The True Friendship

Three class mates in the second year in college. They sat together as they had the same first name.

Teacher asked “What do you want to be?”

“Doctor”, one said

“Compounder (Pharmacist)”, the comedian said to make the entire class laugh.

“At least I want to a Compounder if I can’t be a Doctor” He said.

The third one just laughed with the rest of the class.

Months later, they took their University examinations.

Many weeks later, the practical examinations were scheduled; but got postponed by the University due to technical reasons.

One of the friends sat home last minute cramming for the examinations starting at 1 PM

He made sure that he remembered all the bones of the frog, all the cells in a moss plant and all the mouth parts of cock roach.

Meanwhile miles away two friends entered the examination hall.

Ten minutes passed.

The seat next to them was empty…

“Something is wrong…” They whispered.

“Where is HE?”

“May be… he forgot about the examination schedule change”

Examiner saw the commotion.

“What is wrong?”

“Madam, Our friend is probably unaware that exam time changed to 9:30 AM; otherwise he would never miss this University examination. He is the top scorer in our class. We can bring him here if you let us. Would you give him a chance?” The two friends begged.

After few seconds of deep thought, the external examiner went to check with the internal examiner. She verified the truth.

“OK; we will believe you and this is a special case. You have to be here within 30 minutes”

“Thank you madam,” Both chanted in synchrony.

The friend at home was happy that he had finished reading the Zoology book. While opening the Botany book, he saw a taxi car coming through the gate in the rising dust following. It screeched to halt.

Two of his friends jumped out of the car.

“Hey guys; whatsup?”

“What the heck are you still here? why you are not in the exam?”

“It is not time yet.”

“Just come with us, the exam already started”

“What…?”The chilling news came as a lightning to his mind.

“Just put clothes on and come with us; you can still make it”

The friend was still in shock. He could not believe it. He missed the examination.

Everything went before him was unimaginable.

Then finally he was in the college. He knew that he has to finish both Zoology and Botany examinations in half of the time allotted. He was working like a Robot. He felt like his brain was but frozen. His hands moved without knowing what the brain wanted to do. Finally the time was up. He was still in shock. He slowly walked to the examiners.

“Thank you Madam; for your kindness and help” Words fell out of his lips while his eyes flooded with tears.

“You should be thankful to those two fellows who risked their exams for your success”

He looked outside.

There, they were standing outside waiting for him to finish the examination.

The friend who wanted to be a Doctor became one. The friend who joked about becoming a Pharmacist became one. The third one who never thought he would be a Pharmacist became one too.

The person who would remember this story is the one who experienced the true friendship. He pondered always. If instead he was the one in their situation, would he have risked his examination on that day?

He still ponders… but he can never forget the names of his true friends till he dies.

Would you do it for a friend ?

(This is a Malayalam version of the above blog)

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സൗഹൃദം എന്നാൽ ...

നാട്ടിക ശ്രീനാരായണ കോളേജിലെ ഒരു ക്ലാസ്സ് മുറി

മൂന്നു് വിദ്യാർത്ഥികൾ ഒരേ ബഞ്ചിൽ രണ്ടാംവർഷം . പേനകൊണ്ട് ഡസ്കിൽ കുത്തിക്കുറി നടത്തിയ മൂവർക്കും ഒരേ പേരായിരുന്നു , അതും പിതാക്കൾ അദ്ധ്യാപകരാണെ ന്നതും ഒഴിച്ചാൽ അവർക്ക് ഒരു സാമ്യ വും ഇല്ലായിരുന്നു

സുവോളജി ലെക്ചരർ ചോദിച്ചു :

നിങ്ങൾക്ക് ആരാവാനാണ് ആഗ്രഹം ?

...........

ഒന്നാമൻ : "ഡോക്ടർ"

രണ്ടാമൻ :"കമ്പൌണ്ടെർ ".... കൂട്ടത്തിലെ കോമാളി മൊഴിഞ്ഞു

ക്ലാസ്സിലെ കൂട്ടച്ചിരിയിൽ മൂന്നാമനും ചേർന്നു .

"...അല്ല പിന്നെ ഡോക്ടരാവാൻ പറ്റിയില്ലെങ്കിൽ അതായാലും മതി ". രണ്ടാമന്റെ വിശദീകരണം .

മാസങ്ങൾക്കുശേഷം യൂണിവേര്സിടി പരീക്ഷകളുടെ തിരക്ക് ..

പിന്നെ ആഴ്ചകളുടെ ശേഷം പ്രാക്റ്റിക്കലും ...

