A Tale - not so tiny

Sometimes you can say a lot by speaking very little. What is left unsaid often speaks volumes more than what was spoken and leaves a lasting impression. This is what terrible tiny tales is all about.

Terrible tiny tales is a website that features short stories- Well, technically.  True to their name the tales are terribly tiny. To qualify as one, the story has to be less than 140 characters in length .The idea, is to compose stories that can be tweeted without compromising on the storytelling.

The rules are simple. There has to be a beginning, an end, one or more characters and things happening in between- exactly what you’d find in a regular story. But the catch here is you have to do all this in less than 140 characters. Visitors to the site can submit words to aid the writers spin their story. Each week one word is chosen, and the writers must include this word somewhere in their story.

As draconian as it may sound, it has produced some of the most imaginative works of fiction that I have chanced upon. Listen to what Prathap Suthan wrote about ‘fire’:

She was on heat. Like he was. Lips, hips and nips. What a wild night. No rubber. Full lust. Nine months bulged. Water Broke. And their fire cried.

In nine short sentences Suthan delivers such an animated picture of sex, that one can almost see their passion being kindled. To get here from the word fire takes a huge stretch of imagination.

There aren’t too many fancy techniques that you can use when you have to squeeze your entire story into 140 characters. Words become a precious commodity. Don’t expect to see too many stories that start with the familiar ‘Once upon a time’. Abstract narratives and disjointed sentences are used to make up for the lack of breathing space. But far from having a detrimental effect, I’ve noticed that it lends the tale an air of mystery.

There are sad stories, happy stories, funny stories, even surreal stories (maybe I just didn’t understand that one :P).But one thing they ‘ve all got in common is that they evoke some feeling from the reader. They linger- sometimes for a moment, sometimes for a day, sometimes long after.

This is what Shephali wrote for the word: Estranged:

She loved discovering words. The day the papers were signed, her parents taught her a new word. One word she wished she hadn’t known-Estranged.

After you read it, you can’t help but feel a tinge of sadness well up within you, for the unnamed little girl. You do not know who she is, but yet, you feel sorry for her.

Here’s another brilliant one written for the word. Rain:

One morning he left and built himself a fortress. You can’t touch me now. Determined, she became rain and kissed him.

I don’t know why, but I actually felt happier after reading that. Through three sentences, this writer was able to make my day a little better and I felt thankful for that.

All I can say is, terribly tiny tales is terribly clever. Do check out their website, guys!

http://terriblytinytales.com/

One can’t help but agree with the bard. Brevity is indeed the essence of all wit. 

random update

This is a little something that I wrote almost a year ago .This was back when i was working with a bunch of immensely talented people, in an attempt to bring out an English midday newspaper exclusive to the city.Even though the unnamed project died in its infancy, i got a wonderful opportunity to learn the art of writing prose from seasoned professionals-to learn the tricks of the trade.This is one such piece that I'm particularly proud of.Sadly it never saw the light of the day. I came across it in my documents folder last night and I felt that it deserved a place in my blog .....so here goes...It is titled.....

An Ode to a dying river.

Nothing thrives in these waters. Amidst a dense overgrowth of weeds, patches of dark water gleam venomously. As the afternoon rays shine off the surface, the river looks treacherously beautiful, while directly beneath, several drainage pipes empty tones of raw sewage, rendering the water more poisonous than before.

It was into these troubled waters, that a school van carrying six children and a maid fell, on the 17th of February, a couple of years ago. The van on its regular morning trip to pick up children, hit a tree stump on the edge of the Karikkakom Road, which runs parallel to the Parvathy Puthanar .It lost its balance and plunged into the murky depths of the canal.

Constable Selvius Raj, will never forget that fateful day. Selvius, who had been on patrol duty at Chakkai learnt about the accident over the wireless. He immediately hurried to the spot. By then a crowd had gathered on the banks. The van had all but submerged. A handful of locals jumped into the canal in an attempt to pull the victims out of the fast sinking vehicle, as the water danced menacingly on all sides.

