Madras Chronicles—Fathers and Sons

We were driving home after I picked up my sons from violin class. The underground tunneling work for the Metro Rail had made our drive home a tad longer. I stopped humming Yuvan Shankar Raja's Billa theme and asked the boys, “What do you want to become when you grow up?”

“I want to become an actor!” said the younger one while the elder one kept quiet. It has been a pretty standard answer for him for almost as long as I can remember.

“What about you?” I kept prodding the elder one.

“I am not sure...”, he said.

“You should start with your interests. Don't ever get into something which doesn't interest you!” I let out a pearl of my wisdom.

“Okay.”

“So, what interests you?”

He paused for a few seconds and said, “Video games, sports and cooking.” He seemed to be sure of his answer.

“That is a very good start... knowing what your interests are. Now, you need to develop and nurture these interests and find your calling.”

He looked at me and smiled.

“You can become a gamer and build a big business around video games. You can become a sportsperson... you will have to pick a sport that you absolutely love. I know you can become a chef because you already cook so well...Your dosas are fantastic! The possibilities are endless.We are going to build upon these ideas and you can figure out what you really want to pursue.”

In the two minutes before we reached home, the younger one started narrating his movie screenplay.

* * *

I had dislocated my left thumb for the second time. This time it was a game of football during a substitute P.T. period at school. I was the goalie. JVB kicked the ball. I tried to defend it with my left hand. The ball hit my thumb and I knew immediately that it had dislocated. I felt a sudden rush of panic that was immediately overwhelmed by the feeling of failure to defend the goal. I kicked the ball and continued play as if nothing happened.

Later that evening, I told my mother. My father took me to our family doctor. He called the visiting orthopaedist, the same doctor who fixed my thumb earlier when I got it dislocated trying to ride my bicycle hands-free on the road off Poonamallee High Road that led to the old Naduvankarai bridge. I learnt two lessons that day. One - don't try to steer the bicycle with your leg, especially when you are driving hands-free downhill. Two - you will never forget your first dislocation however old you get.

We left the clinic and my father started his faithful maroon Bajaj M-80. I rode pillion. Just as he merged into the traffic on Poonamallee High Road near the toll-gate bus stop, I hear a bang. A second later, both of us are thrown off the vehicle. Half a second later, I see the rear wheel of the speeding Tempo that hit us just a few inches away from my face. My whole life flashes before me. The Tempo screeches to a halt. I come to my senses and look around. My father is down on the ground. He had a few minor scratches. I feel a shooting pain in my right knee and toes. My pinky toe had its nail ripped and my knee had a bloody gash about an inch wide. I was a bit dazed from my near-death experience.

We went back up to the doctor and he treated our wounds.

For the next two weeks, my dad and I had to visit the doctor to get the wound dressing changed. One such day while waiting for the doctor, I tell my father, “I find the medical profession to be a noble one. I think I want to become a doctor!”

* * *

My dad worked as an accountant at a government-owned organization. The accounting department got two brand new IBM PCs from the head office. One of them was an IBM PC XT with a monochrome CRT monitor and another was an IBM PC/AT with a color VGA CRT monitor. You booted those monstrosities with a 5¼-inch floppy diskette MS-DOS operating system. My father was the go-to guy on computers in that company because he could do spreadsheets (Lotus-123, anyone?) and knew Ashton Tate's dBase III+.

He was the go-to guy for me for three reasons. One - he let me type the school projects using Wordstar on those machines and fire up the dot-matrix printer and look at it with awe as it rattled away (and I just loved greenbar continuous stationery for some Freudian reason); Two - he let me work on Harvard Graphics Presentation or the extremely popular Banner software and go crazy printing text in cool fonts (Did I say I loved continuous stationery?); Three - he always let me play Prince of Persia and Chess on those computers.

So, when I took the Biology/Math/Physics/Chemistry/English group in class XI, I volunteered to get our class notes for “The Human Reproductive System” printed. Due to time constraints this was typed by my dad's colleagues in record time so that our class could meet the deadline.