കശുമാവിൻ തോപ്പിലെ ആര്ക്കും വേണ്ടാതെ വീണ മാങ്ങകൾ ഇടവപ്പാതിയിലെ ചന്നം പിന്നം പെയ്ത മഴയിൽ ചീഞ്ഞു കിടന്നു. ആ ഗന്ധവും പേറി കിഴക്കുനിന്നെത്തിയ പൊടിക്കാറ്റിൽ പറന്നു പോയ കടലാസ്കഷണങ്ങളിൽ ഒന്നാമൻ തൻറെ ജീവശാസ്ത്ര ക്കുറിപ്പുകൾ ആലേഖനം ചെയ്തിരുന്നു . പൂ മുഖത്തെ മേശയിൽ ചിതറിക്കിടന്ന പുസ്തകങ്ങള ക്കിടയിൽ കാലിന്മേൽ കാല് കയറ്റി അവസാനത്തെ പഠനത്തിന്റെ മിനുക്ക്‌ പണിയിൽ മുഴുകിയിരുന്ന അയാൾ പെട്ടന്ന് ദൂരെനിന്നും പാഞ്ഞു വന്ന ആ ടാക്സി ക്കാറിലെ പിൻ സീറ്റിൽ നിന്നും ചാടിയിറങ്ങിയ രണ്ടു പേരെ പെട്ടെന്ന് മനസ്സിലാക്കാൻ പ്രയാസ പ്പെട്ടു .

"എടാ നീയെന്തെട്‌ക്കാ ഇവിടെ ?"

"വേഗം കേറ് വണ്ടീല് ?"

"അല്ലാ ഇതെവിടെക്കാ നിങ്ങള് രണ്ടാളും കൂടി ?"

"കഥ പിന്നെ പ്പറയാം . എക്സാമിനെരെ പറഞ്ഞു ഒരുകണക്കിന് സമ്മതിപ്പിച്ചാ ഞങ്ങള് ഇപ്പൊ വന്നത്‌ . നീയെന്തു കണ്ടാ ഇവിടെ ഇരിക്കുന്നത് ?"

"പരീക്ഷക്ക് പോണ്ടേ നിനക്ക്‌ ?"

"അതിനു പരീക്ഷ ഒന്നരക്കല്ലേ ? ഇപ്പൊ പത്തല്ലേ ആയുള്ളൂ എന്തിനാ ഇത്ര വെപ്രാളം ?"

"എടാ പൊട്ടാ , പരീക്ഷ തൊടങ്ങി ഒമ്പതിനു , നീ മാത്രം വന്നില്ല .നിനക്ക് പരീക്ഷയുടെ സമയം മാറ്റിയത് പത്രത്തില് കണ്ടില്ലേ ?"

"ഇനി സമയം കളയണ്ട വേഗം ഷർട്ട്‌ മാറ്റി കേറിക്കോ കാറില് , വെഷമിക്കണ്ട ഞങ്ങള് എല്ലാ എക്സാമിനർ മാരോടും പറഞ്ഞു ശരിയാക്കി യിട്ടാണ് കാറ് വിളിച്ചത് "

മുണ്ട് മടക്കി ക്കുത്തിയ ഡ്രൈവർ മീശ മിനുക്കി പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചു.

ഒന്നാമൻ പഠിച്ച ബോട്ടണിയും സുവോളജി യും ആവിയായ അറിവിൽ ഒരു ജീവനില്ലാത്ത ശ രീര മായി രണ്ടു കൂട്ടുകാരോടൊത്ത് യാത്രയായി ...

"ഹെഡ് ലൈ റ്റും ഇട്ടു പറപ്പിച്ചോ " ഡ്രൈവറോട് രണ്ടാമന്റെ ഉത്തരവ്‌ കാറിന്റെ വാതിലടന്ക്കുന്ന സ്വരത്തിൽ കൂട്ടു കൂടി .

....

മുഖം താഴ്ത്തി ലജ്ജയോടെ തിടുക്കത്തിൽ തവളയെ കീറിമുറിച്ചു കൊണ്ടിരുന്ന അയാൾക്ക് പിന്നിൽ പുറത്തുനിന്നും വന്ന എക്സാമിനെർ ആകമാനം നിരീക്ഷിച്ചു കൊണ്ടിരുന്നതും മണിയടിക്കുന്നതും ഒന്നും അറിയാൻ കഴിഞ്ഞില്ല .

ഒരു മണിക്കൂർ പരീക്ഷ അരമണിക്കൂറാക്കി അവസാനിപ്പിച്ചു അടുത്ത കെട്ടിടത്തിലേക്ക് അയാള് ഓടി . ചെരിപ്പിന്റെ ഉള്ളിലേക്ക് കയറിയ ആറ്റുമണൽ ത്തരികൾ കാൽവിരലുകളിൽ വേദന സമ്മാനിച്ചതൊന്നും അയാൾ അറിഞ്ഞില്ല .

