My Favorite Movie

My Favorite Movie

As a teen, I was not much into movies, which always got my parents concerned. My parents were very broadminded; they encouraged me to see all types of movies, to develop my interest, so that I could “know the real world”, as they believed that cinema was a reflection of our daily lives. My brother, who was 15, was even more concerned about my disinterest in movies, and took upon himself, the pious duty of introducing me to the realities of life, though in a starker way. He had a huge collection of seemingly boring movies on his laptop, which he hid from my parents, and which were really good comedies I think. Anyways, when God decided that the time was ripe, I started taking interest in movies. But my genre was horror, yes sir! How I loved those teddy-bear type cuddly cute ghosts, romping without footwear and grunting! I loved the multi-colored vomits and also the shrieks and shouts of the fellow onlookers at the cinema hall.. it was all so hilarious! Yeah, I mean what I say, coz I loved these movies for their comic elements, and not horror. I would wait with baited breath for the huge hairy ghost to appear, and wait breathlessly for him to stumble, or fall.. actually sometimes their masks would be so obvious, that one waited for the mask to obstruct their eyes, which often did. Witches who would howl and try scaring were completely oblivious to exposed lace under the skin outfits, and they would unceremoniously get caught in their own tatters and fall down the stairs with a thud! I could go on and on, but dear readers, let me jump on to my favorite movie amongst all I saw.

I had watched many a movie, till I saw the posters of this movie appear on all city walls. It was called “Paapi Guddi ka Papa Gudda”, which crudely translated would mean “ Devilish Doll’s Dad’s a Doll”. This magnum opus I guess, was much ahead of its times, like my elder bro (though for different reasons), and this I guess was the reason why it did not fare well at the box office those days. It was about a loving dad and his daughter, who move to a countryside home and get possessed without much ado. A series of exorcisms then begin, but not before the dad and the prodigal daughter have rid the countryside of a big part of the population. The duo, after dismembering their victims would treat them in some chemicals and stuff them and decorate their mantelpieces with these new fashioned dolls! I don’t remember who the cast and crew were, coz they were never heard about after the movie. Sometimes I think that many of these poor actors perish on the sets during the making of the movie for want of medical aid, or even food. But let me not digress dear reader, lets move on!

The movie was rated “R”, and I had to see it any cost. It was summertime and I convinced my parents that our school was taking the entire class to a special show for kids of the movie “Santa Comes, and How!” I then got my dad’s raincoat to make me look an adult and even bought a cigarette, just to gain entry. The readers can imagine a 13 year old midget, wearing dark glasses, cigarette in hand, and a long raincoat trailing behind me, as it does when you see models in Gucci evening gowns with white satin trailing them mopping the ramp! I was accosted by the checker at the cinema gate and was about to be dishonored when he comfortingly said,” No smoking inside the hall please”! I was so relieved, I thought I was about to be caught, but my clever camouflage was a hit. I coolly chucked the cigarette behind me with a style that could beat Chuck Norris, and saw a big hole made immediately in my dad’s raincoat trailing behind me! Thankfully the raincoat was so oversized that I could just turn around and stomp out the fire, still I had to carefully cut and alter the length later so that no one suspected; except my confused dad who kept remarking, ”Strange! Never saw a raincoat shrink before!”

The movie was a real laugh riot.. for me I mean. The stupid audience was so scared that they turned the hall upside down shrieking, howling and shouting. These elders, I thought, have no self control. Could they not just enjoy the movie quietly? I was just getting into the story and waiting for those fun moments to appear when the man beside me suddenly shrieked. I turned around to see him staring at the usher who had come out of nowhere and beamed his flashlight on the poor guy’s face! After a minute or two, when the cute cuddly bear type ghosts made an appearance, a much louder shriek was heard, which got everybody’s attention. It was the usher himself this time, having beamed his torch on some woman, and getting scared himself. The lady was not pleased at all, but I must admit that she could have done with a little more make-up before venturing into some public place; its just not right to scare people, right?

