Chippy

I cannot give a very clear account of Chippy's early life. All that I am in a position to say is that he was born in London, spent several months of his puppyhood in Scotland, and then came out to India with a Major and spent a very happy summer in a hill station. He might well have stayed with the Major, seen something of Peshawar, Quetta, and Delhi, and returned home with that good man, but for a silly little Pekingese. It was the pet of the Major's wife, and Chippy did not like him. One day when no one was about, Chippy forces the puny fellow to realize what he thought of him for living on a lady's lap and eating special biscuits; but the little fellow lost his life in the process. Honestly, Chippy did not intend to kill him; he only wanted to give him a good shake—a thing that could not have killed a mouse. No one was more surprised than Chippy when the little fellow fell down and did not move. The Major's wife became hysterical, and the Major, a devoted husband, easily concluded that Chippy had rabies. He decided to shoot him through the brain next morning. At this stage an Indian friend of the Major, who did not believe in rabies, offered to take away Chippy. Chippy stayed with this gentleman for some time and then drifted on to Mysore, with the Major's friend's brother, Swami. And no dog could have wished for a better master.

Swami and Chippy shared the same room in the house. Swami and Chippy always went out together. Chippy was almost a member of the Champion Tennis Club. Every evening he went there with his master, waited till his master settled down to a good set, and then quietly slipped out and explored all the lanes nearby. There were gangs of brown dogs and black dogs of uncertain colours, lounging in every square and crossing, challenging all newcomers. Chippy bit and was bitten, tore and was torn, before he could establish his right to wander where he liked. There was nothing very special to attract him to that part of the town; all that he wanted was a place to wander about while his master was playing. The game was, perhaps, dull to watch. One was not allowed to chase the ball and retrieve it. And why should these street-loafers question a decent dog's movements? Chippy had to shed several mouthfuls of blood and before he could gain citizenship in those lanes.

After tennis Swami usually attended some lecture or debate n the College. Chippy never missed a single meeting. He climbed the gallery in the lecture hall, took a seat beside Swami, and never stirred till the vote the thanks was proposed. After the meeting, Chippy went home, had his plateful of bone and rice, and went out for an hour or two to meet his old friends and sweet-hearts. He returned at night, slept under his master's cot, and woke him up early in the morning by his cold nose to the sleeper's cheek.

On the whole Chippy led a very happy and contented life till one day Swami brought into the house another dog. Chippy would not have objected o another dog as such, but what he objected was that this dog was short.

It could not be said that Chippy was of an ungenerous disposition, but he hated short dogs. One might notice a hint of this prejudice very early in the Pekingese affair. It was Chippy's habit, whenever he was out, to knock down and scratch and bite all the short dogs that he met on the way. And now he was to have a fellow standing on the height of a two-month-old puppy, pitch dark in colour, and with a long loose tail, as a companion at home! Entering the hall one afternoon, Chippy saw the newcomer standing between his master's legs, and dashed forward with a growl. The newcomer would have gone the way of the Pekingese but for a timely kick from Swami, which sent Chippy rolling in the opposite direction. Chippy picked himself up and went out. He lapped a little water from under the garden tap, dug up his bone from the jasmine bed, went to the shady spot behind the garage, and lay down. Rolling the bone between his jaws, he reflected on the latest developments at home. One was evidently not permitted to scare off the newcomer. At this point, his master's voice reached him, calling, "Chippy! Chippy!" Chippy rose and went bounding towards him. He slackened his pace when he saw the short cur standing beside Master, held by a chain.

"Come on, Chippy, come here," cajoled Swami. Chippy went forward to him, meekly expressing as best as he could that he realized that he ought not to have gone at a dog standing between his master's legs, as if it were a street meeting. Master accepted the apology, stroked his coat, and held him close to the newcomer, which was squirming at the end of the chain. What a dreadful position! Master was insistent and went on saying, "Now be friends, come on, now you are a good boy", and so on and so forth; and Chippy actually had to wag his tail and give a nod.

In a short time the newcomer made himself quite at home. He invaded every favourite place of Chippy's in the house—he came and lounged under the sofa in the hall, sat at Master's feet in the room, stuck to Chippy's side during the mealtime, and even slept under Master's cot at night. There was no getting away from him. Chippy bore his company for some time and then gradually ceased to go into the house. He spent his tine, when he was at home, in the shady spot behind the garage. Let the short cur gambol and strut in the house as much as he liked, but he was not going to have Chippy's company. The only consoling feature in the whole business was that Chippy still retained the honour of going out with the master, because the other was too puny to trot beside Masters bicycle.