......

അവസാനം പരീക്ഷ കഴിഞ്ഞു ...

യാത്ര മൊഴികൾ

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വർഷങ്ങൾ ക്ക്ശേഷം

ഒന്നാമൻ ഡോക്ടറായി

രണ്ടാമനും അവൻ വർഷങ്ങൾ ക്ക് മുൻപ് തമാശയായി പ്പറഞ്ഞ തുപോലെ ഒരു ഫാർമസിസ്റ്റ് ... മൂന്നാമനും ...

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ഒന്നാമന് അവർക്ക് ഒരിക്കലും തിരിച്ചു നല്കാൻ കഴിയാത്ത സ്നേഹത്തിന്റെ കടപ്പാടും ...

ഇത് എഴുതിയത് മറന്നിട്ടില്ല എന്ന് പറയാൻ മാത്രം. എന്റെ കൂട്ടുകാരെ നന്ദി ...

The Irish Days

1. Close Encounters

The Youth Hostel was the green colored two story house next to the old church. This was exactly were the map indicated, but there was no one around. I waited after ringing the bell. The Clerk appeared wearing a green sweater and with a blonde beard. “Are you paying by cash? “ He asked. I emptied my valet with all the Irish currency I had withdrawn from the ATM. He returned a five pound note back.

He gave me a key for the room and locker.

We walked past some poorly lit communal rooms to the dorm. There were two bunk beds and two tables. I decided to settle on the lower “berth.” On the top the other bed, there was a guy, who lifted his head and said “Hello” and then went to sleep, lightly snoring.

There was an aroma of beer and cigarettes in the air. I slowly unzipped my suite case and took the essential things for the day. While arranging my bed, I realized that there were more people coming through the hallway. A slightly balding muscular man wearing shorts and t-shirt  entered and said “Hello “with a German accent, while  rolling in his heavy back pack, which he kept in the middle of the room.

I was reading the papers from the registration at the University and keeping mental notes on  all the things I need to do in the morning. It seemed like classes were scattered around various campuses and staying in Dublin was not the best option.

I was feeling sleepy. 
I probably slept for five minutes. 
By this time my new roommate had gone to shower as I could hear him singing next door. Then I heard him opening the bag, which was just above me on the bunk bed.

Then I realized that he was just standing next to me grabbing clothes from the bag, while his manhood was dangling one foot away from my head, without any sense of apprehension. He was not grabbing his clothes, but took a mirror, put gel on his hair, and took five minutes to comb into a mullet, while I sat there in my bed, face glued into a book, pretending that I was reading.

However my act of escapism did not alter the situation. The man had lot of questions for me regarding the night life in Dublin, transportation, bars etc. etc. I told him that I had landed there few hours before him,

He was in no hurry to get clothes on and possibly that was not high on his agenda that time.

That night was very long…as the coiled up smoke rising from my room mate's cigarette half burned, kept at the edge of the table.

I checked out earlier than I planned.
 I kept walking in the fog, past the parked cars with frosted up windows and the pavement with beads of shattered glass pieces and beer cans.
I had to walk all the way to the O'Connell street in search of a motel.

2. Drimnagh

Benmadigan road was a circular road enclosing the green in the middle where children played fearlessly after their school finished. Daffodils and Tulips bordered some small bushes next to a central fountain.

 I could see Brandon, my land lady’s nephew running towards the house. Dublin was a city of young people. They were everywhere. In that village or small suburb of Dublin, every foreigner was from the hospital. Everyone knew everybody.

While coming home after the classes, curious children followed me. “Mr.… what’s your name?”, I told them my name. “Are you selling Insurance?” I was surprised. I never thought that it was a viable option for me in that town. I Laughed. “No. I am a student”

I missed the address , as the row of houses was all looking same. I saw my land lady chatting with friends. “Hi Doreen, are you coming home?” She replied; ”This is my home.”

(to be continued)

3: The Record of  My First Guinness

The ferry was quite bigger than what I imagined it be. From Holyhead , UK, to Dun Laoghaire, the trip was about five hours in the midnight. I walked below the flood lit passage way, following other passengers from the bus. I went to sit next to the starboard side window to get the glimpse of the surrounding. Except for the fluorescent lights around, there was nothing to be seen. The bar at the ferry was quiet except for the speakers playing Celtic rhythms. There was only one customer, drinking beer.

I was going back to Ireland.

Even though I knew about Guinness and seen people drinking and admiring it, I never had any chance tasting it.

That was the first time I confidently walked into a bar to order something for myself. I felt so proud.