 The movie was so entertaining!! The dad had already turned into a monster and was now attired in a hairy suit, strings of which were visible behind his neck. At one juncture, while accosting a victim, the string got stretched, and he was just about to gasp for air and scream himself, when the editor played a spoilsport and ruined the fun. Well, more would come I thought, and it did. In one scene, while chasing a victim, who, God alone knows why, was strolling in a cemetery at the dead of night, the monster dad clearly tripped over a pointed stone and one could see painful emotions on his face, which the editor also could not conceal. He even swore badly, as I was good at reading lips, but the words were not dubbed later I guess. The daughter too had her shares of bloopers, when in one particular scene she had to shout to scare a victim in a bathroom, she accidentally peeked in the mirror and shrieked loudly! Obviously her make-up as a ghost was so convincing that even she got scared of her own reflection! But nothing could be hid from my eyes though, coz I always had an eye for details since the day I was born. I even remember the soft, pink fingers of the nurse who delivered me, but that dear reader is another essay material! When the dad was first brought to justice by the local folk, the scene involved a lot of ketchup and sauce, and many juniors standing behind could be seen licking their lips with their tongues! The dad was laid in a coffin and a makeshift priest was to exorcise the dirty soul. The priest looked really holy in his white robes, except for flashy red jockey shorts highlighted under his raiment. His bald head showed from under the wig, which was secured around his egg-shaped head with a lace, supposed to be skin colored, which conflicted a good three shades with his skin and one end of which was clearly visible hanging behind his ear and annoying him no end! And when he was to hammer the wooden stake in the guy’s chest, the small piece of wood that shielded the man’s chest and was directly under the stake, showed, and even slipped when the hammer-blow fell, and the devil in dad winced in pain! It was so genuine that the poor guy hit the roof without the aid of any special effects and landed back in the coffin with a thud, and the dad thankful to the crew for not providing a metal stake!

The audience shrieked and wailed throughout, and when the lights finally came on, many more shrieks were heard! One woman shrieked seeing the man sitting next to her chewing her stole! The man shrieked seeing the woman shriek! An old guy screamed discovering he had chewed his umbrella handle! Another screamed at his popcorn spilled in his lap, not out of fear, come on! The popcorn was buttered and he had ruined his best pair, that’s why! Another woman shouted wildly, discovering that the man to her left was not her husband, and whose hand she had been holding throughout! Her husband who was seated to her right, was slapped by the man on his right, whose hand he was holding, thinking it to be some woman’s! There were even more screams as a lady had sneaked in with her cat, which went berserk listening to the shrieks of the audience. Two girls who were my age, shrieked on seeing their parents seated next to them!

In short it was wholesome entertainment! The movie was good fun, with plenty of gaffes and bloopers for me. And what a surprise, I even found my English teacher while leaving the cinema hall. Yes Sir, I had seen you that day, and I do recognize your wife, who looked quite different that day at the movie. Yes Sir, I do know your address and your phone number Sir. Hope you enjoyed the essay Sir. And just to mention Sir, I need a minimum of 80 percent marks in this essay to pass my English test. I know you won’t let me down!!

A Postman (Grade 2 essay)

1. A Postman is the person who brings us letters from our friends and relatives.

                                             He also brings us other important documents like our Exam Admit Card returned by the sender with a stamp ”Address Incorrect”; letters which should never reach our parents’ hands, or vice-versa; bank loan rejection letters; mortgaged property attachment notices; court summons and the like. They are also notorious for delivering love-letters to wrong addresses thereby causing widespread turmoil, in an otherwise civil society. Outwardly he seems to be very innocent, but a deeper Freud-like analysis would reveal many other traits, often attributed to some great Marquis and Counts, often coming close to De Sade and Vladimir Dracula.

2. He wears a faded Khaki uniform and carries a mailbag over his shoulder.

                                                           The color originally was darker when our Postman was given this uniform by the department; but ever since it  faded a shade or two, he realized the true potential of the faded khakis, if you know what I mean. If the reader is an Indian, and has been to a Police Station, he would know that the faded dress of a postman is akin to that of the police. Our postman, taking all the advantage of this drawback, had arranged a beret, and with the aid of a toy-pistol, worked overtime at nights to fleece passers-by on the road on the city outskirts, making a fortune, that he dumped in his mail-bag; which, even while posing as a policeman, he carries over his shoulder.

3. He goes home to home, delivering letters on a bicycle.

                                                         Not any more, since our postman has now ventured into shares, stocks and broking; apart from his vocation as a mailman. He is hooked on to intra-day trading and seldom leaves his house and laptop. When the letters accumulate too much, he asks his son to do the needful, who comes every fortnight, on a new bike! He never had a bicycle, as far as I remember, and some inquisitive old folks even found out that the bicycle given by the department was now the proud property of a local pawn-broker, who had loaned him 500 in lieu of that. Further, whenever he is free from trading, he takes a break from his tiring profession as  a postman, and visits the Far-East to get relaxing massages and rest-cures.