The puny fellow had the impudence one day to sidle up to Chippy, more or less hinting round the house. Since no one was about, Chippy frowned and bit him a little. That ought to make the dwarf understand that he was presumptuous. This no doubt taught the little fellow his place, but he had the meanness, when Master was there, to behave as if Chippy and he were the thickest of friends in the world. In such a situation, Chippy could not very well bare his teeth and growl. So that when the shirt fellow played with his ears or teased his tail, Chippy merely turned away his head and tried to think of other things; or if its attentions became too insistent, Chippy rose and left the place.

Almost a fortnight after the arrival of the newcomer, one afternoon, Chippy lay chewing his bone in the shady spot behind the garage, when he was startled out of his wits to see the newcomer standing before him. The newcomer had not discovered the place till now, and now even this was invaded. Chippy stood up in mingled anger and despair. He would have had a fine excuse for choking the other if only he had tried to sidle up and make friends. But the newcomer, exhibiting a profound sense of time and place, looked at Chippy only for a moment, went past him in a business-like manner, lay down a few yards from him, and closed his eyes, Chippy was baffled! He could not chastise the other for just coming there. His last refuge was gone.

Chippy rose and trotted away from the house. He stopped just for a moment for a plunge in the stagnant water before the police-station.

He wandered about the town, without any aim or plan till nightfall, and then went in search of a place where he could get some food and shelter. He went to the market to try his luck there. But urchins flung stones at him, and there were the old dogs of the place who followed him, growling and grumbling, wherever he went. It was all most annoying. He left the market by the western gate, and stayed into the crazy lane behind it. This lane is a nest of ea and liquor shops, from which gramophones shriek into the night; the clatter of mincing meat on frying pans keeps the air lively. The lane has no electric lights, but gets a chequered illumination from the blinding petrol lamps hung inside the shops, with their patrons seated on iron chairs and packing cases. This part of the town is unknown to the average citizen of Mysore, but Chippy was drawn there by the smell of chops sizzling on stoves.

He stopped at the first shop. Somebody threw him a delicious bit of curry puff—and more came. The feast went on all night. People were generous to a fault here. There were of course dozens of other dogs, but there was no trouble since the territory did not belong to any gang in particular.

Chippy found everything so satisfactory that he decided to spend the rest of his life here—far away from the short cur. In about a week he had become the favourite of the place.

The glamour, however, lasted only for a week. Before the end of another week he had lost his appetite. He never touched the chops thrown at him. He really preferred to go without food. He hungered now for his master's company.

One morning Swami was solving a tough problem in mathematics when he felt a cold touch on his feet. He looked under the table and shrieked: "Rascal, where have you been all these days?" Chippy curved his hind half, tucked in his tail, and stood before him with bowed head. He had lost his white colour; his coat had acquired the colour of road dust, with patches of tea stains here and there. Someone had removed his thick leather collar: he was looking perfectly nude without it.

Swami dragged him out and turned the garden tap on him. Rubbing a piece of soap on his back, Swami informed him: "I am sure you will be miserable to here this: your little friend is gone. It seems he had been stolen and sold to us. His original owners traced him here and took him away yesterday. ... Do not worry: I'll get you another companion soon."

R. K. Narayan

Read a fellow blogger, Ashraf.

Those shiny, colored wings.

I ran chasing my dreams,

like butterflies they flew

those shiny, colored wings

I stepped in puddles,

bruised my knee.

Picked myself up

for those shiny, colored wings

The closer i got, 

the farthest it was.

still chased it in the sun,

those shiny, colored wings

Brought me to the cliff

and disappeared in the mist

too far had I run

for those shiny, colored wings

Some called me crazy, some

called me fool,

its okie if I am crazy,

those shiny, colored wings

I stood at the corner of the world

who said, its round ?

Couldn't go ahead, 

nor could I turn.

for those shiny, colored wings.

No one gets his butterfly,

its just a hoax, a dream, 

it never comes true

those shiny, colored wings

are HIS, the funny one

who watches everyone.