The first and only choice I made, when I couldn't get into medicine and chose to pursue engineering instead, was Computer Science & Engineering. Instead of class notes, it was now slides for technical papers created with Harvard Graphics Presentation on Overhead Projector film.

I think I owe it to Prince of Persia and my dad for being able to tell my son today that he can become a gamer, if he wants to.

Madras Chronicles—Guitar Hero

The first audio cassette player I used was a Sanyo. It was a cassette recorder with a built-in microphone and a mono player. My uncle bought it and it was in my grandmother's house. It was the year when Mouna Ragam released in the Grand Theatre in Annanagar, the first Tamil film in a theatre that ran English films and directed by a new director named Mani Rathnam which went on to become that year's biggest grossing film.

The same year saw the release of Punnagai Mannan by K. Balachander starring Kamal Hassan. It was widely publicized as the movie in which Ilayaraja, the composer used the MIDI synthesizer to bring computer music to the Tamil film industry, believed to be operated by A. R. Rahman. Oomai Vizhigal was another hit movie that year, a film written by Aabhavaanan and directed by R. Aravindraj, starring Vijayakant. But there were three reasons why the film that is etched in my mind from that year was Vikram, another Kamal Hassan starrer. The first reason—the story  and screenplay was by my favorite writer Sujatha. The second reason—it had Vanithavani,vanamohini…, a song considered too risqué at that time that Oliyum Oliyum, a program that was telecast every Friday by the state-run Doordarshan TV (Channel 4), never showed it. It was a song that a trio of friends secretly sang in the back benches at school while the teacher was busy with the lesson. The third reason was the beautiful Dimple Kapadia who was brought from Bollywood to act in that movie as a princess of an exotic land.

Remember the Sanyo cassette player that I started with. The very first recording I made using it was songs from the Hindi blockbuster movie, Bobby from many years earlier, starring Rishi Kapoor and Dimple Kapadia. That was the first time that I saw Bobby and instantly fell in love with it, the same way that Rishi Kapoor's character is enamoured seeing Dimple's. The movie was telecast by Doordarshan and I meticulously taped every song. A Sanyo cassette player, Bobby, Dimple Kapadia, Vikram—the universe conspires to design your fate.  That moment marked my unofficial introduction to music.

My school had co-curricular activities every Thursday and I had signed up for Yoga. After a year, I felt that I should switch because I felt the other kids were having too much fun while I was stretching my body into uncomfortable poses. We also had a guitar club that sounded cool and I decided to join. When I told my mother, she asked me if I was really interested. I answered affirmatively.

The next week she took me to a quaint shop in Mount Road called Musee Musical. I instantly fell in love with that shop. There was an old-world charm to that store. They had violins, guitars, drums, flutes and every other musical instrument that I had seen before in my life. I got myself a yellow Givson guitar. It cost 650 Rupees and the salesman gave me two complimentary picks. My mother and I returned home in an autorickshaw. I held my Givson carefully as the autorickshaw navigated the potholes in the Madras roads.

Our guitar teacher in school started with music theory, treble clef, bass clef, notation etc., One day, someone brought a leaflet for a CASIO electronic keyboard that had numbers instead of the notes and was playing Jingle Bells using it as reference. Initially, the teacher was smiling and walked up to that boy. When he discovered that he was playing it from that leaflet that didn't have notation—an abomination to say the least—he was horrified. He went into a rage tearing it apart and throwing it into the trash can.

On another instance when he found three of us talking during class. Saravanan was my classmate and the other one was a junior student. I vaguely remember his name as Ravi. He asked each one of us to make a fist and knock the other's head with our knuckles. The first one to get struck was Saravanan and the Ravi was to do the deed. It was my turn next to strike Ravi and then Saravanan was supposed to strike me. I had to think quickly to escape, so I did the unexpected. I rolled my right palm into a tight fist and gathered the maximum strength that I could and struck Ravi hard on the center of his head! It must have knocked the living daylights out of him that he immediately began crying, tears flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks. The guitar teacher was stunned and didn't know what to do. He asked me why I hit him so hard. I just shrugged and told him I just did what he asked me to. He then ordered the three of us to get back to our seats and consoled the boy who was wiping his tears and stroking his head. I don't think Ravi ever spoke to me after that.

