Oct 24, 2009

The Tale of the Poppy Boy

To escape from the embarrassment happened to me by the two consecutive love posts – Ancient Love Affair and My first Love – I think I have to go back to my childhood days to check out some interesting incidents there. But, while the searching process was going on, what suddenly struck my mind was a funny incident happened during my college days. To tell the truth, this too was a contemporary to My First Love and Letter to Jonnie Walker and having a close relation with my mindset portrayed in these two.
I won’t say that I was an attention box; but definitely was one craving for attention from all sides as a freaky teenager. I was of the habit of thinking every day, regarding what to do something weird or what will make me noticed. I did some experiments with my poor hair and a ruthless me had attempted several hair styles, but none of them was really worth making someone to look. One day I went to my hair stylist and asked him to make my hair so short that only half an inch (exactly) of each hair would remain. This fellow didn’t do that, though he made it shorter than the usual. But according to my conservative parents what I did was ‘undisciplined and more than what needed.’
I was sure that the barber would be of any use in satisfying me as his regular customer. I took the final decision and on a fine evening I began to make my hair short myself, not with scissors, but with razor. It was easy first, what we need to do is to just shave the hair softly so that only the tips of the hair would be removed. After doing this process for a little time I raised my face to look at the mirror to see the success of my experiments. But, what I saw in the mirror was strangely enough to give thunderbolts and lightning in my heart along with a nervous shock. I first thought that I was fainting and I pinched myself to make me believe that the sight on the mirror was a dream. After earning virtually some courage I looked up at the mirror again and what I saw was a fairly big white area of round shape on my head, where it was a few moments ago black with the presence of hair.
First I got disheartened, but soon regained my conscious and I picked a gum pot and applied a little of it on my head where it lacks hair. Then I collected some hair from the floor and put it carefully on the ‘white space’. You won’t believe, I went to the college more than two days with my fake hair without anyone in my college as well as in home noticing it. But on the third or fourth day, when I was really confident to manage with it for a few more days, at the cricket ground while fielding along with my play mates, everything fell into trouble when my young little cousin brother saw me and expressed his affection towards me.
As I understood that I was not able to suffer the weight of gum and broken hair, I opened up my problem to two of my friends. They too shocked seeing my state and urged me to adjust with my false hair a few more days till the hair grows. But one of them suggested me to go total hairless and I accepted that idea. Only then my weight on the heart got loosened and the difficult part of getting permission from my parents was managed with my tactics.
I went to see my hair stylist and simply said him to shave all of my hair. With a hesitation he did it and I went college wearing a brown cap and that was the greatest hair style, which I could ever imagine. The first day, my English teacher, (remember the one in Letter to Jonnie Walker) who was my uncle, hurried towards me seeing my ‘piteous state’ and asked ‘what happened’. Wearing a crying expression on my face, my explanation went like this:
“I was studying last night, suddenly power went, I lit a candle stick and tried to by-heart the poem that you taught me, I don’t know when I slept. But the candle stick tumbled down and it caught my hair. Though I soon woke up I had lost a big part of my hair,” with no delay he explained the whole things to the girls at the other end.
The following weeks saw the golden days of my college days. It won’t be a much hyped lie if I say that during those days I got a maximum number of admirers among the girl sector. The pet name that they gave me was the ‘Poppy boy’ following two famous icons of a popular umbrella brand in Kerala.
A week later the same story was published on the newspaper on campus column as if it had happened to someone else. Then I understood how the newspapers make stories and news.
Oh God, I feel that I have written yet another embarrassing post this time also. This may end me up to renaming the ‘Vanity Moments’ blog into ‘Embarrassing Moments’.

Oct 15, 2009

My First Love

When talking about the first love, I know, how much excited are all in describing their teenage love affairs or in claiming that the experiences they had were the most unique and interesting ones. Though I have an impression among my friend circle as one who looks at every human affair in a quiet objective and unbiased way, I too have the same opinion regarding my first love. Those who disagree may go through the following scribbles on my first love experience and decide yourself if my claim is true or not.

My first love was love at first sight happened on the first day of my college. Among several faces of girls in my batch, the only face that imposed a lasting image in my mind was hers and I think it was because she had a slight resemblance with my favorite actress of that time.
What I found as the most attractive in her appearance were her face that reminded me of some Bible characters and her smile that embellished her glittering teeth and rosy lips.

Since I was a shy guy, I found that there was no chance for me to have even a casual encounter with her, but I felt each accidental meeting we had as signs that God had a plan to joint both of us together. During those stages of my infatuation, I experienced powerful thunderbolts in my heart those are usual when a young man’s eyes meet those of a young woman.

Though I was afraid of meeting her, I never missed a single chance to face her. I attended my tuition classes regularly on the morning since it was the time she crossed my way to attend her tuition classes. We passed everyday without a single nod or smile, but with some shy and affectionate glances. She usually was accompanied by her hostel mates, while I used to be alone.

During one of such wayside meets, one day she courageously stepped ahead and presented me with a beautiful smile. A heart-failed me just went mum and inadvertently stared at her gleaming eyes like the one who forgot how to smile back. I suspect that a shy grin had escaped from my mouth.

Days had passed with no improvement in my innocent love towards her, but only with my growing innate passion. The nights were rich with plenty of dreams with her smiling pretty face as the major element.

