“Traveling through time is a fascinating journey. The one thing you never regain is your lost second throughout our life” my self piqued. “Are you ready to join hands with me while we travel back forty years” self asked for which my only reply would be an emphatic “yes”.
December 16, 1969, 12.10 am the would be assistant regional manager after 40 years of a 133 year old publication was born at the stroke in a remote village named UKKARAM in erode district. The irony is his mother was brought straight from a movie hall at the village where she got pains and a 3 mile drive in a bullock cart from movie hall to hospital is more than enough for a normal delivery. I just came into existence where no one has there to rejoice except my maternal uncle, and my grand mother. My father was far away at erode and due to visit the next day. “You got your interest in movies from your birth dear. It is no wonder you are fond of movies till this minute” my self needled me. “You will be surprised to know that your father was also watching a movie at erode at the time of the delivery. Like father like you” my self guffawed.
“Have you ever thought about your real birth and what was your possessions, place of delivery, who was your nurse maid, who was the doctor who helped in giving birth to you, how much pain your mother must of have undergone” my self quipped. “Most of us don’t buddy, so you need not worry about those things. 90 out of 100 people will say no if you asked this question” my self assured. “Those things are seemed small or never mattered to you now, but for those small things you pure existence in the world now, itself become questionable isn’t it.?
“Living a forgettable life is something everyone can do. Dying unforgettable is the thing should everyone crave for but only few could able to attain it is that right?” I asked my self. “Well said man, well said” my self with a pride in its voice. “Now you are slowly entering into the groove. Which part of the life you lived in the past 40 years looked greener to you even now” my self asked me. “The life I lived for the first 15 years” I replied with a tinge of sadness evitable in my tone. Those 15 years of school life still make me smile, laugh, gives me goose pimples, ecstacy and bring me tears. See my eyes grew moist and tear drops are ready to drop…
“Then I wanted you to do a visualization for my sake” my self prodded me “just bring back the pleasant memories, love, hate, hatred, anger, jealousy of the first 15 years of your existence in the visualization and we will talk later” my self said in a very soothing voice, took a back seat made me relaxed and enjoy my rebirth comfortably.
There I was in a small 3 wheel cycle with my hair oiled and combed in a scooter crop, riding the cycle so fast from pillar to pillar of our house with a dryiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnng sound causing enough agony to the inmates of the house shout with horror on my speed. Whether they concerned about my inevitable fall or the damage could have happened to their ankles, toes, butts, food prepared and ready to be served I am not aware. But they were alarmed and that made my dryiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing crescendo to a new decibel level.
My grand fathers’ biggest task every day was to get me ready for the school across the street and every other person in the street could have corrected the time as 8.30 when my siren started negating the school experience like every other child. “haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa iyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyooooooooooooooo vidu vidu vidu “ are the only phrases I used from LKG to UKG. My grandpa surely deserved the highest civilian award for bravery and indeed he performed the task of dropping me at school and picking me up, with admirable efficiency for more than 2 years till I got my fondness developed to Geetha Teacher who in turn fond of my cheeks, very cushion like surface to try her slap. Three slaps hard enough, is enough for me to realize she is not of the type who could surrender to my muffings and cryings. The realization along with girl friends of age 3 and above enthused me to embrace… wait wait not the friends but the school life.
“Hold on a minute…will that ever struck to you at that point of time that you become this and you will do this, you love this and you hate this” my self interrupted me and asked.
“Don’t be idiotic” I asked my self “how come a small kid knew he is making mistakes unless it was told to” “See the point. As a child you dint know you were making mistakes but still made it unknowingly. Now you are 40 and still making mistakes knowingly that nullify the fact that you are 40 and you have fully grown and an adult now, isn’t that right? My self asked me smiling after seeing my cheeks and eyes turn red. “Jump to the teen age it is getting late and I don’t want to bore the readers of this blog too” my self mooted.