I continued in the guitar club for the next two years and then my interests shifted to dramatics. The guitar gathered dust at the corner of my room except for the occasional time when I would feel like strumming.

After I finished college and got into a job, I gave my guitar away to one of my younger cousins. That was my brief brush with music.

A decade and a half later, I am a happily married family man with two sons. My wife wanted to wean them away from TV by putting them into—you guessed it—music class! Both the boys learn Classical Carnatic violin. A random thought crops up in my mind and out of a whim, I ask my wife. She says it is never too late to learn anything.

A week later, at the insistence of my wife, I register for guitar classes at the same place where my sons go to learn violin! On the first day at class, my classmates are a couple of college students and a school-going boy and girl, just a few years older than my sons. It was a true Vasoolraja MBBS moment for me. The first day was just basic theory. At the end of the class, the teacher instructed the little girl to bring her notebook during the next class and then turned to me and asked me to copy the lessons from her. Jokes apart, I was truly thrilled that I decided to learn the guitar. There was only one thing left. I needed a guitar before the next class.

I was very excited about the thought of buying a new guitar. I wanted to take my family with me to the store. Unfortunately, our washing machine broke and my wife said she needed to stay home until the technician finished fixing it. Luckily, he came early and she was on board for the trip to the store. My younger son loves shopping, so he said he would join. I told my mom that we are going to the store and she asked me if I want her to come. Not to be left out, my brother and his wife also join the group and off we go to the store!

Madras is now Chennai and Chennai Metro Rail is busy digging up Mount Road for laying the tunnels. Policemen on horseback are crossing Mount Road at the Walajah Road / Mount Road signal. We take a U-turn on Walajah Road and come back to Mount Road. Almost twenty-five years later, after asking directions from a bookseller who had set shop on the sidewalk, we arrive once again at Musee Musical. The store looked very different from what I recollect from my memories.

I select my guitar. The salesperson tuned it and gave me two complimentary picks and a guitar belt. We took pictures at the store. Minutes later all of us are on our way back home. I am sitting in the front passenger seat of our car holding on to my guitar firmly as the car bumps a little. Damn potholes!

Random Acts

The train was not crowded for a Tuesday morning. Velachery station was next and a few minutes away. I was sitting on a seat near the door and noticed the commotion behind me. A man had fainted and the passengers clamoured to make him lie down.

I moved towards him.

He was about thirty-five years old, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.

“Please! Make way... I am a doctor. Let me take a look at him!” I said.

I checked his pulse. He was still conscious, breathing irregularly and looking dazed. Small beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

“Do you feel any pain in your chest?”

“No,” he nodded.

“Have you ever fainted before?”

“No...”

“Did you eat this morning?”

“No,” he nodded again.

“Okay... Don't worry. This might just be a low sugar situation. Drink this...”

I handed him a bottle of Fanta I had with me.

“Your body needs sugar right now... You are very likely running low on blood sugar.”

The train was approaching the station. He sat up and had a few gulps of the Fanta. He seemed to feel better.

“Well... This is my stop. I will be getting down. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes...”

“Get something to eat, alright?”

The train stopped. I joined the other passengers who got down at that station. I would have just taken a few steps when I heard him calling me.

“I didn't get to thank you...”

It was him.

“That's alright... I am glad I could help!”

“I am taking your advice and getting some breakfast. Would you care to join me, if you don't mind?”

“No, I have an appointment...”

I hesitated, looking at my watch. I still had forty minutes before my meeting with my insurance agent.

“On second thoughts... Let's go. There is a restaurant right outside the station,” I said.

The man appeared visibly pleased that I agreed.

We reached the restaurant. He ordered a masala dosa and I had coffee. We talked about each other. He told me that he was looking for a job and hadn't found one in the last two months.