A failed marriage, a failed career,

a crippled body, dim eyes, 

are all a bunch of jokes, to keep

him entertained,

those shiny, colored wings.

   

Being friends with star.

Be silly in life.

Smile and laugh all you can,

play with mud, soil your clothes,

kick the empty can

and see it roll down the lane,

All that is past might never come back again.

One lazy night, I walked out to the balcony with a mug of  sweet warm chocolate and looked out to the street. The old light bulb hanging on the post was lighting up one of the biggest social gatherings of  the bug world. The tacky bug dresses, and the chaos gave away the idea of a wedding.

Our stray pet was lying lazily on the road, with its head buried under its forelimbs. Not, a worry in life.

"Jackie", I called its name. Full of life it got up wagging its tail, shaking its head and softly tapping its feet on the ground in quick successions, asking me to come and play. Poor lonely soul, I thought.

I smiled and hurled a biscuit in its direction, it leapt where the biscuit scattered into a million pieces, head bend down and tail still wagging of the affection and joy of recognition, it collected the broken pieces.

I looked up in the sky, and was reminded of my favorite star. I could still locate it. Small, yet distinct, clustered among many big and smaller ones, it was recognizable, it was different, 'coz every time it would twinkle it would bring about a smile on me.

There was a time we two used to be great friends, she would stand outside my balcony hanging in the jaded sky, waiting for me, and I would wait for the whole day for the sun to come down, hoping to see her again, and to talk to her and tell her all that happened in the day, especially the funny incidents, 'coz i loved it when she laughed and twinkled in the night.

I remember drawing the curtains, and coming out in the balcony, and the first twinkle of the night that reflected of her, was enough to kill any strange feeling that could have crept over the day.

Her welcoming twinkling smile was so addictive, that it used to pause the flow of time and I would find myself moving in stagnancy.

A woman can make you feel special, and she can make you feel ordinary. Either ways the power rests with her. 

I would share the happenings of the day, and she would share hers, I would smile and laugh, and she would twinkle, blush and shy away.

Clustered among other stars she looked like a fairy, dressed in white shining gown and the warm bright aura that spread around her. I loved talking to her, and so would often find ways to be with her, strange, funny, childish ways. I grew found of her, and I did not even realize.

She grew into someone unnaturally close and loved.

And I never cared when people called me names, and told me that I was crazy.

Well, I couldn't blame them, they had no idea of how beautiful it was, how warm and beautiful shades of yellow were. They had not known how heavenly it had grown.

One night, I came out in the balcony, excited and happy to tell her how much I missed her during the day, but to my disappointment, found a cloud hanging in between, covering her. I waited for the whole night, hoping some wind would carry this cloud off, and take it where it came from.

But it so happened that wind didn't blow and the cloud stayed there for a few more nights to come.

Disappointed I waited, and the stories accumulated, and I missed the twinkle, I missed the smile.

One night, the wind finally blew, and I rushed out to the balcony, to wave my angel fairy, to wave my star.

She saw me, and twinkled again, the brightest one I had seen. Happy and joyed, a tear slipped my eye and

I waved back smiling and crying in joy, the stories that had accumulated inside pushed the tears out and filled  my throat, so i couldn't say a word, just stood there waving and crying happily.

She looked around her, to show her friends, what she had. But, to her surprise, she found them twinkling too, she had never cared to observe that till that night, and holding her esteem she couldn't ask whom the rest twinkled at.

Her happiness and joy evaporated in a moments notice, she felt ordinary of her own thought. The twinkle disappeared and so did the smile, she seemed lost in the sky.

This made me restless, yet I couldn't ask, she was miles away, I could travel, but she was still very far.

Next night, and for nights to come, I would come out in the balcony to find her, but the twinkle was reduced to greetings and the distance had increased infinitely. Both her and me, were sad, it killed us in certain ways, coz I had only one favorite star and for her I was priceless.

But its life, its strangely short and way too long, we learn to let go, we kill some part of our's everyday, and learn to live without it, its never easy, yet we learn that with time.

So we both lost something, I always felt I had lost something more significant.

Life is strange, it doesn't let you live in peace.

There are constant tides in this ocean, small ones and big ones, while the big ones are easier to handle, coz they settle down, the small ones create the ripple effect, which shake your very existence and like ripples they take time to settle down.

