.

Kuntham. Why can't i get this 'feel' thing? I was trying really a lot to make that come.But the 'feel' never did.

And no one's taking me seriously. Hmph! I'll show them when i actually sing the damn song on the stage.

*****

The hall upstairs in Chaldean Centre is huge. So is the stage. I was wearing my 'Juliet' costume to get the 'feel' which i was missing all day.My mom was sitting with all her 'women's youth' friends from where she could get a perfect view of me. She was already telling them about what i was going to sing.

I walked up the huge stage and i could see people backstage staring at my dress. Ofcourse. This is Thrissur.What is this 'big kutty' doing wearing a 'dress'?

'Next we have Reshma Raju Emmatty singing the 'Titanic song' 'said the compere and I switched on the mic in my hand.There were lots of people by now. I could see Amma clearly.And Georgetten was right down the stage putting the Karaoke CD in for me. I was supposed to give him a nod to let him know that I was ready. And i did.

The intro music started.I tapped my feet to the rhythm, cleared my throat away from the mic, took a deep breath and started singing.

I amazed myself. I was awesome! Take that ,ppl! I could hear the 'feel' in my voice.It was here! And every little slur was perrrrfect. It was like i was singing just like Celine Dion! Wait a minute- am i sounding exactly like her?

Rewind.

Georgettten and I had got two CDs - one with the original track for me to listen to and learn and the other one from Kalyan recordings with the Karaoke .

Play.

Did Georgetten just put in the original Cd???

I tried lowering my sound a bit...to check . And i found my fears were true. Georgetten had put the original song and i was singing along with Celine! no wonder i sound great. What will people think when they find out???

Gulp!

but my gulp never affected the song. Why would Celine stop for me?

From then on, it was a battle between me and Celine. I tried to be louder and still keep in sync so that people wouldnt find out about this mix.

But when the track reached to the 3rd stanza, Celine beat me. I had problems with the high pitched last stanza and when we reached that portion, Celine and i parted ways. She went on smooth and strong ;I cracked. And people knew.

Every one gave sarcastic smiles when i got down the stage. And cold stares and murmurs. I could see that they were all talking about me- how i tried to do something i possibly couldnt. How i tried to 'cheat' the crowd and got red handed...I could see Amma still not believing Rosy aunty's accusitions about me trying to be 'oversmart.'...

Going to school was a relief next morning. Atleast I would get busy with other things than think about the dreadful time last night. It was languge hour. You could just sit around and chat in that hour if you didnt make too much noise.

we were all doing our usual stuff when Antony Varghese came down and sat next to me.

'Did you guys know, i saw an amazing performance last night,' he started.

I was crossing my fingers.

'It was at the Chaldean Centre. Big hall.'

I'm done for it.

'This girl walked on the stage wearing a big gown sort of dress'

well, the rest is history. Every one in school knew about my 'duet with Celine' too. Ever since that incident, i somehow dislike listening to that song.

And for some strange reason, for that year's Ootty trip, Georgetten made me a CD with that particular song in 5 different versions.