Khaki half pant ( drawer is a crude word so I stylized it as half pant ) and a white shirt with a cloth bag with a long rope like handle neatly hanged in the middle of the head with bag touched my back and moved up and down massaging my back during my 4 kilometers walk from house to school. Both of my hands are busy as one is with a thooku contained (an aluminium tiffin box with a handle) consisting of rasam saadham, and other with hand in hand with my friend lived near by. My menu never changed too often 5 days in a week I took rasam rice as Saturday and Sunday were holidays I ate the same in a plate that is the only difference.
Lunch time is the time we exchange our eateries as five of us sat together when shared equally we all get a square meal of different varieties with no family aware of as sharing food with others especially other community considered a taboo at our home of which we five are not aware. Jayaraman, kalyanaraman, muralidharan, hafizur rehman, and yours truly are the pancha pandavas in question.
Knowingly or unknowingly I have developed a fondness on studies and never gone below the 5th rank through out my schooling which the other four or opposed to. “daai, it is not right on your part gunda! Play while you play, play while you read is our policy you are breaking the tradition that cause headaches to us as our parents started pointing towards you and claimed see he is also your friend and roaming with you guys but he outscored you every exams. Who is clever him or you. Rehman claimed I think this is an insult to you and I cant tolerate my friend get insulted, hafizur rehman declared emphatically.
Knew well of his intentions my answer was always a smile when someone gets angry of me and the habit continuing till day.
“Daai jayamalini, என்னடா உன் நினைப்பு, பாக்கறது ஜெயமாலினி படம். படிக்கறது சிலப்பதிகாரமா? எங்களப் பாத்தா சும்பனுங்க மாறி இருக்கா?
Jayaraman used to call me jayamalini not that I am an ardent jayamalini fan but he loved my thighs and pinching it hard and make my eyes welled with tears was his hobby. You people don’t know how much I craved to reach the 9th standard where the full pants made compulsory. My craving was to save my thighs rather than become manly after wearing the pair of trousers. Incidentally all the five got separated and placed in different sections according to our own skills by the dumb school teachers or dumb is the word described best of us.
How we all missed each other can’t be described and when we five met recently two years back the days of rejoice returned aplenty. With Jayaraman became a hardware shop owner, kalyanaraman became an accountant in a textile shop, Muralidharan became an auto driver, hafizur rehman became a mechanic, me as you all know. However the occupation took a back seat when the 8th standard alumnae assembled. Though our bodies aged we turned 13 on that day.
The last day of our schooling was memorable to me till this moment. We all in SSLC, still in touch, grown from strength to strength or weakness to weakness we don’t know. We all assembled under a neem tree at our mammoth school compound waiting for the mark lists to be given with 2 failed ( names withheld due to various reasons ) 3 passed. I got my mark list and my head started spinning like a giant wheel and took a 800 meet lap shouting hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo as I scored a three digit ( yes centum ) in mathematics and my total percentage is 83 which was double than what the other two passed got. But the strangest thing is the other four also joined me in my victory lap never minded about their own score and their real joy was evident and unadulterated.
ஐயரே சூப்பர்டா! நீயாவது இவ்வளவு மார்க் எடுத்தியே. ரொம்ப சந்தோஷம்டா. We all hugged each other and promised to meet the next year as plus one students while other two prepare for October supplementary.
Fate is too cruel and that was last day we all met and together and it took more than 26 years to join together sans one person and only to realize how education ruined and change all our lives. None of us were spared and had our own share of misfortunes, losses some are irreparable, or irrevocable, full of tearful episodes, nothing but sorrows and sorrows.
“Hey stop it man! Don’t go and delve in that part of life again” my self stopped me from my visualization. “It is better to keep the sorrow in a corner of the heart and start moving. Other wise you will get stuck and become stationary. Let the adversities and sorrows act as a fuel to ignite the fire in the belly and give us enough strength and vitality to move fast, faster and fastest in the competitive scenario” my self advised. “If you have negative qualities like, hate, hatred, anger, jealousy, envy etc channelise all those qualities and pool the collective power and show it in your performance or work” my self told me “I will give it in writing your success cannot be stopped by anyone or any cause if you do this” my self retorted. “ok shall we move to a dangerous path to tread, your personal plus and minus, positives and negatives, good and bad, luck and misfortunes?” my self’s question made me go deep into my thinking once again….
To be continued…