I walked back into my room, the chocolate had lost its warmth, wouldn't have found it sweet either, the ripples had still to settle, it hurts a 'lil lesser now, or may be I was getting used to it, yet it still hurt.

                                                                                                                                                                  (BROWNIE.) 

Just realised

I must learn to love the fool in me, the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.

And so I am sad, but not brave enough to go with the thought...
read something interesting..

 

                          "Before You Kill Yourself" 

                                             By Renee T. Lucero (Reader's Digest -- June 1985).

You've decided to do it. Life is impossible. Suicide is your way out.

Fine -- but before you kill yourself, there are things you should know. I am a psychiatric nurse, and I see the results of suicide -- when it works and, more often, when it doesn't. Consider, before you act, these facts:

Suicide is usually not successful. You think you know ways to guarantee it? Ask the 25-year-old who tried to electrocute himself. He lived. But both his arms are gone.

What about jumping? Ask John. He used to be intelligent with an engaging sense of humor. That was before he leaped from a building. Now he's brain-damaged and will always need care. He staggers and has seizures. He lives in a fog. Worst of all, he knows he used to be normal.

What about pills? Ask the 12-year-old with extensive liver damage from an overdose. Have you ever seen anyone die of liver damage? You turn yellow. It's a hard way to go.

What about a gun? Ask the 24-year-old who shot himself in the head. Now he drags one leg, has a useless arm and has no vision or hearing on one side. He lived through his "foolproof" suicide. You might too.

Who will clean your blood off the carpet or scrape your brains from the ceiling? Commercial cleaning crews may refuse that job -- but someone has to do it.

Who will have to cut you down from where you hanged yourself or identify your bloated body after you've drowned? Your mother? Your wife? Your son?

The carefully worded "loving" suicide note is no help. Those who loved you will never completely recover. They'll feel regret and an unending pain.

Suicide is contagious. Look around at your family. Look closely at that 4-year-old playing with his cars on the rug. Kill yourself tonight and he may do it 10 years from now.

You do have other choices. There are people who can help you through this crisis. Call a hotline. Call a friend. Call your minister or priest. Call a doctor or the hospital. Call the police.

They will tell you that there's hope. Maybe you'll find it in the mail tomorrow. Or in a phone call this weekend. But what you're seeking could be just a minute, a day or a month away.

You say you still don't want to be stopped? Still want to do it? Then I may see you in a psychiatric ward later. And we'll work with whatever you have left. 

Remembering the hero...

When we hear the word ‘super heroes’, the first picture that floats our imagination is of lean, muscular humans with weird yet surprisingly acceptable dress codes and an appearance which both compliments and enhances their brave character.

As a kid I , like many other kids used to worship this special gene of men and paid my allegiance by collecting comic books, which entailed stories of their heroic deeds, their larger than life, superhuman abilities which no law of physics could restrict.

Collecting theses Religious texts and scriptures was no child’s play, often the journey of dreaming to own one and making this dream a reality involved the process of completing, what my parents referred to, as daily chores, and responsibilities and the less painful and yet highly rewarding blackmail at the supper table.

After the scriptures were read from page to page, and repeated over innumerable times, the act of embodying the lead character by stuffing cushions and pillows into the shirt which almost every time made up for the lack of muscles in my lean and lanky frame, and trying to dress weird enough to pose like a superhuman was a ritual. Though I must admit that matching the dress code was a skill I still had to master.

A strange incident once happened that left imprints on my early age mind which propelled the process of maturity many a folds, or perhaps I should say that It left me careful and feared for good.

And now when I look back I find that there is a fine line that distinguishes the maturity that comes out of experience and fear that roots itself deep inside the human heart.

Monsoons were over in Kerala, the lagoon overlooking the cross gabled house hosting the 4^th generation of childhood was full of pure musical water which sparkled and reflected the dancing rays as they fell on it.

I had just finished reading the series 7 of the dark night for the n+1 no. of time and the 2 cushions which my grandfather used to rest his hands on the easy chair had already made their way into my shirt, adding bulk and weight to the biceps which according to my mother had suddenly overgrown after the glass of milk which I was made to drink, to buy some time to play outside.