“What can I get you sir?”

“I’ll have a pint of Guinness”

I did not know that was the way to order, but I kept a straight face.

“A Pint?”

“A glass”

The bartender looked at the customer for a second and lifted a beer glass from the shelf and showed it to me

“You mean this?”

“Yes please” The confident me.

He took the glass and placed it below the tap, filled it with Guinness and brought the drink and a tray with napkin to me.

The glass contained a fizzy dirty yellowish brown drink with lot of froth.

That was not the drink I had in my mind. I imagined it to be dark brown, almost like black coffee, with a golden shade. That was what I had seen in the TV.

This was probably true to the bottom two centimeters, but rest was creamy greenish brown. At least that was what my sleep deprived eyes found.

 I waited for fifteen seconds and with tremulous hands, lifted the heavy glass, with precarious head. I tilted the glass, while carefully sipping the royal liquid through it’s thick head.

The  concoction of innumerable leaves with their bitter taste over powered my reluctant taste buds, my stomach turned upside down in that undulation of the ferry which was already moving in the rough Irish sea.

I knew that I was not going to make it. I was not planning to throw up during the whole night in that ferry.

I saw the bartender and his customer staring at me like they have never seen anything like that in their entire life...A human walking away from a full glass of Draught Guinness poured, not to wait for the beauty to settle down.

(Continued)

The Missing File

(You can read the sample pages from my new novel here)

നിയമസഭാ മന്ദിരം നീണ്ടു വളർ ന്ന  കുപ്പി പ്പന കളുടെ നിഴലിൽ വിശ്രമിച്ചു. 
അടഞ്ഞു കിടന്ന ജനാല ശീ ലക ൾ  ഉയർത്താ നായി അലുമിനിയ ത്തിൻ റെ  പിടി അയാൾ പിറകോട്ട്‌ തിരിച്ചു. 

കോണുകൾ മടങ്ങിയ ചുവന്ന അരപ്പട്ട കെട്ടിയ കേസു കെട്ടുകളിൽ ഉടക്കി പ്പോയ അയാളുടെ ജോലിയെ പ്പോലെ ആ ജനൽ ശീ ലകളും പകുതിയിൽ കുരുങ്ങി ക്കിടന്നു. 

മുകളിലെ കറങ്ങുന്ന ഫാനി ൻറെ വിരസമായ ഞരക്കങ്ങൾ തട്ടിനുമുകളിലെ ഉച്ച ഭക്ഷണ ത്തിനു ഒത്തു കൂടിയ പുതിയ സെക്രെട്ടറി മാരുടെ കോലാ ഹലത്തിമിർപിൽ ഒതുങ്ങി. 
ഇനിയും കുടുങ്ങിപ്പോയ ജനൽ ശീല വിടുവിക്കാൻ അയാൾക്ക് ഒന്നും തന്നെ കണ്ടെത്താനായില്ല.  കയ്യിലെ സന്ധികളിലെ കശേരു ക്കളെല്ലാം തേഞ്ഞു പോയിരിക്കുന്നു, ദിനം പ്രതിയുള്ള വേദനകൾ മാത്രം നൽകി കൊണ്ട്. 
മുൻ തലമുറകൾ തനിക്കു നൽകിയ കയ്നീട്ടം... 
തൻറെ അച്ഛനും ഇതേ കെട്ടിടത്തിൽ മുഴുവൻ ജീവിതവും കഴിച്ചു കൂട്ടി. 
അവികാരിതയോടെ അപേക്ഷകൾ മഷി ക്കറ നിറഞ്ഞ പൊടിപിടിച്ച ഈ മേശ മേൽ തള്ളി വരണ്ട ഉരുണ്ടു കൂടിയ കൈകളെ അയാളും പഴിച്ചിരിക്കണം.

(You can read the sample pages from my new novel here)

 The secretariat building stayed in the shades of the tall bottle palm trees. 

He opened the blinds by turning the aluminum handle anti-clockwise. Then it stuck midway, like his job between the piles of cream colored files wrapped with red canvas waist belt, dog eared. The ceiling fan made the monotonous rumble which merged with the creaking sounds from the ceiling above which the batch of new secretaries assembled to grab their lunch. 

There was nothing he could find to untangle the broken blinds. The cartilage in his small joints has worn out, bringing the daily supply of aches. This was the present from the previous generations. His father also lived his entire life in this building. Sitting emotionless reading the applications ending up in this old dusty table with ink stains, he also cursed his knobby, dried up hands. 




Minister was away in tour  of the northern district which was flooded in the monsoon.