The waiter brought the bill. I reached for my wallet and was shocked to discover that it was missing.

“Are you looking for this?”

He placed my wallet in front of me.

“I am sorry! I won't steal... ever again!”

Unfinished Business

Sundaram sat in the backseat and looked outside his car window. The city had changed so much in the last twenty years. He had come to India on business for the first time in many years. He had a nostalgic feeling looking at some of the landmarks that still stood the test of time among the more modern coffee shops, retail stores and fast food joints.

The two elephant statues by the side of the stairs at Annanagar club reminded him of the day when his school bus had a minor accident with a truck right in front of it. You generally don't forget the moment when you learn your first swear word. The Tower park was another regular place where he spent countless hours with friends.

The car was now past the Annanagar Roundtana. Sundaram noticed the store and asked the driver to stop the car.

* * *

“Anbu, the farewell is just a week away. We need to get gifts for our school teachers,” said Sundaram.


“Yeah, I know. We are going to a movie this weekend. Are you coming?” asked Anbu.


“Which movie and who else is coming?”


“Ram, Kumar, Ashok and I are planning to see Kishen Kanhaiya!”

Sundaram thought about it for a second. He had seen the Shilpa Shirodkar's stills in Filmfare and wanted to go. Although the practical problem of convincing his mother to get money for the tickets remained, he said yes.

* * *

The gang walked out of the Melody theatre after watching Anil Kapoor's double-act in the movie. They got into a bus. Along the way they were cracking jokes about movie clichés and voluptuous Bollywood women among other things. They got down at the Gemini stop.

“Lets go to Landmark. Maybe we can get the cards there?”

“What is our budget?”


“Part of the money is going into decorations and other event arrangements. I think we have 200 rupees give or take for buying the Thank You cards.”


“Thank You cards are a good idea, but can we gift something useful? Like a pen or something...”


“That is a good suggestion.”

They spent the next one hour at Landmark looking for Thank You cards and didn't find anything that met their budgetary constraints. The pens were even more expensive and they finally walked out without buying anything from the store. The store assistants probably heaved a sigh of relief upon their departure as they were getting antsy about these punks ruffling through the display copies of Filmfare, Debonair, India Today and other magazines.

The job was now delegated to Ram and Sundaram as the friends split up on their way home.

* * *

It was a small stationery shop. There was a person at the counter and another man at the cash register. Books, pens, ink, cellophane tape, scissors, glue and other items adorned the shelves. Sundaram and Ram walked in.

“We are looking for pens...” said Ram.

The assistant at the counter showed regular fountain pens. Ram looked at Sundaram who was shaking his head in disagreement.

“Can we get something better? We need twenty five of them!” said Sundaram.

The man sitting at the cash register walked towards them.

“Why don't you get #210, #302 and the Parkers?” He directed the assistant.

He must be the owner of the store thought Sundaram.

The assistant climbed up on a stool and returned back with half a dozen boxes with different kinds of pens.

“These are seventeen rupees a piece. These are twenty...” The shopkeeper explained about the writing instruments.

Ram looked at Sundaram. They both did the math mentally. There was no way to fit any of that in their budget.

He looked at the shopkeeper with the corner of his eye without making eye contact to ensure that he wasn't looking at them. He then lifted the box of cheap fountain pens to check the price as he was too embarassed to ask. Luckily, another customer walked into the store and the assistant walked away to help them. The owner was still with them. Ram pushed the boxes away from him and looked up at the shopkeeper. That is when he noticed. The shopkeeper was blind.

Ram pulled Sundaram aside and whispered into his ear.

“The man is blind!”

Sundaram was shocked. He looked at the man. His eyes were transfixed on an imaginary point behind them. He was blind indeed.

“I don't think we can buy any of these pens. They are all outside our budget! Let us end this embarrassment right now and get out!” said Ram.

“Okay. Let me handle the exit strategy...” said Sundaram and turned to the shopkeeper.