4. He often reads out and writes letters for the old and illiterate people.

                                                         I don’t remember him doing that, but all old folks of our locality can vouch for that. His reading the letters was suicidal for many, as he seldom took notice of whom the letter was intended for. Also, he could be easily swayed by the lure of a crisp currency note, and would read out letters meant for someone else. The readers can well imagine what catastrophe this action can bring about. He also wrote letters for many poor souls who couldn’t write, or were too old to see properly. Our city was literate, and nearly everyone could sign his name in his own hand at least. He wrote so zealously for them, that one could literally see those people weeping.. not at that time, come on, later! Because as a postman he also carried little stamps, called revenue stamps, and made everyone sign the letters he wrote, which they all later came to know were deeds, as they say in legal terms, making over all their belongings to our dear postman! Those deeds, were rather his misdeeds, that made him a fortune in no time.

5. He is very hard-working and works in all weathers: summer, rains and winter.

                                                     No weather could stop him doing him his duty; he would neither come in summer, nor winter or rains. But, I still would say that he is hard-working, coz as they say, ”when the going gets tough, the tough get going”. So, when the letters would accumulate and he would not have his son at his disposal, he wouldn’t see what weather it was. He would dutifully carry the load, and dump it in an old well outside the city. After all, what’s the use of old letters anyway, huh?

6. We all feel happy to see the postman and wait for him eagerly.

                              We do feel happy to see him, whenever he’s out on bail or parole. Come on, justice is there in this world. When he’s in jail, we wait for him eagerly to be released, so that people can have him (and justice) in their hands, and avenge themselves.

The Night Before An Examination

                                           It was the night before my examinations. I was appearing for my matriculation examination, for the third time. Come on, even intelligent people fail their exams too!! It was that “butterflies in stomach” Part-3 once again. Not for me, hah.. am talking about my parents. God knows why they took so much of tension about my exams. I had warned my parents of Diabetes and Ulcers way back, but they would never listen. I even asked them to emulate my carefree attitude when it came to exams, but they were one ignorant lot who would not heed good advice. Anyways, I was cool as a cucumber, because this time I had decided that it would not be the Season Three of some failed daily soap. I had made all fool-proof arrangements to pass this time. My dedication, patience, perseverance and persistence would definitely see me through my exams this time around. Day in and day out, I had sacrificed all my useless activities that kept me unduly busy; computer games, movies, parties, discos.. everything! I gave up everything as soon as the exam time table was announced. All my energy and efforts were now aimed at one single objective: getting the question paper somehow!!

Patience is always rewarded, so are genuine efforts and dedication. I was lucky enough to discover a gem of a person in one of my class-mates, whom I revered as my senior, coz he had failed thrice in the same exam. He would have made one hell of a statesman beating even Dr. Kissinger I must say. Well, coming back to our topic, he was generous enough to share that highly secret piece of information, though for a paltry fee, which unfortunately was monumental for a person like me. Robbing a bank would have been an easier option, but I decided to settle for something less adventurous, like that of selling my father’s diamond wedding ring, which he would often take off whenever he would be cross with my mum, and forget about it. The paper was finally in my hands, and so were the answers, all clearly micro-copied and ready to be penned down after retrieving them from my clothes in the examination hall. All was set, but one huge question still remained unanswered; how do I spend my night before the exams?

I decided to go to a movie, but I didn’t want to lose my only father. I mean the poor guy would have suffered a stroke hearing my decision so I opted against it. Disco was next to be discarded. Bars, a great alternative though, were out of question too, for reasons obvious to the examiner here am sure, right sir? So I decided to take just a leisurely walk around my quiet neighborhood, and call it quits for the day. It was around 9 in the night when I was astounded to see a queer machine humming and revving around the corner of the street, with lights that gave the impression of a flying discotheque. Well, as my prudent readers have guessed already, it was indeed a UFO!! Am sure other people would have turned around and fled the scene; but yours truly was sort of a subtly more adventurous kind of soul. So I tried peeping into the a window that seemed very inviting and was amused to see two midgets playing cards and drinking some other planet’s ale. As I watched in rapt attention, they took notice of me, and before I could respond, I was giving them company in the small, cramped little flying bowl. They tried a lot to communicate, but my E.T. was terrible.. as terrible as their English. And they had like flangers in their vocal chords, which I must say are a nice change for a few minutes, but imagine having that voice effect like that in your spouse and you would know what I mean.