 He can rest for a while. There is no crowd behind the door. There are no visitors, except the young man from the news channel laughing with his would- be- wife standing in the corridor. Many months ago, he was eager to get the scoop about the minister’s foreign trip and the connections. Now he has found his scoop: The upper division clerk, who gave him all the details. The stories never reached his audience. He seemed to have moved on to greener pastures. 

 The telephone rang once. He made sure that he ignored this daily annoyance. When he first moved to this office room, he was eager to lift the receiver and waited no time to say “Hello”

 He now has grown old to understand the futility of this task. The messages will be taken if needed. He is not an essential link in this chain of bureaucracy. He is just a stepping stone in the citadel of corruption. Even the walls and rusted hinges of the old doors knew that truth.

 This machinery works the same way. The operators will change. They come here, live, breath, make money, build house, send kids to college, get them married, then retire. New faces will then replace them and the machinery transforms them. He was just checking off the papers and selected files for the Minister to sign tomorrow when he returns. He read the story of the divorce and the father-in-law’s comments in the local newspaper. The father-in-law is trying to use this as his next election strategy. The young minister was naïve to get his neck in the horse trade. 

 He knew the old man also.
 He was however nice to him. He knew all the tricks of this profession. 

 He was able to come out unscathed from any trouble. It was unbelievable that the person who was in critical state in coronary ICU last month was callous enough to wage war against his own family using his daughter.








To be continued….

The Bullies and Pedophiles

Chapter 5: The Bullies and Pedophiles

I never thought that I would ever write about them.

Not because they were totally unknown to me, but I thought they were never part of my life experience as a child growing up in that picture perfect village. I could be wrong in assuming that.

As I had written earlier about my obesity causing all the trouble for me at school, I came to realize that there were bullies in every school who just spent their time making fun of other children and were able to get out of trouble by their jokes and popularity.

There was one such fellow in my class. Apparently he was already there before I and other students joined. The class consisted of all the fifth graders moved from various elementary schools. I moved from the elementary school along with three or four good friends. They all knew me.

The boy who was already in the class was repeating the year. Because of this, he knew everyone. He lived close to school and knew the alleyways near the school and all the senior students and teachers.

He knew my father as a teacher in the school. My father had many nephews and nieces as his students during the prior years. They all called him a name meaning like “little uncle.”

I did not know that it was my father's nickname among the senior students. But over the first few weeks I came to know that they are all making fun of me with my father’s nick name.

This was not a derogatory name and it did not bother me. But the fact is that whatever nickname you call someone, the effect is based upon the reason behind calling that name.

So this was bestowed upon me by the boy in the class. When I was sitting in the class, he kicked the bench multiple times to make my pen come out of the book or to cause difficulty in holding book in my hand. This torture continued along with drawing on the place where I sat, so that when I stood up, the writing would be visible over the dark trousers I wore.

My teachers paid no attention to these things and no one bothered to tell them.

Interestingly in the class, the bully picked on me only- at least that was what I felt at that time.

One day the teacher was late to arrive in the class during a post recess period.

  The boy continued with his usual past time of throwing paper arrows towards my head and broken chalk pieces while singing a latest movie song. Many of my class mates were just laughing and giggling while watching my helpless plight. This continued for few moments. Then the boy climbed up on the desks, jumping from one to another and placed himself on a bench facing me.

I was so mad. I stood up, and seeing my face, he knew that this was taking a different turn. Without showing his surprise, he started teasing me with names, and was also probably thinking that I was a coward and having my father working in the same school, I wouldn’t dare to start a fight in the class room.

But he was wrong. I walked towards him, pushing off my desk with my own books on them.

I saw my friends hurriedly retrieving my books, the pencils, erasers, the bits and bobs from the geometry instrument box fell open on the floor, and rearranging the fallen benches behind me. I felt the power, the gathering momentum in my mind. I was not sure, however what I would’ve done to him or what could happen to me once this fight was over.

I kept moving towards him, who by this time realized that something might go terribly wrong in that fifth grade class room where all the thirty children staring at him, being cornered, trapped between a desk and the wall beside.

He then thought his plan, the last resort.

“Come on…””come on… fight with me you ****”

That was the last sentence I could let him finish.

I lifted up the bench at one end, sliding him to the ground. He fell on his back, could not get out as trapped between the furniture. His sandals flew to the corner, which then someone kicked to far, so that he could not get it.

Then I saw him crying. That was surprising that  the greatest bully I knew till that time was crying infront of the class.

I did not have anything else to do.

The whole class took over the onslaught, throwing chalk pieces and paper arrows at him.

I heard him saying that he was going to complain to my father about this. I was somewhat shaken by this whole incident and he just uttered my greatest fear of all.