“We need something nicer! None of this stuff impresses us. Do you have anything better?”

The man paused for a second. “No, this is all we have. I am sorry.”

“Alright, thanks. We don't need them!”

Sundaram and Ram walked out.

“God! That was embarrassing...”

* * *

The place looked very different. But Sundaram knew that he was at the right place. He got out of his car and walked in. The store looked much brighter and spacious now.

“Can I help you sir?” asked the shopkeeper.

“Yes. I would like to get twenty five pens please. The best ones you've got!” said Sundaram.

The Odds

Prakash looked at his watch. It has been more than forty minutes since the scheduled departure time for his flight. There was no sign of the aircraft leaving the departure gate. The cabin was getting warmer. The flight attendants were busy handing out water bottles to the passengers who were getting increasingly impatient.

The PA system came alive with the captain making an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for this morning's delay. Our ground staff have been attending to a technical snag trying to get this aircraft flying and have been unsuccessful. We have a standby aircraft and our staff will assist you in getting you boarded soon. Once again, we apologize for the inconvenience.”

The passengers got up murmuring and lined up to get off the plane.

Prakash was concerned about missing his connection flight to London from Mumbai. He was on his way to attend a due diligence meeting with a potential acquisition target that his company was considering.

* * * 

The flight touched down at Mumbai airport almost an hour and half delayed from what Prakash had planned. As soon as he got out, he headed towards the shuttle bus service to get to the international terminal. There was a small queue waiting there for the shuttle. Prakash was getting nervous about making his flight as he reckoned he would reach there less than thirty minutes prior to the departure of his London flight.

The agonizing wait was finally over as the passengers boarded the shuttle bus.

* * * 

Prakash got down from the shuttle at the international terminal and sprinted to the check-in counter. He was surprised that the check-in counters were all empty with no one at the desks except at one where a supervisor was finishing up her shift. He ran to that counter before she could get away.

“Hi, I am on the flight to London...”

“Sorry sir, boarding is closed! I can help you get on the next flight that leaves late tonight...”

“Look, my incoming flight from Chennai got delayed. It is very important that I get on that flight to London to attend a business meeting. There is still twenty-five minutes to departure. Can you do something?”

“No sir, I can't!”

Prakash was getting angry. But, he also realized that the only person in the entire world who could help him get on that plane was the lady in front of him.

“Please! Can you at least check if there is a possibility? I would be very grateful...”

The lady looked at him for a second of hesitation and then picked up the phone.

“I am going to check with the gate. If they have still not closed the gate, we can try...”

“Thank you!"

Prakash let a sigh of relief.

“Okay. The last few passengers are boarding the flight. I am going to upgrade your economy ticket to business class. You may have to run in order to make it before they close the door. Here's your boarding pass. Have a pleasant flight!”

“Thank you! You are a lifesaver...”

Prakash picked up his hand luggage and ran towards security. He thanked his stars for packing light without any check-in bags. The security lines were also empty. He breezed through it and ran towards the gate hoping to make it on time.

He finally reached the gate. The last three elderly passengers were boarding the plane.

‘Thank God for old people!’

Prakash finally was relieved. He stood at the end of the line wiping the sweat off his face.

A few minutes later, he was well settled in his seat smiling at the flight attendant who was serving him a welcome drink.

* * * 

The television channels were running the news about the crash non-stop. A red bulletin in the bottom of the screen announced a toll-free number that relatives could call to inquire status. The nation was shocked and sadness filled the air.

No one expected any survivors from the crash. So, it was indeed a miracle that one person out of the four hundred plus passengers on that fateful flight lived to tell the tale.

Homework

Selvam sat in his classroom looking out the widow. Two sparrows sitting on a branch of the mango tree in the playground were chirping playfully. The teacher was reading a passage from the Social Studies textbook. Nothing that happened around him interested Selvam. He was preoccupied with something that demanded his entire creative faculties. So, the sparrows and Social Studies had to wait.