For a moment Selvius hesitated. He thought about his four year old daughter. The iota of doubt vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Stripping off his uniform, Selvius jumped into the water.

Once upon a time, the Parvathy Puthanar used to be a major artery that connected our city with other commercial centers of Kerala. Boats and rafts carrying grains and vegetables, all the way from Alappuzha used to ply along this route. It used to take weeks to reach Trivandrum. The ferrymen, made several stops along the way to have meals or spend the night. “Back then Chakkai and Vallakadavu used to be booming commercial centers,” says a local, who has lived on the riverside all his life. His family has owned the tile shop at Chakkai for close to a century. “To the families that lived on the bank, the canal was an integral part of their daily life.Teeming with marine life the canal sustained the livelihood of thousands.”

A huge expanse of darkness spanned out in front of Selvius; he could barely see the fallen van.“It didn’t feel like water at all. The grimy thick liquid hung heavily around my chest slowly pulling me down,” he remembers. He felt his leg disappear into the bed as he tried to gain a foothold. After several anxious moments he surfaced gulping in lungfuls of fresh air.

Among those who gathered on the banks that day, was Krishnankutty,who has been living there for close to 50 years. He relates how one of the most beautiful, man-made navigation routes of yesteryear, has been reduced to a waste dumping ground.The water, which once used to beas clear as teardrops, is now a hideous black. “We used to bathe, wash clothes and swim in the canal until 35 years ago,” says Krishnankutty. “Back then roads weren’t as developed and people relied on waterways for transport most of the time,” he adds.

As the city developed, its waste became a burden. Since its establishment the Sewage Plant at Valiyathura has been dumping sewage indiscriminately into the canal, corrupting the waters. Over time, the garbage chucked into the canal accumulated clogging the flow of water at several points. Heavy pollution has killed most of the plant life in close proximity to the water. Several huge stumps can be seen on both shores.These came in handy to pull the van out.

 Thick ropes were fastened to tree trunks on either shores of the canal,  to help the divers in their search. A proficient swimmer, Selvius Raj was finding it difficult to keep afloat.  Nauseated by the overpowering smell, wounded by something sharp at the bottom of the canal, Selvius was in bad shape. He was doing all he could not to give up and climb ashore. It was a good twenty minutes before the divers with the help of the onlookers were able to pull the van out.

The extent of damage that has been inflicted on the river can be seen if you walk along the stretch of road from Vallakadavu to Chakkai. Illegal sand mining and dredging have rendered the bed so uneven that, at some places there the canal is barren and at others the water is over five meters deep. The bed is littered with leaves, old tires, bottles,plastic, and other filth. Near Thiruvallam, where the tainted waters of Puthanar run into the Karamana River, the water turns an ominous shade.

When it rains the air is permeated with a stench like none other. It seeps right through your skin and settles somewhere deep within, making you sick to the bone. During periods of heavy rainfall the canal overflows its banks .The polluted water accumulates on the road, making it impossible for people to walk without stepping in it. The water enters compounds through the drains and lays waste to all the plants and vegetation in that area. Nothing survives the deathly touch of these black waters. “When people walk through these waters they develop infections. Plants wither and die,” says Suresh a local. “During the monsoon, the when the water in the canal rose, they used to open the ‘‘pozhy’ at Poonthura, emptying the excess water and waste into the sea. However that has not been done for quite some time now,” he adds.

With garbage clogging the flow of the river at many places, the stagnant water is a favourite breeding ground of a particularly large variety of mosquito. These mosquitoes leave huge boils when they bite and cause great discomfort and irritation. “Although vector control measures like fogging and spraying used to be done, none of them were too effective,” says Baby, branch president of the area. “The children are sick most of the time and there is little we can do,” she complains.

A few years ago barge mounted excavators, had tried to remove most of the filth along the canal. Not too long after, the stubborn weeds returned with a vengeance, and the canal returned to its previous state. Although the government has been announcing projects at regular intervals for the restoration of this waterway, none have taken off.