Wearing the attitude and the face which injected shiver and fear into the bad men, accompanied by the stray puppy as my sidekick who had recently become a family member after the approval of my grandfather, a process which involved a long yet, rewarding session of begging and crying on my part, I stepped out of the house.

My grandfather, who was shuffling pages on the Malayalam newspaper sitting under the porch, was instructed by my grandmother to supervise and to restrict my movements, if needed.

My eyes rolled in the sockets, analyzing and searching for opportunities to kill evil and to help the needy, but with my grandfather surveying the scene, making use of the power that was stuffed in the sleeves of my shirt was no easy task, especially with his eyes peeping from the top of the thick reading glasses which rested on his wrinkled nose.

Yet, I almost helped an ant carry a leaf. Which was when kept on the ground, ran in the opposite direction. I reassured myself saying that perhaps it was an evil ant trying to steal off the small ants which were gathering for winters.

The puppy was busy sniffing leaves and tiny wild flowers which grew making way off the cracks and creek in the stones which probably had never changed positions in their entire life.

Disgusted and bored I looked around, and found that grandfather had disappeared from the scene, probably called in by grandmother for help.

My eyes took me to the puppy, which was still busy sniffing grass and pebbles. Something evil came in my mind, and with a flash my mind had made arrangements to make the ongoing play more exciting.

In quick steps I walked towards the puppy and picked it up.  The poor, innocent creature which trusted me, came in my hands lovingly licking my fingers and making the same soft growling sound which had melted my grandfather, completely unaware of what was coming next.

It was happening so fast, that I do not even remember walking towards the shore of the lagoon, with all the strength in my evil arms stealth in my eyes I tossed it in the flowing water.

A splash was seen and just like that, I had made someone miserable for some pity fun and excitement.

Completely dumb struck, and trying to figure out what I had just done I stood there, helpless and guilt ridden while the poor creature was struggling to keep itself above water, panting and trying his best to move the water which had already started eating him alive, the calm of the place had disappeared, giving way to howling, while I was still unsure of what I had just done.

I closed my eyes, and covered my ears with my palms; I was totally unable to witness the torture in which I had put the poor, innocent puppy.

It was then, that my grandfather appeared out of thin air, I felt his mundu  brush my shirt, never had I seen him in such quick pace. 

He ran into the water, and held the puppy.

Within seconds the accident was averted.

I was in tears.

Holding the puppy in his arms he came to me and assured me that everything was alright.

The sun behind him, filled his aura, and I had just realized how big he was, while he stood in front of me.

He bend down, looked into my eyes and smiled, and perhaps it was the first time, I had seen a super hero who did not need a dress code or bulky muscular arms to supplement his bravery.


He gave the puppy into my arms, which was still scared, unsure and digesting the evil in me. I looked at him and then at the puppy which was shaking and trembling with fear and cold. I ran to my room and wraped it in a towel.

Few days later, unable to keep it any longer on my chest, I told him the whole story and wept, he held me in my arms and asked me to promise him to not to hurt any animal on purpose.

Its impossible to say no to your hero, cause they rarely ask for anything, and when they do, they are too tough to refuse.

The puppy stayed with my grandfather at his place, as a sidekick, as a friend, as someone whom I would remember, coz it introduced my super hero for me.        

  

a little tipsy sometimes...

A little tipsy sometimes…

I recently came across a blog in which the author had narrated an incident where he attempted an exam while being drunk . As I read it, I was reminded of a pretty similar incident which happened sometime back during my engineering days.

Half of my stories in the blog have a mention of booze in them , and if you have read them , it must have given you an impression about me that I am a drunkard .

Well , to be honest , I am not . My booze intake was ‘nothing’ compared to other members of our hostel gang . Its just that after rounds of shots , while most of them used to go to bed, I used to go around doing silly things . 

I don’t drink regularly , in fact I prefer to stay away from it on most occasions , that being said I would also like to add that , there goes no celebration without it  and being a little tipsy just keeps your ‘spirits’ ‘high!!’

“That’s it !! I can’t .” I said ramming the text on the table “I have given up .”.

It was 11 in the morning , still an hour an half to go for the university exam , and like most occasions , it was still Greek and Latin for me in the texts .

“Dude ….study the last chapter…its pretty easy “ , said Pramod . L , keeping his eyes deep in to the text and shuffling pages like a robot .