The past two hours he had been thinking about what excuse he would give this time for not finishing his Tamil homework. Ms. Malini was a tough teacher and very adept at detecting lies. He remembered how Sudhakar goofed up a few days ago.

“Why didn't you finish your homework?” asked Ms. Malini.

“I was out of station this weekend,” said Sudhakar.

“Where did you go?”

“Bombay!”

“...and you returned over the weekend? In just one day?”

“Yes!”

“How did you go? Did you fly?”

“No. We went in my uncle's motorbike! It is a Bullet... very fast!”

Selvam hit his forehead with his palm. ‘The idiot doesn't even know how to lie... This is not going to be good!’

Ms. Malini rolled her eyes and grabbed Sudhakar by his ears. “So, you and your uncle made a trip to Bombay from Madras in his bike and returned in one day!”

The bell rang and Selvam came back to his senses.

‘There is not enough time. It is mathematics class now followed by recess and Ms. Malini will be here for the Tamil class! Think Selvam... think!’

‘Should I say that I lost my homework notebook? No, I have used that excuse already! She would only get mad that I am repeating the same stupid excuse... What if I say that I left my notebook at home? Selvam, come up with something original and believable... Some other idiot would give that excuse today! Should I say that my younger brother must have got my notebook mixed up with his by mistake? Nope... too dangerous! What if she asks me to go to his class and collect it? Oh the perils of having your sibling study in the same school...’

Ms. Jaya, the mathematics teacher was explaining mean, median, mode. Lies, damn lies and statistics!

Selvam's mind was grasping at straws helplessly as he drowned in the river of rejected ideas. I am doomed...

The vice-principal walked into the class and Ms. Jaya stopped her lesson. The two of them walked out of the classroom and discussed something softly. Ms. Jaya returned a minute later. She closed her textbook and asked all the children to gather their belongings and assemble in a single file, in the corridor outside the classroom.

“Children, we are closing the school now as we have received news that the Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had been shot dead by her bodyguards. Public transport in the city is stopped. No buses are plying. We will be taking you to your homes in groups...” She continued explaining the logistics.

Selvam was not paying attention to any of that. The sparrows were still there on the tree branch, chirping merrily.

Madras Chronicles — Summer of '79

Every kid grows up with a song that keeps repeating in his head. For me it was என்னடி மீனாட்சி, சொன்னது என்னாச்சு from the movie இளமை ஊஞ்சல் ஆடுகிறது directed by ஸ்ரீதர் that had memorable performances by Kamal Hasan, Rajnikanth, Sripriya and Jayachitra. The song performed by S.P. Balasubramaniam was quite popular in '78-'79 and whenever All India Radio played the song, I used to run towards the radio and start dancing. It was a favorite entertainment for all the aunts and uncles in the household. The fact that my maternal grandmother was named Meenakshi must have had something to do with it.

Madras Chronicles — Billa and Ranga

My first memory of Madras is from the year 1979. I was 4 years old. I still vividly remember walking along with my maternal grandfather, mom and dad in a suburb of Madras at that time called Annanagar. The most popular landmark that everyone associated with Annanagar was the Visweswaraya Tower built in the early '70s after the 1968 World Trade Fair held in that area. Most people just call it the Annanagar Tower.

The Bicycles

“You promised me that you will get me a bicycle when my summer holiday starts. Are you going to get me one?” asked Kumar. Raghu glanced up from the newspaper to look at Kumar who was busy on the computer playing a Street Racer video game.

“Yes. We will get it today!” said Raghu with a matter-of-fact expression on his face.

Annapurna

E

veryone was stunned when Prakash announced his decision. There was utter disbelief in the room. His sister Priya was the first one to speak.

“Are you out of your mind? My marriage is in November. Are you even going to be back by that time? What if you don’t come back?”

“Priya, that is not appropriate. Prakash, do you think this is realistic?”, asked dad. There was genuine concern in his eyes.

“Appa, you know me. I have made up my mind about Annapurna. I will be away for the next six months. That is unavoidable.”