The irrigation department of Kerala has initiated yet another project, to clean Puthanar. “We have proposed a project to clean a 12 kilometer stretch up to Akulam. This will include desilting and weed removal” says R Unnikrishnan, Chief Engineer. The project is currently being retendered.

Unwillingness on the part of contractors to take up work relating to the canal is a major issue.They feel that anyone fool hardy enough to take up this task is sure to open a can of worms.“Working in close proximity to these waters is quite difficult. Besides they are often bullied by local thugs,” says Baiju, Asst Executive engineer at the Inland Navigation Department, Chakkai. The locals are not too co operative either.“They still continue to throw their waste into the canal. The last time cleaning activities were done, the locals deposited all the scooped waste back into the canal in a matter of days.”

Public Awareness is the only effective solution. Blighted by encroachments, the banks of the canal are packed with houses that do not have proper sanitation facilities. The wastes from these houses are emptied directly into the water. “The government has to develop a plan to scientifically rehabilitate these people. However, the after waste management the most serious issue faced by the state is land availability. So that might not be practical,” says the chief engineer at the Inland Navigation Department. “Every 20 houses must be attached to a separate septic tank along with a cesspool to disinfect the wastes before it is dumped into the canal,” says the Chief Engineer.

“As long the private establishments like hospitals and hotels along the banks deposit their waste into the canal the situation is not going to change,” he adds.

Nine children were fished out of the river that day. Six of them lost their lives. Most of them had developed lung infections by the time they reached hospital. Doctors say that, had the water been clean, their chances of survival would have been much greater.

Search and rescue operations continued for three hours after the van had been pulled out, due to an uncertainty about the number of children that were in the van that day. It was one o clock when Selvius finally got out of the water. It would take another week before he could get the filth of the canal completely out of his body and mind “Thousands of people, including fire force, marine enforcement, and policemen, had gathered on the banks, but only a small handful had the courage to jump,” says Selvius. “You can’t blame them. If you ask me to jump into that water again today, I probably would not,” he says.

Old wounds are all but forgotten. Silent as ever the canal seeks deliverance from its sorry plight, even today.

This article is not aimed at anyone. It is but a lament to the one of the greatest waterways of olden Travancore.

Just another evening ....

A few peanuts in hand, Rajala stands amid a flock of pigeons that are ruffling their feathers and squawking impatiently. She throws another handful of nuts into the air, sending the birds into a flurry as they try to get a peck .A smile lights up her exhausted face as a pigeon alights on her shoulder.

Behind her the brick archway of the museum gate looms silent, awaiting the daily crowd.

It is 4:00 pm and the evening is still in its infancy.

The sky looks freshly painted, and there is not a cloud in sight.

The roadside hawkers have started arranging their wares on the ground, in preparation of a long evening. A few foreigners, who are passing by, stop to inspect the goods. There is a lot of gesturing, and it is clear that neither party can understand the other.

A small crowd is starting to form around the collection of teashops, situated along the narrow lane adjacent to the museum entrance. The teashops, which have been around since god-knows-when, are a frequent hangout spot for the young and the old alike. In the evenings, you can hear their chatter over the sound of the rumbling traffic.

The traffic, increases steadily as people start heading home from their offices. One can spot several up market cars as they walk along the stretch of road from Museum to Vellayambalam. Every ten minutes or so, a BMW or Mercedes glides past, in all its regal grandeur.

A sudden gust of wind sends leaves showering down to the pavement. Caught in a beam of sunlight filtering through the branches, they are a pretty sight.

Rambootan salesman, Johnson, is occupying his regular spot outside the Kanakakunnu gate. He doesn’t seem to be having a profitable day as his cart is still three fourths full. He is cheerful, nonetheless.

The bus-stop just outside Kanakakunnu is vacant but for a middle aged woman. She looks anxious. Perhaps she is waiting for someone.

A little further along the street, a couple haggles with an auto driver over a fare. In the distance an unfamiliar Tamil song blares out of a loudspeaker.

Few people notice the model of an aircraft that has been on the roadside, for as long as anyone can remember. The old Navy sea-hawk model has stood the ravages of time. As always, it remains unnoticed, a shadow in the background, as the world flashes past before it.