Before we could even exchange pleasantries, they had fled the scene, with me on board! I was like frustrated and annoyed and angered! Not about leaving my place, come on! I could not collect my stuff, that’s why! Anyways, we landed soon for a refill of their ship which they located in a huge heap outside the city-limits. I never thought that even manure mixed with champagne could fuel a UFO, but then, as they say, strange are God’s doings. I was looking forward to a relaxed weekend with these chaps, or maybe a few months of fun and frolic, just when Mother Nature intervened in an un-called-for fashion. I always knew beans disagreed with my digestion but my Mum never agreed. The beans along with the cabbage I had had for dinner worked up a volcano in my stomach.. a volcano of gas though. As the gas found vent and thought itself lucky, little did it know that there was no further vent out from this small tin can! The two mariners of yonder space suddenly panicked.. they first checked for fuel leaks, but obviously as I already told you that manure was one important part of their fuel. Finding everything perfect, except for the foul odor, they finally turned towards me and discussed some important matter amongst themselves. One of them then came with a spray can, maybe a room freshener I guess, and sprayed it. Before I could react, I was fast asleep. It was some sort of sedative spray. When I came back to my senses, I was lying in some strange land which I had never seen before.

As I got up to explore the surroundings, I made out that it was more like some desert. I had long-distance calling enabled on my cell so I whipped it out to at least call my folks back home and inform them. But, the cell company beeped back in my ear: Dear Customer, we have permitted you only long-distance calling, not inter-planetary calling. Kindly get in touch with our international head for getting this feature activated!

Damn, so I was on another planet!! Now I knew the meaning of three Suns setting in the sky when I came to my senses! I had thought maybe it was my usual hang-over! Oh Heavens! How do I go back? Maybe not to my house, but to some inhabited land which would be fun, hmm? And here I was, in midst of nowhere. But God had pity on me very soon. No, I did not find my way back home, but I was instead, joined presently by a group of tin-people who seemed neither like humans, or dolls or robots, but they definitely were one of them. They were fun people coz they danced in my presence a funny dance and carried me to a factory like place where many more like them were waiting with long screw-drivers in their hands. A very enterprising lot I thought, but not when they advanced to dismember me with those tools, to get a fairer idea of what lay beneath my innocent exteriors! I ran to save my skin, literally, coz they would have skinned me first and jumped from an open window. As I fell, I remembered the fall of all the great things; like the Great Holy Roman Empire, which was neither Great, nor Holy, nor Roman and nor entirely an Empire when it fell. But that was not my concern dear reader at that time. I was falling in inter-stellar space.

The fall was smooth, but very long. Come on, you don’t expect me to fall from some remote planet with a thud, do you? While falling, as if in slow-motion, I passed many galaxies, all many many light years far from our own, some of them so far that I thought why the scientists have not thought of renaming the distances as heavy years, instead of light years. Anyways, I was busy looking around because I could not anything else but fall, and watch the view. On my way, I saw a terrible place where all old folks were praying with beads and rosaries; quiet streams bubbling, green lawns, moving around with halos around themselves.. great for nights though, huh, carry your own light? But the overall ambience gave the impression of Hell I guess. And I saw real heaven too, with people making merry playing pranks on others; they would lift some guy and dip him in boiling oil, make barbecues of them, marinate and microwave them, blend them in huge mixers-blenders and even flush them down a john too. How innovative these guys are getting I thought! I caught a glimpse of an old man who lead the team; he had a white turban on his forehead, bearded and had two bullet marks on forehead. His clothes were dripping wet, as if he had Bin Laden, oops, I mean, as if he had Been Laiden to rest in some watery grave!!

Well, I was falling, and force of gravity varies from planet to planet I guess, so finally when I was drawn to the gravity of our dear planet Earth, I was sucked in with great force, so much so that , my clothes turned to ash and I plummeted down with the speed of a rocket. I was sure to die when I touched ground so my instincts made me shout out loud, and in a split second, I landed with a bang.. on my bed! My clothes were okay, so was I. The alarm clock was cooing loudly to wake me up. It was thankfully still early for my examination. It was a night I still remember to this day!!