However he did not read my mind.
 I just walked to my desk. I kept my head straight

Everything was quiet, except other children calling him nicknames.

It was finally their turn. I just made it easy for them.

Against all odds, I realized that he became my close friend in the following months. He forgot about that incident and we never spoke about it.  It was a great change. He never bullied me. He never bullied anyone for that matter.

I was not sure that a concussion changed his mind.

It could be that he was somewhat insecure in himself and was overwhelmed by the new students coming to his class where he felt he was the “dumbest person”

Over the coming months, I learned lot of survival tactics from him. We did not resort to any bullying or join any gangs. 
He told me about the pedophiles near the school.

I had seen those men always stayed near the school entrance and whistling at girls and passing dirty comments. They had no jobs. They all failed the high school exam and just spent time gossiping and playing cards near the school. Sometimes they volunteered in the athletic days and the arts festival days helping the teachers. They stayed in the open classrooms after the school session was over, smoking Cigarettes and Marijuana. They talked about the local prostitutes and their made up stories about past trips to the city where they actually had sex with film actresses.

I was not however sure what they might do with the young boys. However they always made fun of the children’s legs which were visible below the short knickers we wore.

Some of these people knew my father as he was their teacher in the high school. When they approached me and if they noticed that my father was around, they would go away.

My father probably never knew what these people were like. If I had asked about them, my father would scold me for spending time outside the class and hanging around with those “undesirables”

Some of these men were funny, so children were always following them. They threw rocks at mango trees and gave the children mangoes. When they won the card games, they brought sweets and ice popsicles to children. They gave free ride to children on their bike to school.

However the danger lurked. I was not sure whether some of the children were abused. I knew forsure, that some children always spent time with those grown up men.

There were no societal regulations against it. Every neighbor accepted children to their house. Everyone thought that children were safe with someone they knew for years.

Interestingly over many years in that school, I came to know these gangs. I was quite sure that some people abused boys as their excuse for not going to prostitutes. Some of them were just pedophiles.

I spent my  weekends in those years playing with my cousins in the neighborhood. 
One of the uncles had built a strip of shops and there were barbershop, grocery shops, Tailor etc. 
The barber shop will have all the film magazines and newspapers to read free. When I hang around with tailoring shop, I learned the techniques of sewing. Some of the tailors worked for some time and then went with us for walks.

I enjoyed their stories and gossips about the locals. I will go home to eat lunch and then hang around if I get time to play with my cousins.

One such trip was somehow ended up in something totally unexpected. It was afternoon. One of the guys in the tailoring shop and the assistant tailor told me that they are going to the nearby town and asked me to go with them, so that they will walk me  home. It was just normal to walk with them.

When we reached near my house, while narrating the stories, they went to a building close to my house. It was Sunday and the building was closed. At that time there was not much traffic in the street. There was nothing for a sixth grader to worry about in that neighborhood. Everyone knew me. I was also near my house.

We then sat on the smooth cemented corridor, enjoying the breeze and talked about the new movies getting released. 
 In the country, it was (still) normal for men to place arms around friends or hug them, without any sexual connotations. So when this man who sat next to me placed his left arm around my neck, I did not feel anything different. However then I saw him holding my hand and placing in the middle of his groin over his clothes, I was puzzled. While talking about the movie, this was totally unexpected. I pulled my hand away, but felt that he was gripping my hand so strong as well as trying to stroke against his engorged organ under his clothes.

That was the moment I realized that the whole charade of walking with me and being friendly to me had a different meaning. I am so happy that I was smart enough to run away from that corridor of vulnerability without being hurt physically and emotionally. But I was not sure about other children of my age.

Afterwards my mission was to break their racket from preying on our friends. I never spent any time hanging around these men. Many of my friends knew who the pedophiles were. Interestingly there were stories about the local priest in the church going around with boys, but no adults seemed to end these, and talked as it was just a joke. One of our neighbors, a boy younger than me was promised a part in movies by a well-known pedophile and actor who went to make movies and made that as his easy way to get to children.

This was a chapter from

The Chicken Pox

Chapter4 : The Chicken Pox

Contrary to what I thought, it changed me emotionally and physically. 

I mean the Chickenpox.

One might think that the small craters left over my face and torso was what I am referring to.

 No; that was not the issue at all.

It was the second week of the new academic year.

 I went to get new textbooks from the bookstore two miles from my house. Possibly being excited, I decided that I should walk through the unusual ways I never travelled. It actually took more time to get home. I was somewhat tired, thirsty and had a headache. 

There was nothing different at home in the afternoon. I spend time at home. I probably read some pages from my new text books… fascinating as they always were.