The traffic signal, before Keltron, turns red, and vehicles come to a screeching halt. People honk impatiently. A hapless old man gets caught in the middle as the lights suddenly turn green. They curse and swear at him.

Its 5:30 now and the sky sports a bluish-orange hue.
What are we, but mortals bound by time.

For a stretch of road and a wonderful evening spent.

Thank you.

NOW WHAT?!!

Back when I was still a cherubic little boy with little knowledge of the world and its ways, life was mostly simple. Worst, you had to deal with multiple, yes or no questions and a lot of stupid faces. If that wasn’t enough, you could always count on someone else to take care of whatever was bothering you, just by bawling at the top of your voice. However, things started to change over time, and I was expected to tie my own shoelaces, and brush my own teeth. With passing days, life became more and more bothersome, as responsibilities were heaped onto my back without any sign of benevolence.

13 yrs later I walked out of school, thoroughly unsure of what I was going to do, as people around me drew elaborate plans about their future. I was the only one without a clue. I wasn’t too keen on writing the medical entrance. Although I do not cringe at the sight of blood, pulling someone’s entrails out, somehow did not appeal to me. Then there was law. Well, you know what they say about lawyers---they have no conscience. I intended to preserve mine. Engineering, seemed to be very much in vogue, and there were more institutes offering the course, than there were applicants. 4 years?? …piece of cake!!! Too bad, I got the wrong flavor!!!I appeared for every single entrance exam one could possibly register for, only to get creamed by each and every one of them. With my rank, I couldn’t afford to be too picky. Off the list, SCT seemed to be the least disreputable, and so I applied. Well….appearances can be deceiving. It didn’t take me long to discover that I had landed myself, in one of the most godforsaken places on the planet.

4 years have gone by; I’m not any closer to being an electronics engineer than I was when I began the course. Apart from a few genuinely sweet people, most of the teachers in our college, are disgruntled with life in general, and are just looking for a chance to screw you over. And with a university that’s even more messed up, you’ve got a surefire recipe for disaster! All these years, I have wondered what prompted me to make this distinctly wrong choice. Maybe it was the illusion that all engineering graduates end up in well paying jobs, with a lot of benefits, and a good contingency plan. Maybe, that was what urged me to go against my better judgement. I refused to listen to that little voice that has always whispered encouragingly into my ear guiding me the right way. With just the right amount of attendance and only a handful of back papers I’ve somehow managed to stumble along. My inability to keep pace with my mates, during project discussions and other academic activities, subjected me to condescension from my peers. We barely have 6 months left in college and almost everyone is looking to augment their bachelor’s degree with something more, and I’m still stuck with 3 uncleared papers.

Despite the occasional story about a physician who left to become an author or an attorney turned singer, the overwhelming majority of unhappy people choose to stay miserably stuck largely out of pride. The idea of having wasted all these years, in pursuit of that coveted degree isn’t as scary as disapproval from people we love and care about. Rather than fear of wasting the degree this is what prevents us from making the jump.

Writing as a career has yet to find the mass acceptance in India. It is considered as an offbeat career that is supposed to be done in your free time or as a hobby. I’ve always been very passionate about writing. Somewhere in the corner of my brain I’ve often toyed with the idea of writing professionally, but not having enough confidence in my abilities, it never materialized. Once I’m done with college, I seriously intend to take up writing as a full time profession. This time however, I’ll have a B-tech degree to bolster my resume. After all a B-tech degree has to amount to something; not everybody has one!Even though,I may not do anything related to my field of specialization ,a few years down the line,I’ll still be an electronics engineer….a shitty one at that, but an electronics engineer nonetheless!

So far in life I’ve had this abiding belief that everything happens for a reason. The key is to find the lessons. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. I have a feeling everything is just going to snap into place. Well, if they don’t, I suppose, I could always return to SCT as a janitor!