My Summer Vacations

Like every kid, I too had wild dreams of vacationing at exotic locations. I could see myself on some golden beach surrounded by beauties rubbing suntan lotion on my muscular back. I would surf the ocean on a skimpy board with killer piranhas and blue whales chasing me. Or I would be at some hill retreat, sitting by a fireplace, sipping gin and tonic and enjoying the view of clouds traversing the valley.. but I was only 10 years of age! I was still 10 when my parents thought it fit to go first on a vacation. Not with me of course, alone! Can you imagine? I mean, how trivial and mean of them to dump a kid and have fun themselves? I tried all tricks, maneuvers and pressures to make them change their mind. But I knew they would not. I was a step son to my dad.

Yea, if you think that’s sad, let me tell you that I was a posthumous child. My father was dead before I was born. Lucky chap!! I was posthumous, and he was posthumor.. I mean he was post his humor to have married my mom. You know he had been married to her just 3 months when I was conceived, and when he departed from this mundane world it was just moments after I was seeded in my mother’s womb. What surprised me was how the poor soul managed to tolerate that woman for three long months? I mean, hats off to my step-dad who is himself a mean machine to tolerate her for so long!! But then, why digress when we have so much of fun to have here!!

So, the reason my parents gave for not taking me along on a vacation with them was that they hadn’t been anyplace after their marriage, and this they thought would be an opportune moment to consummate their relationship and renew their wedding vows. In short, when one plans a vacation which is supposed to be a honeymoon; well, three is definitely a crowd. But, I was one tough nut to crack and after sundry little episodes of what seemed like planned accidents, they thought it prudent to include me on the trip. I would have set up spy-cams everywhere, but, alas dear reader, those days were technologically so backward.. I wonder how mean people like me survived those days!!

The big day came and we all boarded a train with rickety wooden seats and windows with no grills. I must add these windows were quite a fright for little kids like me, who were always in the peril of being thrown out by their parents!! The atmosphere though was quite good and some of the people behaved in a very friendly manner. I was just a kid, but I could still interpret this feeling coz some people immediately got in a brawl with my step-dad; just the same manner in which his friends did. So I concluded that they must’ve been very friendly. The journey was sort of uneventful, except for a few minor incidents, like a child falling out of a window, the coach catching fire from an ignored cigarette stub, a few teddy-bear type cute people breaking in at night with a Santa Claus type as their leader whom all passengers called dacoits! Anyways, all’s well that ends well. The journey ended and I was rather overwhelmed to see the travelers’ response; most of them crouching and going down on their knees, hands up towards the Heavens and thanking God.. some of them even wept.. must’ve done so out of joy I guess!!

My parents then took me to a small city there, to the house of one of my fathers’ friends. He was once his school mate and I don’t know more about him. There the next morning it dawned upon me that my father, was my “father” in the real sense of the term. He had abandoned me!! Can you imagine?? They had left on their vacation, and I was to spend those days with his friend’s family. I thought of calling up the Human Rights groups and organize a press conference for media and newspapers. But, alas my readers, this was way back in those glorious days when the fourth pillar was rather non-existent. So, I was left with no option but to silently endure my sojourn there. Tears welled up in my eyes.. No!! Not at my own plight, but thinking of this poor, happy family that was to endure me.

My new family was either too impressed with the family planning program or were perhaps too lazy as they had but one happy kid. The small family was just the opposite of mine. It was happy, content and satisfied, whereas mine was like the Head Quarters of the Allied forces during WW II. My father’s position was akin to that of the Dalai Lama in India.. I mean, he was respected, but hardly had any powers to exercise, nor anyone listened to him. Anyways, dear reader, I am a conscientious student and do not wish to either spark a political debate here, nor to profess my political ideology. In fact, at that age my only political ideology was to see my own interest, which I later discovered was the biggest and the best political strategy. Anyways, this new family was all I ever asked for. The couple loved each other, the child was an angel, and the home; paradise personified.

It was just my second day there, when boredom took the better of me and while playing “postman-postman” with the kid, I delivered a bunch of letters in the neighborhood, which I found wrapped in a pink satin ribbon, and which I painstakingly recovered from an old chest with a weak, rusty lock that came off easily. The lady was not amused at all, especially when she was visited by many of her neighbors in the evening in the presence of her husband. How silly women can be sometimes, huh? What need was there to preserve old, sodden letters of ex-paramours? And how wrong people are when they say that addictions are a fault of youth? That man was in his forties, but that evening he drank for the first time, and could not even hold it. And it was not his fault, coz he had tasted alcohol for the first time, so he was not accustomed to it. He was, no doubt wrong, in bashing up that lady black and blue though. It was thankfully godsend that he finally puked and fell unconscious.