His mother walked up to him and said, “Prakash, you were born five weeks premature. Everyone said that you won’t make it. Your father used to feed you with a tube and syringe. Look at you now! You have made it this far. We trust you. We are not worried about you and Annapurna. Our wishes and prayers are always with you.”

“Thanks Ma!”

Priya shook her head in disapproval. Prakash pulled her and kissed her on the forehead, “Hey, don’t worry. I will be back in time for your marriage.”

* * *

Prakash got down from the bus with his backpack and a hand luggage. The area was teeming with people. He walked up to the tent that was set up for registration.

The girl at the registration desk was wearing a lavender jacket. She looked up and removed her ear muffs.

“I am Prakash and part of the blue team.”

“Okay, let me see here…”

She ran her finger down the list of names on her clip pad. When she found his name she looked up and said, “Welcome to base camp! Do you have your gear?”

“Yes, I do! Have the other members of my team checked in?”

“Yes, they have. You are the last one to arrive. They should be in the blue tent that you see over there…”

She pointed in a direction where there were a cluster of tents. Behind the tents stood the majestic Mt. Annapurna, one of the most dangerous mountains for climbers.

“Thanks to our sponsors, we are offering a free pair of climber shoes for everyone who made it to base camp. What is your shoe size?”

“Well dear, I won’t be needing them… I always have them specially made for me!”

Prakash pulled up his trousers to reveal his pair of prosthetic limbs.

Ego

T

he school year was coming to a close. Balu had just finished his Eleventh Standard and the summer holidays were going to start in two days. He was walking in the corridor adjoining the principal’s room when he saw a girl waiting with her parents. She looked very familiar.

Balu stopped to take a second look at her. He couldn’t recognize her, but his instinct said that he had seen her before.

Three months later when the school reopened, he found that she had joined in the Eleventh Standard. It hit him like a ton of bricks. It was Suji! How could he not remember her?

* * *

It was the last day of their Fifth Standard. Balu and Suji had been sharing the bench from class two onwards. Suji’s father got a transfer to Bangalore and they were moving after this school year. It was the last day that they both were going to see each other.

Suji got better grades than Balu consistently and he hated that! But he could not do nothing about it all these years. Other than this sense of competition, they both were good friends.

As they walked out of the school, Balu felt an unexplainable feeling in his gut. They reached a fork in the road and it was time to say good bye.

“All the best… and good bye!”

Balu and Suji parted ways.

* * *

‘Ha! It is Suji, after all… But wait! What is she doing in the Eleventh Standard? She must have lost a whole year. Or maybe they couldn’t get admitted in Twelfth and chose to lose a year… That doesn’t make any sense… She must’ve failed a year! Yes, that it. The Great Suji has got her comeuppance.’

Balu was smug with satisfaction. He even felt that he was flying in the air.

That last year that he spent in school, he never spoke a word to Suji. She was beneath his status... she had flunked a year! When they would cross paths in the school corridors, Balu would avoid eye contact with her. He was busy with his studies with the single aim of getting into Engineering and never spared a second to think about Suji.

* * *

Two years later the classmates had gathered to meet over a weekend. Balu was doing his Engineering as he always wanted. They all talked about the various escapades during their school days—getting caught for plucking mangoes from the only mango tree left in the school that was built in the location that was a grove at one time; dissecting a garden lizard near the badminton court; leaving a dead rat on the shelves; stirring a mutiny of sorts when the cricket team was announced (and later getting ‘the treatment’ from the very strict vice principal). It was all fun and frolic as they shared past experiences.

The evening was getting to be a very memorable one for all. That’s when one of them interjected, “Did you guys hear about Suji? You know, the girl who used to sit next to Balu until Fifth grade. She also rejoined a few years ago one year junior to us…”

“Yeah, what about her?” Balu asked nonchalantly.

“She died! Cancer, they say...”

“What?” Balu couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“She lost an entire school year in treatment. All of that in vain… May she rest in peace!”

That night, Balu cried. But, he never forgave himself.