My First Movie Review! ...Inception the neverending psychological thriller :D

There are movies you like and then there are movies you like. So how does one judge a movie? What are the defining characteristics of a good movie, whatever the genre? Of course it should be emotionally engaging; we should feel for the characters and have an empathetic attachment to what s going on on the screen but it should be cerebrally stimulating as well. It is very rarely that a flick is so effective in the second department that it messes with your brain and alters your entire mode of thinking. True to its imdb review “Christopher Nolan's mind-bending, intelligent, exciting and disturbing sci-fi extravaganza, blends the best of traditional and modern filmmaking.”

I watched the movie on the day of its release, and again today with a few other friends, and I found it extremely intriguing. I found myself mulling over the different plot points of the movie and arguing with my friend DJ over our theories about the ending, and different details of the story in general .We were so obsessed with the whole notion conveyed by the movie and all its complexities,and constructed elaborate theories for some of those bothering questions we’ve been having since 16 July. However I don’t expect even a third viewing will be sufficient to nail things down. Besides,its so baffling and ambiguous that different people may have conflicting and contradicting opinions, just like we interpret our dreams.

Leonardo de Caprio plays Dom Cobb an extractor specialized navigating people’s minds, and stealing information from deep within their subconscious. He is assisted by his point man Arthur, who does background research on his subjects .They offer freelance espionage (well it is implied) to any client wealthy enough to pay for it, for which, he is wanted by most of the law enforcement agencies on the planet and he’s constantly on the run. When his most recent job turns out to be a failure, he’s offered a chance at redemption, if he s able to perform the perhaps impossible act of "inception”. He assembles a team and starts working on an exceptionally complex, multilayered dreamscape where they plan to place their subject and plant an initial seed of a subconscious thought that will eventually grow to a major, conscious decision that he would not otherwise make. What follows is a wild head trip, through this visually spectacular, labyrinthian world embellished with such ravishing detail all painfully constructed by Nolan. When things go wrong,the team has to deal with several issues, not the least of which is Cobb’s own disturbed subconscious.I cannot risk revealing more of the plot without spoiling it for those who haven’t watched the movie yet.

Though conceptually similar to an earlier movie “Shutter Island” which also starred De Caprio, however “Inception” is much more complex, exploring the idea of “dream within a dream”. The plot is so intensely composite but the director expertly gets the characters to stand around explaining the complexities of the plot at regular intervals,so that each and any unanswered question the audience may think of is answered. For such a complex plot the movie is coherent, and paced to perfection that we are always there right in the middle of everything. It is also very visually outstanding, without resorting to 3d or too much CGI. At one point when an entire cityscape folded in on itself the audience was left dumbfounded with awe. The movie also boasts of a stellar cast, but they do little to progress the plot, and there are moments when they are just standing around occupying screen space. The camera work is impeccable as the movie moves on to its latter half and we delve much deeper into the characters’ subconscious, with action occurring at multiple levels simultaneously. The score isn’t Zimmer’s best work, yet it gives us a sense of anticipation.

Bottom line? With “Inception” Nolan establishes himself as the foremost mainstream moviemaker of Hollywood. Despite it being an impossibly audacious concept, Nolan manages to pull it off with ease. Yet there is one thing he fails to provide us, and that is closure. Like most other Nolan movies the audience is kept guessing. As the ending credits roll no one knows for sure whether he’s still dreaming or not. Give us closure, Christopher Nolan , our subconscious yearns for it !!

Rating: 9.5/10..

Of ancient motorcycles and psycho doctors!

I’ve always been into doing things the “extreme” way and “living on the edge” and all that shit. Even as a little kid, while others my age were engrossed in wrestling and nascar and all that girly crap I used to watch roller jam…for the uninitiated roller jam is this totally awesome sport where beefy hunks and busty chicks, on roller blades, race against each other in a circular rink, quite frequently ramming into one another in an attempt to shove them off the playing area (Apparently you get points for doing so). Whatever it may be, it used to get pretty darn violent and I remember I enjoyed watching it. As a matter of fact I used to enjoy being a part of any thing that had the potential to be obscenely violent. My obsession with television violence bordering on insanity, my parents deemed it inordinately stupid to let me too close to anything that if used creatively could cause a lot of pain.