He was better the next day, but slightly confused as I felt, maybe coz of the after effects of alcohol, as he forgot to carry his lunch-box with him the other day. Well, it was in fact the day after, coz now I recall that he had slept for more than 24 hours after that drunken bout. So, the Good Samaritan that I was, I offered help to his wife to deliver the lunch-box myself. But she too was sort of guilty I guess, coz she insisted on doing that chore herself. To make things easy for her, I tried to make it less inconvenient for her and advised her to visit the grey and brown house down the lane, as she was very likely to find him there instead of his office. She was very jolly natured because she laughed it off, but not when I told her that I had followed her hubby and saw that he visits that house before going to office. Jealousy, thy name is woman!! This was said by someone, I don’t remember who, but well said nonetheless. Even before she had gone there, one could see a sea of emotions on her face. If my dear readers ever see a sea, they would see the many colors the sea takes as you see. Well, the colors were the usual ones we often see in computer color palettes. But when I took her to that house in question, one could see even the “custom color palette” on her face, and some invisible hand mixing it and pressing cancel, and then trying hands at a new combination.

Never before had I seen such a commotion, God! My parents seemed like angels in comparison.. touch wood!! What ensued between them, was like the road-shows that one often sees promoting everything from Bikes to SIM cards; but dear reader, road-shows were unheard of in those days, and hence all bystanders were very amused seeing a road-show for the very first time. But, all good things come to an end, and what a pity, they finally limped back to their home with me in their trail. They must’ve been more than tired I guess, because they did not sleep that night.

The kid was Casablanca personified, who was ready to lay down his life at his parents’ command. But I must say the parents too ought to respect the emotions and feelings of such kids. I am not being biased dear reader, I have proof!! Just because they caught him smoking hash was not reason enough to truss him up and beat him. He in fact did not even ask them for money; he was decent enough to take my advice and burgle it from the house next door. I sometimes fail to understand these parents!!

Well, my parents were summoned sooner than planned and I was sad to see my vacations end so abruptly, especially when I was just starting to enjoy myself. I was taken back and grounded for the next few weeks, until my vacation was officially over. But, I sure am looking forward to my next one, are you??

My First Day At School

I must thank the examiner for this topic, because it presupposes that kids, whatever age, would be geniuses enough to remember their first day at school. Well, I for sure was one, because I still vividly remember everything as it happened that fateful day; and wish it had never happened. Apart from my razor-sharp memory, another factor that helped me remember my first day at school was my age. Actually, I thought I’d never share this, but, I was around 10 when I was admitted formally to a school. Not that I had not been educated though; the village I hailed from, was perhaps the biggest school of all times. In no time had I mastered the art of smoking hash and playing cards.. Oh, c’mon, not for stakes!! Heavens damn me, we played only for lives!! I mean the stakes would be life, not money.. but that, is another story.

So, when my poor father was left with only two options, he decided to admit me to a school. Well, the other was to admit me to a juvenile delinquent home. At first the thoughts of doing away with my responsibilities were too lucrative for him, yet Satan got a battering from his pure soul that day I guess. How people change!! I was pretty sure that he would dump me off in that prison cell; but, destiny had another crueler prison designed for me!! So off to school I was.

The school boasted of a not so bad building, with many rooms; and I was kind of late on my very first day, and could not attend those daily morning prayers, that eventually became the best part of my student life. Come on, am not talking about the praying part. It was in these sessions that we could do just about anything, and that too, right under the nose of the Principal.

The Principal, Lord rest his soul, was reputed to be a very strict and stern gentleman, much to my surprise, because all the years that I spent there he would always request me, never order or instruct. A real gem you know.. a rare gem though. And a rather crude one too, on hindsight. He was the first soul I met on my first day. He was busy doing god knows what (though he claimed that he was taking rounds, whatever that would mean)! So there was I, in short knickers and a shirt, with a notebook under my arm, supporting my pants with the other, lest they unceremoniously depart, making a mockery of me on very first day. He confronted me, yes, because it was his first day with me too, otherwise later he never thought of confrontation, bless him. He was quick to gauge my attitude, aptitude and all that stuff. I was packed off to a boring looking class, with boring looking kids; the only relief was the teacher who was really striking in her looks.