Pramod . L and me are friends , and apart from the first name , we do not have much in common , but we have helped each other a lot during the exams , in fact it wouldn’t be wrong to say that much of the ‘manuscripts’ written by us during the exams were pretty similar , actually they can be said to be Photocopies with different handwritings !!

“No dude.. i can’t make it “, I said like a wounded soldier .

 Well , battle against the university is no less than an actual battle , exception being the weak bodied , thin and half dead looking geeks and bookworms find it much easier to sustain the three hours , than the gym hitting and athletic bodied guys like us .

And the irony is that , nobody finds the above fact ironical .

Pramod . L or ‘ L ‘ as I call him , was still shuffling pages , I looked outside through the balcony overlooking the lush green college round , the weather was beautiful , perfect for a picnic , or a game of cricket .

I wonder why the weather gets on its bloom every time we have exams , as if there aren’t other distractions like the new season of some t.v series that someone downloaded , or a movie that had been seen hundred’s of times , yet it appeared totally interesting while standing on the door , hooked to the scene, promising oneself that studies would be resumed right after he scene gets over  , or the new video game that some computer geek downloaded with the cheat codes . Some novel that someone pulled outside from the junk with a handful of days left for the exam , cricket series  basketball seasons kicking on ESPN , new issue of Maxim ect  .

I brought my eyes back to ‘L’, he was struggling , never in my life had I seen him so sincere , I realized that now then  I had given up too , he didn’t stand a chance in the exam , I felt sad for him and if it was in my powers to give marks , I would have , to everyone , including the geeks ( they are people too !!) .

“Lets go to Mayuri” I said to him , he looked at me and smiled , “ you are crazy “ he said .

Though he might have rejected the idea in its first go , but I knew he was still thinking about it and it was pretty visible by the smile that was floating on is face .

I knew , if I could push him a little he would fall of the edge and he would drive us to the nearest bar (Mayuri) .

I closed his book , “lets go, we have an hour and twenty minutes to go … one quarter .. that it … we shall share it , vodka , no rum , no whiskey “ , I placed my offer .

“No dude , you are crazy “ he replied , I could feel the difference in the tone , he was nearing the edge .

“One quarter Fuel “, he said to the waiter , and something in the vernacular , I guessed he was asking him to hurry up .

The waiter brought the bottle , it was opened in a crash , pegs were made and in no time , it was over , we didn’t talk much over the first bottle , he was still keeping his eyes on the texts . I looked at him , as the first bottle finished , he looked at me . There wasn't much to say , it was all understood , a new bottle was ordered .

“One more quarter “, he said to the waiter . As he poured the 2^nd peg from the new bottle for himself , the ‘sacred text’ had found itself a place on the neighboring table . 

Ten minutes later , he was cursing me for bring him there , while I was assuring him that next time it would be easier and that we would prepare for it properly.

 “Whatever “ he said , getting up from the chair .

It was time to attend the exam , we went to the loo , relieved our self , splashed our faces with water ,  stuffed 3-4 Center-fresh in our mouth to camouflage any smell what so ever , and drove back to the college .

I did not remember the journey , nor did he ( I asked him later ! ) .

We ran towards the exam hall , we were late by a couple of minutes , but it was no big deal . Before crashing inside the hall , I instructed him not to open his mouth , and to keep his cool in the class .

The examiner was still distributing paper , he looked at us and then went back to paper distribution , we went straight to the seats and waited for him to come and give us the papers . The junior girl sitting  besides me , looked at me , I gave her a serious and cold look , held my breath for a couple of moments till it was impossible to hold onto any longer . I suspected she had smelled the vodka , I didn’t want to add more to her suspicion .

There is this peculiar thing about our college , there are two branches I particularly wish to talk about .

The Mechanical and the Biotech , the former one is only about boys wile the later one , well…  it wouldn’t be wrong to say is ‘only’ about girls . And booze is not an issue in these two branches, both the branches like partying .

The ‘chicks’ in biotech in a  few  ways  are  much  better than  the  geeks  of   our branch ( E&C ) , they won’t mind gulping a couple of shots now and then , coz its like an adventure for them . Well they are a wild set of girls who believe that boys should not have all the fun !! .
And as for the mechanical , well booze is just another form of lubricant to keep the machines rolling .