We had the usual night time card playing session. I went to bed after feeling sleepy. Somewhere in the middle of the sleep, I woke up and walked to the living room. I remembered my mother holding my hands and putting back to my bed. I had a fever that night.

Next morning everyone was poking fun at me about what I was talking in sleep and sleep walking.

I did not understand what the big joke was, anyway.

I went to school. While standing outside the school, I met some family friends. I remember one of them while sitting on his bike saw the water filled bubbles on my forehead. “Let me poke it for you”, He said.

With his sharp nails, he scratched it off from my forehead with pleasure.

The rest of the day I spent in school.

The chicken pox was on me, covering my body with all the vesicles.

I was annoyed when my father came up with his isolation plan. But more annoyances followed.

I was banned from attending school for four weeks. My father made sure that I was secluded in one of the bedrooms.

 My sister was sent to my uncle’s house till I was cleared of the infection. I was not allowed to use bathroom outside. My food was delivered in separate plates by the maid, who would be my contact to outside. Apparently she had the share of this infection in the past. I could see my mother only through the window, as the bedroom door would be locked from outside. No one would come to my room. I would only wear a white flannel towel, which mysteriously appeared from nowhere by that time.

The bed room was emptied of all the clothes and book etc. by that time. I was not allowed to read as my family thought that it would cause damage to my eye sight.

By that time the weather was hot. The vesicles on my body started to itch as if pocked with thousand tiny needles. I was not sure whether during that time everyone was confusing chicken pox with small pox and I was given all the combinations of medications from Allopathic to Homeopathy and of course, the local remedies. I was given a branch of neem tree, which I did hit the leaves over my vesicles instead of scratching them.

I remember crying for many days.

Against my father’s instructions, I did read. But those were the old newspaper used to wrap the snacks from the shop and some weekly magazines dropped through the window by my good old neighbor friend, who knew that I was just dying to read the serialized detective novel in them.

 I did not have much visitors except my uncles, my father’s brother and my mother’s brother who brought sweets. My uncle brought dissolving orange flavored Vitamin C tablets, which I enjoyed.

I had stayed in that room with only communication channel being the open window.

I was spending time like someone in a prison would do.

I pulled the cotton threads from my cloth, made wet in water, stuck over the carvings of the headboard of my bed. I made faces.

Then the vesicles started drying up after one week. I was quite used to the fishy smell from my body as I was not allowed to take bath till those vesicles crusted. I was allowed to go outside if I needed to have a bowel movement, but by that time, no one would be allowed to step on my way to outside bathroom.

I lost track of the days while being secluded in that room.

Then one day it rained. 
It rained so heavily that while standing next to the wooden window I could feel the cold soothing breeze trying to heal all the pain.

I was happy for the next two days. I did not know what was in store for me.

The local herbal practitioners had instructed that my parents get the bark of the mango tree for me.

They crushed it, to make like a Brillo pad so that it would help to scrub out all the scabs from my body when I took the shower.

There was soap, but I was not allowed to use it, but there are soap-like herbal preparations waiting for me.

I realized that this was the most painful ordeal I had. The splinters from the bark scrubbed my skin with oozing blood and some stayed tangles with my skin, refusing to leave for hours.

Finally the day came…

The door was opened and I could go to the other rooms in my house. My sister was somewhat frightened to come near me. But there was a belief that people who got scared to see the rash were the people who contracted the disease. Anyway, she did not get it, as was rest of my family.

When I started school back again, I was bullied by many children in the school. I was not sure what the reason was. For many days, There was no mirror in my room, which was purposely removed to not to alarm me. My parents knew that if I had seen my face, I would have worried.

I am sure that was true, but what I was bullied for was nothing I could know for many years.

I was called “Road roller”, “Balloon” etc. to depict the obesity I had. I was not aware that I gained so much weight during that isolation, when my parents pushed all the “healthy food” for me. I was just heaping up the calories without any exercise.

I realized that I had to get new clothes, but that was together with the fact that I was also growing up.

I hated the recess when you are the subject of ridicule among the lean friends. Even though my father was a teacher in school did not help it.

The interesting fact about my family is that it was unrealistic for my parents to ever place me on weight reducing diet. 

As a younger child, I always had some sort of malabsorption and failure to thrive regardless of their attempts of feeding me. So seeing I gaining weight was as per my mother-she still believes this unfortunately-was the sign of good health.

The weight I had gained stayed with me for many more years, and its social effects.