I was asked to introduce myself, which I adamantly refused. After all, how do u expect me to do what the others haven’t? So, the others took turns introducing themselves. When it was my turn to reciprocate, the dreaded knickers slipped down to my ankles, and the class roared into laughter. It was humiliating, really, very humiliating!! Not for me, hah! For them. Because when they saw the reason of my pants slipping down, they were rather aghast. Shocked too. Actually the 0.38 bore Colt that was in my pocket slipped out when my pants fell. Well, that is another sweet little story that we don’t have time here for. Suffice it to say, they all became good friends of mine in no time. In fact, in a split second after they saw the black beauty slip out of my pants.

The teacher though was a tougher nut to crack. I mean she would never be impressed with stuff that impressed other girls. She was rather old I guess, for me that is. Yet, that was another fort to be conquered, but dearest reader, lure me not into the whistling willows with cool breeze and a cooler stream bubbling by, with me and ahem!!

The rest of the teachers I met myself. It was simple. I just sauntered into the staff room and asked each his name. They  were all nice chaps; rather nosy because they kept staring at the Colt’s muzzle protruding from under my shirt. I inspected the Principal’s office too; it was very boring with lots of fat books dumped on shelves, some shields, trophies and that usual old stuff often associated with the offices of people called intellectuals(by god knows whom) and morons by people like us. I would have formed a really ill-opinion of his office, had it not been for the innocuous looking , brown-covered books, stashed away in a corner of his table drawer. They seemed so harmless; wrapped in brown, as if they housed many pages of boredom. But curiosity got the better of me and it was quite refreshing to see those books peppered with pictures of the female species. The discovery helped me to retain good grades for the small period I attended that school.

The Principal, a short, stocky, murky looking creature could have passed off as a countryside fisherman, had it not been for his coat and hat. But, as they say, appearances are always deceptive. No!! I mean to say that all his cladding and shodding still gave the impression of a fisherman albeit in stolen clothes! And, that he was not one for sure. That’s why I say that appearances can be deceptive. He was in fact a genius of sorts! An artist; a midget Picasso type. My honorable readers would question the veracity of my claim here. I have proof, dear reader!! Apart from the colorful books in his drawer, out came an envelope which contained pencil and charcoal sketches, so arduously and painstakingly done in his own lecherous, stubby, sweaty hands! Yes sir! But like most of the art-works, it was rather impossible to decipher what actually was being portrayed. To the common eye, it seemed like primitive females sans clothes, in various stages of some strenuous exercise. How I wished I had studied Freud instead of Literature, but, but.. that question can be put today, not at that time when it was my first day at school!

The library and the labs were the worst of the lot, as one could easily see talent being stifled and choked there! One could thank the Heavens for the toilet though; the real creative arena, which boasted of artworks by umpteen little Vincis, Dalis and Picassos, who put in fact their real counterparts to shame when it came to drawing portraits! Some geniuses even sent the Great Bard himself seeking cover with their witty rhymes. What depth of perception, what imagery, what rhyme scheme!! This was the place! The great nursery that afforded a whiff of air (although a bit stinking to the prudes here) to the stifled little souls!!

The entire building was then scanned before I was interrupted by another teacher who beseeched me to attend a class. I reluctantly complied; not to oblige, but in hopes of finding something more captivating. Ah, Dame Luck! I could call you Lame Duck for all practical purposes. It was another killingly boring class. Twenty minutes down and I decided I had had enough, and got up to leave. The teacher, who was no stranger to the metal in my pants, offered to finish the class right there, which I must say I deeply appreciated. We moved into the playing grounds, where I was to meet my future Little John. Soon enough, after a customary brawl, I could single him out as the one who had punched, kicked and wrestled the maximum number of kids single- handed. He and I became fast friends; friends for life. He even thought of marrying off his sister with me when we had come of age. I had rainbow dreams of his petite, cute and pretty sister being my better half all day long. But, the dreams soon fell to the ground with a thud when he learnt about my secret affair; with his sister, and a dozen other girls. But, why talk here of that? Huh?

By midday I had decided that I would not be attending school the day after; and perhaps the week after, and, maybe many years after. It was just not cool!! So, today dear examiner, I am forced to write this essay as I am a correspondence student. God help you if I don’t get decent marks.