A couple of minutes later , we were given the paper and the bell in the corridor signaled that it was time to begin .I looked at the question paper , except the first question rest all appeared like Greek and Latin again !

I turned back and glanced a view on ‘L’ , he was playing with his pen .

He raised his eyes and looked at me , I raised my eyebrows , to ask what we usually do… ‘how much you know’ , he shook his head…  ‘nothing‘ , I shook my head in reply…’same here’.

I looked around in the hall to find a couple of eyes doing the ‘survey’ before writing , there were a couple of geeks making expressions as if it was the toughest paper ever and their chances were as good as ours , there were a few other who could not join us in the bar , coz they had some ‘first aid’ hidden in their shoes and pockets , while the rest was the humble crowd , they were busy with the struggle , they were the ones none hated , or cared about , they were the normal crowd , they had no plans of making it to the  ‘red carpet‘  . A few of them were expecting something over the ‘Poverty line’ while others were trying to touch it .

I broke into a chuckle , then realized that it was not a regular lecture hall but an exam , and started scribbling the required information on the first page .

One hour was over , I had answered to my potential , the first thee questions were all I knew in the exam , they rounded upto 20 marks , I could not have scored more than 15 ,   ( it’s the rule ). Still a twenty more were needed to pass the exam , I had virtually given up , I could have walked out , but I didn’t feel like , not that I was bothered about coming out first , but I just didn’t feel like getting up , I was kind of lazy .

I read the 4^th question , it was asking for some description of a model , the name suggested its prehistoric origin . ‘hmmm… ‘ I began writing , I repeated the lines in the questions carefully , making no errors or spelling mistakes , then glanced out of the window , the clouds , the sun , the tree everything seemed so majestically beautiful , that I could not stop myself from describing the beauty of the nature . At this point it was the poet in me who had taken charge . The metaphors and the similes flowed till the end of the page , it might not have been technically correct  but I think to this day it remains as my best literary work ever . I felt happy after ‘answering’ that question , it was ‘beautiful’ , it wouldn’t be wrong to say that if I would have read it again , a tear would have definitely slipped my eyes . ( in fact my literature teacher would have kissed me , if she would have got a chance to read it . )

The next question was answered in less poetic but critical view , in the ‘answer’ I described the various problems I was facing , the shortage of money due to excessive partying , the tasteless food in the hostel mess , the fines I had to pay , the college policies which needed revival , etc . One point worth while noticing was that I made sure that my handwriting was good. It was cursive, it had all the grooves and turns Merlin Monroe had. But the problem was that, my Monroe could grab some unwanted attention, but the artist inside me was too tough to be stopped, while I was drunk.

I answered a couple of more questions with the same vigor and enthusiasm, stating examples and inferences from world politics, women empowerment, The holy bible and The Gita .

By now ‘L’ had already invited trouble, he was caught peeping into neighbor’s booklets and then for an argument with the examiner, he was sent out. All that happened when I was busy scripting nature and when I was drowning in deep thoughts and philosophy.

I had filled quiet a number of sheets by now. Now it was time for the moment of truth, the last question . Here I apologized for all the crap and poems I had pulled up , sitting in the exam . I don’t remember writing much, I kept it short and brief, just as the question had asked ‘Answer in brief ‘.

I handed out my paper to the examiner and left the room after 2and a half hour of rigorous writing and creative work , only a couple of leaves were left in my answer booklet , it was a job well done .

I was still trying to remember the poem, which I had written in the exam, when I met ‘L’.

“so hw was it ?”, he asked, I smiled back , “we ll write it again next time “, I replied .

We both broke into a chuckle and walked our way to ‘Mala-Shop’ (the famous pan shop near our college , its on Goggle Maps too !! , one of the advantages of lending desperate students cigarettes , they return favors in unexpected ways .)

A couple of months later , results were declared , the poet inside me had done what an engineer could not have , I scored 38 (35 + 3) out of 100 (grace brings you 35 , but you have to earn 38 !! ) . I had passed the subject , my excitement and surprise knew no boundaries .

I wondered if it was my poem describing the nature or the sincere apology letter that had  got me such a score .

Well…there are two shops which would never run out of business in Bangalore , one is the wine shop and the other is the Juice shop , so either ways it could have been an equally drunk professor or a tired man who spilled juice on my answer sheet .