Now, let me tell you some thing about my uncle’s motorcycle. It is ANCIENT .The artifact has been passed on for so many generations that the original owner had long since been forgotten. The machine had been manufactured in some primeval era when the human skull was large enough to accommodate only so many brain cells that the thought of “braking” or “stopping” never occurred. Good for them, their cranial capacities were inadequate. They never thought of taking these contraptions out for a test-drive either. Lets just say, the human race would have become extinct that much earlier. Well so about the bike…my uncle was trying to get rid of it, and I was pretty certain that he knew that I knew that he wouldn’t be able to get shit for it if he tried selling it. I guess that’s why he let me have it for free. All I had to do in return was keep it in proper running condition. Well what did I have to lose? It sounded like a good bargain so I took it…. only to regret it later.

All was well for a couple of days, until I decided to take my recently inherited 17th century motorcycle out for a spin. As was wont to happen, despite all of my uncle’s warnings I forgot to get the brakes repaired. After a good 15 minutes and several wasted kicks later, I manage to get the infernal thing started. Deciding that brakes aren’t all that important for a motorcycle, I set out, throwing caution to the winds. As I entered the highway, I became ambitious. Wanting to see how fast she’d go, I opened her up. I managed to get the thing all the way up to 90,which was a great thing considering all those years of neglect the machine had been subjected to. The road was quite slippery owing to recent rains, but that did not matter. Feeling sublime and at peace, I closed my eyes. As most of you probably know, doing 90 on an ancient motorcycle with zero brakes, on wet road, with your eyes closed is suicidal. But all that TV violence had gone to my head rendered me completely brain dead and I was thoroughly enjoying it. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, something darted onto the middle of the road.

Some people say that the mongoose is an extremely elusive creature, very difficult to spot and capture. Hit him full on the face, going 90 kph with the headlights on and the horn blowing! OH YEAH! There’s your elusive creature! He must’ve been quite a mongoose, because upon impact I lost all semblance of control and instinctively tugged at the brakes. Nothing whatsoever happened. I could only watch helplessly as the bike careened off the road and raced toward a nearby thicket. I lost balance and fell off, as the bike caught in all the shrubbery, came to a standstill. But for a bruised toe, I was unhurt, thanks to all that protective blubber.

Well, a bruised toe wasn’t much so I didn’t worry about it a lot. Weeks passed, and my wound showed no sign of healing. It developed into a really painful blister that bled constantly. Unable to stand the pain any longer, I finally decided to pay the neighbourhood clinic a visit. Always, consult a specialist if you have the means. Because these so called “doctors”, who run these cheap dilapidated clinics, are completely psycho. I walked into the place only to see this guy in a very colorful ‘lungi’, smoking a beedi. He looked more like a rickshaw-puller than anything else. Naturally I assumed him to be the guy who cleaned the place to earn a little extra something.I asked him where the doctor was. With a totally homosexual simile, he gestured towards the seat next to him. With a sense of foreboding I sat down. I let him take a look at the wound. I swear to god, this guy was high on some local stuff because on seeing my swollen bloody toe he got all excited. “Ippo sheriakkitharam!”, he said and ran inside .He returned with an 8-inch long steel nail and started heating it over a spirit lamp. I was scared shit. No way, I was letting him stick that thing into me.. If he poked me with that, I’d sue him for attempted manslaughter! The thing was larger than a normal average human dick! (Well, not if you lived in Jamaica…). I opened my mouth to voice my thoughts but all I could manage was, “ Doctoreee…vedanikyoo???…”. “Oru urumbu kadikunna pole”, he responded with a particularly murderous grin. “Ready?”, he asked. I closed my eyes hoping I’d pass out before the worst of it.

It was pain beyond everything I had experienced before. I tried not to think of the words ‘searing’ and ‘flesh’ but try as I might, I could not blot out the bizarre image of an 8-inch nail sticking out of my toe. I craved for an analgesic, but my doctor had probably never heard of those. An agonizing 10 minutes later, I dragged my mutilated foot out of the clinic and hobbled home feeling very sorry for myself.