One day accidentally I happened to know from one of our common friends that she was one year elder to me. If a girl was at least one month elder to you, you must give her respect; that was the findings of my conservative mindset. I wonder now, how delicate was my heart during those days, I wept at my home in the nights just like a forsaken lover who was left by his girlfriend. The universal example of Sachin Tendulkar’s marriage with a six year older Anjali didn’t comfort me. Nowadays it seems to me that the sorrow that I experienced at that time was similar to that of a lost lover’s.

The number of her friends and admirers were progressing, quiet reverse to mine. I had to struggle to conceal my love towards a ‘becoming popular’ girl from my friends. I turned my face away from my friends whenever this girl became a subject of their talks so that they wouldn’t catch the slight coloration on my face. And a few of my friends who knew my secret love were keen on taking special care in not hurting me.

This girl failed to find out my feelings, and whenever we met, she stared at me thinking what kind of a boy I was.

On our last day of that college, nothing happened, through a window hidden in the shadows, I just watched her walking away to an uncertain end with another girl. I was alone, and I felt the strength of the thickening loneliness once again inside. I immensely wanted to cry out my heart, but not a single sob didn't escape from me. That was the end.

After a few years, shedding the last piece of my love towards her, I wonder how I can say that I had a love affair at that age. But I still say, yeah I was in love during those days.

Oct 5, 2009

The Story of an Ancient Love Affair

Thinking about a new post, I feel that I had to think twice before giving a title like 'Vanity Moments’ to my blog as the incident which is going to be narrated here is not of such a nature, instead, it was an incident with moments of pity, sorrow and lost friendship. This incident is a contemporary to the previous 'Ma, Please Don’t Tell this to Papa’, occurred during my study times at Mahatma Gandhi University.


We have got a class mate, who was the eldest of all students and I became the friendliest one with him. I still remember the train journey that I made with him on a weekend to his countrysides during the season of festivals in the temple of his neighborhood. It was then I drank liquor with his friends and understood that his nature after drinking was quite converse to mine – he was the silent one after drinking and I am the noisiest. I still remember the tune of the song that he used to sing, which was written by one of today’s well known film song lyricist, Anil Panachooran, who was then a comparably unknown lyricist. A rough translation of that song goes like this,
My village passionately waits everyday
To hear my return to the countrysides,

My friends in Kerala might have understood the song by this time. Yes, this is the same poem starting with ‘thirike njaan varumenna vaartha kelkkaanaay graamam kothikkaarundennum’ in the film 'Arabikkatha' (An Arabian Tale). I knew this song even before the makers started thinking about the conception of such a film, but only in a different tune.
But, the real story of our study time starts only when he fell in love with the most beautiful girl in our class. Despite of their different religions and different family backgrounds, both became very intimate - mentally and physically (?) and I heard several legends including the one, which told that both of them went to Thiruvananthapuram and spent a night together in a hotel room.
Anyway, this incident had caused much fuss in our class, and somebody rang at our heroine’s house in that morning to inform them about the pleasure trip that the both had been making then. Though we initially tried to find the owner of that anonymous call with the hints provided by our heroine’s family such as the caller could likely be a female with some sort of masculine voice, our investigations were dropped in midway. Though, I was his close heart mate, about things like these, I was the most unaware of, since as I was the youngest one in the class, he used to tell me his private affairs only in a censored mode. But, everyone in the class blamed me for my company with him and only then I felt my importance in this love story, which was on the edges of breakup.
On return to the campus he was welcomed as a hero and I watched enviously all the girls looking at him with admiration. The girl did not come to the class to attend the rest of portion and to write the final examinations she was escorted by her furious mother. Our last days of the campus ended in a cold manner, but I felt that my friend was very much disappointed about his broken love.
After the course, I went to home and in my native place I met with some problems those were evolved out of the residents’ conservative nature. I actually almost had forgot about my friend and he used to phone me and whenever I attend the phone he used to greet me with the most abusive vulgar language for the number of calls from me to him was actually zero. As we were that much close both of us had a liberty to call each other anything.

Later, I came to know that he was admitted to Regional Cancer Centre in Thiruvananthapuram due to his continuous headache and problems with nose. The thing that he mistook for sinus was actually a version of cancer. As I was looking forward to get an admission in University of Kerala in Thiruvananthapuram, I went there and visited my friend at the RCC. I saw him with his usual enthusiastic smile, but without his hair and mustache, those were removed as a result of radiation therapy. His cheerful nature made me happy and I returned home as if nothing had happened. But I remember the name of his cancer version, it was something like abdomayo sarcoma.
I again forgot my friend even though I was in Thiruvananthapuram and his phone calls with abusive words and name calling still had continued with seemingly no end. Then one day calls from him suddenly stopped, and for a long time, I received nothing from him. I found nothing unusual in it as I had been busy with my own professional as well as academic affairs. Only some months later one of our class mate informed me that he bid farewell to the world and had flown away spreading the wings searching for another world where religious and caste wise distinctions have no existence. Then only I realised the serious error that I committed in treating my friend.
The girl might be living in somewhere in the world happily looking after her husband and kids, possibly with a job. My friend could not see his favourite song writer and song becoming a much-loved and critically acclaimed one in the film world. And the third character of the story is myself, who was a simpleton then, who became aware of the serious mistake that he made in maintaining good friendships only later.

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