The Hobby My Mother Pursued (IGNOU exam 2011)

The words hobby and my mother do not actually fit in. You would know this better had you seen her or met her. My mother is a very homely lady, and very reserved and shy. She is what people call pious in the real sense of the term. All my life I saw her in our one-roomed house, huddled in a corner, drooping over a lit stove; sometimes suddenly stirring to life, to stoke the ebbing embers. She was married off at a relatively younger age than her peers, and was an urchin herself when I was born. Am 16, and she is around 32 now. But with all our non existent generation gap and my outgoing nature, we seldom had anything to share. All she would do all day long would be to either cook, or wash, or clean or just droop silently over the stove while we ate.

My father, Lord rest his soul, was an utterly ungrateful wretch ever born into the human species. All he was interested in was his dinner, which he demanded after coming home drunk daily. But all the good food that went with his drinks could not save his poor liver from crashing one fateful day. Well, that was another essay material , and no need of that here now. So coming back to my shy, reserved and pious mother, it often irked me that she would not share any of her thoughts with me. Neither her likes, dislikes, stories of childhood, and least of all, her hobbies.

This attitude was discernible even before my father left for his Heavenly abode, without even packing his basic stuff, and the shiny bottle of ale that he grudgingly had to bequeath to me. All my life I had fantasized about gulping that shiny fairy down my thirsty throat, but alas dear reader, this too is the scope of another essay and not this one. So to cut a long story short, my mother was reserved and would not share her innermost thoughts with me or my father.

It was this peculiar shyness and reserved behavior that set off the Sherlock Holmes in me. I would try to decipher her thoughts in that one-roomed house while she sat looking point blank at some wall. After a few days I understood that it was of no avail. The Holmes in me was about to ingloriously commit suicide when one day she sought permission from my father to go visit her parents. My father, the wretch that he was, denied her, and my poor mother, the genius that she was, asked him again when he was dead drunk and got the permission. Let me enlighten you dearest reader, that this was an occurrence which presented itself every month, because she visited her parents every month for a couple of days.

God!! What torture it was to have my father alone in the house after she used to go to her parents. I would cook for him, wash, clean and get beaten too. Many a time I came close to murdering him, and one night, when circumstances were propitious and an iron rod was close enough, I had come close to avenging myself. But, I don’t wish to digress, even though I know how my reader is dying to read about it. But its not allowed in the scope of this essay. So, coming back to my mother’s vacation, I decided, or rather the Holmes in me decided to follow her, and find out something more about her.

Her parents lived in another village, not far from ours, and she used to walk alone when visiting them. That day, while following her, I was shocked to see her take another by-lane, which surely would not have reached her intended destination. She was careful enough to glance everywhere to make sure that no one was following her. For a moment even I thought whether it was proper to follow her like that or not? Maybe she was just trying to find a suitable place to answer the call of nature, who knows? But the evil Holmes urged me on. Thereupon, after a while we came to a clearing where canopies of a traveling show were set up. My mother draped the veil of her sari more cautiously and entered the main enclosure. We both, that is me and Holmes followed suit. She had disappeared into a tent from the stage door, from where the performers enter. I tried entering but even Holmes was unceremoniously denied permission. That day I came to know that even Holmes could be cowed down by an illiterate but hefty looking mustached person who was willing to throw anyone out if need be.

Well, Holmes and I took a ticket (just one ticket of course) and entered the makeshift arena. After a while of loud rusty music the next act was announced in a rather crude language to the loud jeers and cheers of the filthy, perspiring and sweating onlookers. I was not shocked to see a young lady in colorful leotards entering with a bottle in her hand containing god knows what. She set herself in midst of the stage and lighted a match and took a good swig from the bottle. Must be enjoying herself I chuckled to myself. God!! That bottle had kerosene and the woman began billowing out huge clouds of fire from her mouth!! The crowd went mad and cheered wildly. In all this commotion I could make out that this woman resembled my mother a lot!! Oh my God!! Was it her?? No, possibly not.

But she was, and this had been her hobby all these years!! I was waiting for the show to get over to confront her, ask her.. I felt betrayed sort of. Anyways, suddenly the whole tent was on fire!! People were running helter-skelter to save their lives. An accident had happened! My mother was rushed to the local soothsayer in a critically burnt condition but she could not be saved!! God! Could you not be more merciful?? I could not even know the reason behind her strange hobby. Well, life can show us anything, and yet not give an explanation for it; this was the lesson I learnt that day. And although I had vowed never to bring this misfortune to light, this exam forced me to divulge it. God forgive me.