As I lay here in bed, with my leg even worse than before, I swear upon the graves of my ancestors, as soon as I get better I’m gonna shoot that son of a bitch…. well until then all i can do is, recount my story to everybody who’ll listen. : (

Old School's still the coolest!!!

I‘ve been putting off this post for quite a while, But I don’t think ill be able to any more seeing that all of my friends’ blogs have a post about Loyola and mine does not. Having studied in Loyola for 13 years it seems only proper for me to have one in my blog as well.
Where do I start? Words fail me … I realize how difficult it is to put in words what Loyola means to me. It’s hardly been a year and half since ive passed out but have I moved on??…I guess not… Everybody knows how passionate we are about school. In fact even after passing out most of us spend our free time at school, hanging out… a rarity in most other institutions, and that is precisely what makes Loyola different. To us it is more that just a school. It has become part of our soul.
13 of the most glorious years of my life I’ve spent here and I am proud to say that I cherish each and every moment of it too, thanks to 48 very special people, with whom ive spent more than three quarters of my life. Well, Ive had conflicts with quite a few of them, but over the years, ive come to realize that, you quarrel the most with people you truly care about. Every time I return to school warm memories swarm my mind. Heck, right now I’d give anything in the world to be a 16 yr old again and return to Loyola as a twelfth grader.
`Boy do I miss those lunch breaks…. Observing Darwins theory of evolution in action, in our own Joseph uncles watery beef curry…what used to be beef evolved into single celled and later even into multi cellular organisms… more recently sightings of humanoid creatures with opposable thumbs have been reported….
Then came a certain Mr. Fijo Funny’s computer classes…Mr Fijo Funny (alias) was none other than our dearest computer professor, who was roughly as intelligent as the guy who invented the wheel… This poor unsuspecting soul believed that every living hour we spent in the computer lab was devoted to cpp…. He also has the dubious distinction of being the only computer professor in the world who was unware of what a small group of computers connected over LAN is capable of. There was also a group of students whose sole purpose in life was to annoy the living shit out of poor Mr. Fijo….
Then there was dear old Edassery achan who threatened to expel me for not repaying a hugeeeeeee loan of 10 bucks. Syam still owes him a couple thousand bucks.
Oh yea, DP s classes were a treat too. DP …….who was able to see beyond the extreme sexual euphemism of a poem (kubla khan) while less confused perversion obsessed mortals like us were unable to. To quote a black immigrant dude from her class “Ithonnum kubla khan swapnathil polum vicharichu kaanilla!!!” Once in a while she’d take us out to the multimedia room to catch a good flick and we’d have the time of our lives “alambing”…that’s where some of us actually learnt to wolf whistle.
I even remember our biology classes way back in the sixth standard and someone asking Thomaskutty sir where a flowering plants testicles were??
Then there was joy sir…. our friendly neighbourhood genius who would have gone on to become the winner of the popular TV reality show ”Americas Next Big MAD SCIENTIST! Muhuhahaha*cough*” if he hadn’t become a teacher!! Some say he’s messy but I beg to deffer… he’s just obsessed with the 70 s style…ya know…the “sodakuppi” glass, the hippie hairstyle sans head band…and its common knowledge that in the 70’s people used to wear the same shirt atleast 4 times a week and shave once a year, so its okay.
Our batch plans to present him with a comb on our 10th anniversary reunion. (If he doesn’t have a wig by then that is!).
Being a K.U. sophomore is no fun at all. Heck, you don’t even get time to take a comfortable dump. Only now do I realize how much I truly miss Loyola. The happiest moments of my life were spent walking down that narrow lane from sreekariyam to Loyola. The Loyola, which gave me a thousand memories that ill hold close to my heart till my dying day; the Loyola that gave us the freedom to be whatever we wanted to be; the Loyola that moulded each and every one of us 49,into proper men of substance…


WE WERE THE 49- THE BOTS!!!!- BROTHERS……AND WILL ALWAYS BE TILL DEATH DO US PART!!!