Next:   The Bullies and Pedophiles

The Movies

Chapter 3:  The Movies

The humid evenings brought the sounds of crickets and lightning bugs along with the scent of gardenia flowers  to the house. We played cards and also watched movies in those evenings. So we had plenty of that when we were young. 
At home we used to play cards till midnight everyday . 
My father used to go to a club to play cards too. That was his favorite pastime. One night, my mother did not open the door for him because he came very late after the midnight. 
My father enjoyed  movies and I remember going with him for the second shows in the night to far away places too. 
His fascination for the movies made him build a movie house next to our house. The idea was good. The nearest movie place closed down because of unpopular films and bad management. We had a suitable land and my father had plenty of time.  My father was never good at business. He never had a slightest idea of the intricacies of the cinema business. My uncle retired from the Air Force helped my father with his time and money too.
After his movie house started making money, the old movie house reopened and became our competitor. They had more money to invest and their location was good with plenty of public transportation and we suffered badly.

It was tough time for me. 
After coming back from college, I had to work as projectionist’s assistant, ticket vendor and gate keeper. When the collection was bad and people openly criticize for bad films and damage the seats, my father just kept calm. It was too much for me to take. I had to stay till midnight after the shows were done, locked everything up and do all the accounting. Local taxes were assessed on the daily sales and record keeping was a headache. When I cameback, I would start reading for my university examinations. I wanted to get in to the medical school badly because I wanted to prove to my parents that I could do it.

I had to go in the midnight to stick posters of the movies in the streets and go to the nearest district to bring the box of films for the show. Transporting the heavy box of films was a real nightmare. Most of the bus operators would want it to be loaded on the top of the bus. I had to bargain with the porter to get it loaded, but the bus drivers would make a big fuss when I climbed to the top and getting them delayed. Even though the hard work spoilt my fascination with the movies, it was enjoyable when I later invited my college friends for a night at my house and movie next door. And actually  the movies paid my tuition and I spent less and less with the actual enterprise.

When I was very young, my father and his colleagues from the school started a private loan firm called Allied Enterprises and he was always busy with that in the afternoons. But that made him got involved in various community activities and kept him occupied. Those days I did not know what “Allied” meant. After years of business, he lost lot of money as well as my mother’s jewelry . 
One day he closed the firm down , brought all the desks and numerous ledger books and papers to cram our spare bedroom. There were so many  notes and receipts of loans; but my father did not have the money to hire lawyers to chase the defaulters. It was a constant nagging point for my mother and it also made us believe that my father was a failure in the business. He never had a time without any loans. Probably if he had never started those businesses, he could have lived more years and I would not have inherited his debts.

When we had lot of burglaries in the village , my father and his friends organized a sort of neighborhood watch with midnight patrolling and caught some local thieves . My mother cooked hot meal for the patrol gang and I used to hang around with them in the night, listening to their fascinating stories of adventure.

My father would go to the beach nearby on weekends and watch the fishermen bring the big prawns and other fishes.
 In the crowd, the fishermen would recognize my father and forced him to accept a big sac of live fish for my sake. Many times they refused to take money from him. That was the only time I actually saw and played with ice.  Probably that was the biggest reason for me to visit the beach. Most often, I took a big chunk of ice to show to my sister, but by the time we reached home, you know what happened.

Another trip I liked to do was a visit to the town to purchase the hardware for home improvement. The whole day I would walk with him suffering from migraine and nausea and eating nothing, except a cup of ice cream, the only food I ate from restaurants.

My father had a gasoline run water pump. It was the first one in the village before the electricity came to our village.  He did  rent it to people who needed  to water their coconut trees.  He had two helpers who would pull the cart with the pump and my father would hold the "foot valve" end of the long heavy black PVC hose. 
Those days I never thought it was hard work and I did not knew how much he made out of that enterprise. Later, Diesel water pumps became common in every house and he stopped the pump rental. 
But water pump was a great fascination for me. When it was working, we children play in the jet and make sand dams in the channel. We used to get lot of fishes also, when the ponds were pumped empty. When the water pumps broke down, we would call our only plumber and repairman . His house is studded with various kinds of damaged pumps. His assistant was his son, two years younger than me. He was very proud of his son and asked his son questions about the pump to impress me and my father. It was always interesting to watch the pump being repaired. My father would ask me to help the repairman. Most of the time, my father would also work as his assistant. In the end, when we started the pump, and we saw the water being pumped from the out let, our hearts would leap. 
It was always a struggle to pay the repairman the money. My father has to push it to his pocket rather than give to him in his hand. He was doing it out of respect.

When we started the movie house, he was the chief technical expert. He was the first cinema projector operator and Guru of all the operators. We called him "Aasan",meaning Master. So he had an ego problem also and treated his new assistants like idiots. Finally we had to let him go and he joined our rival business to our surprise. He had invited my father to visit the new movie house; even though my father wanted to go and see the facilities, but  his pride did not allow him to do that till he died.