The Flu

G

ayatri and Raghu were waiting for their appointment with the doctor. Their daughter Shruti had been complaining of cough, cold and body ache since last evening. There were two other young kids in the waiting area with masks on.

A newspaper lay on the coffee table in that waiting area with the headlines “Swine Flu: Many city schools closed as precaution”

The nurse called them in.

The doctor examined Shruti. “When did the symptoms start?”

“From last evening, doctor. She has been complaining of body pain, cough and cold.”

“The symptoms are indicative of H1N1. I will prescribe a test. There are only three places in the city that are authorized by the government to collect samples and perform the test as of now— The Government Hospital, Chennai, The Communicable Diseases Hospital at Tondiarpet, and King Institute at Guindy. Private hospitals will not admit H1N1 cases until the government issues a directive.”

Shruti looked up at her parents. Gayatri and Raghu were worried.

“There is a private lab that can also do a test. They have also been permitted by the government to collect samples just recently. You can also try that out.”

He handed over a prescription for the tests.

* * *

There were a steady stream of people coming into the Healthtech lab. A small temporary room was created outside the main lab to collect H1N1 samples.

The medical officer at the lab walked up to Gayatri and Raghu.

“Are you sure you need the H1N1 test to be done. We need to speak to your doctor and confirm this. Do you have his number? I am sorry we have to do this because there is a serious spike in requests for H1N1 test requests!”

Raghu gave him his number. The medical officer returned a minute later after speaking to the doctor.

“Please give a throat swab sample. There are two tests that we will do. The first one is only an Influenza A or B discrimination test. If it is Influenza B, it is not Swine Flu. That test costs 250 rupees. The H1N1 test is done with an experimental kit from Korea. That will cost 5000 rupees.”

“Would you need a separate sample for that?”

“No. We can do that with the same sample that we collect now.”

“Okay. In that case, please run the A/B discrimination test and we will decide on the H1N1 test.”

They paid the cashier. They were asked to come back at 5.00 PM to collect the report.

* * *

Raghu collected the report that evening and opened it to see what it stated. It came out positive for Influenza A. He met the medical officer and asked him to do a full H1N1 test, paid the cash and returned home. The report would take 24 hours.

The doctor had already called Gayatri before Raghu reached home. He had enquired about Shruti’s health and wanted to know how the testing went.

Raghu called him back to update that Shruti had tested positive for Influenza A and they had asked for the full H1N1 test to be done.

“In that case, I suggest you also give a sample at the GH, CDH or King Institute. Which location is convenient for you?”

“We will go the King Institute doctor.”

“Okay. King Institute is only the collection facility. You will have to go to GH or CDH for treatment.”

“Thanks Doctor!”

* * *

Their car entered the service road that led to the King Institute, Guindy. It was 7 PM. There were people streaming in even at that time. The institute’s sample collection center was open 24 x 7. There were signs that directed them to the screening location.

They were asked to fill a form. There were at least 20 other families waiting.

A panel of doctors examined every patient. After a few minutes of wait, it was Shruti’s turn. Raghu and Gayatri went in. They showed the Influenza A positive report from the private lab to the doctor. She wrote a remark in the form, directed them to the sample collection center and said, “Please ask the technician to prioritize this case.”

Gayatri and Raghu walked a hundred yards to the collection center. There was a door with a biohazard sign that read “H1N1 samples collected here”

The lab technician in a clinical mask collected a throat swab from Shruti. Raghu showed him the report and the doctor’s remark on the form and requested him to prioritize the case. The technician made a red X mark on the form and added it to the top of a pile of forms with red X marks on the top right corner.

“It will be 24 hours. You can collect the report tomorrow at 8.30 PM.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Sir, we used to get less than a 100 samples each day two weeks ago. Today, we are getting 3,000 samples a day. King Institute is where samples from all over the state are being sent for analysis. We are stretched, but you will get the report. Please come back at 8.30 PM tomorrow!”

* * *

The family walked back to the car. On their way they saw the office of the Head of virology. Gayatri said she would like to meet and speak to him.

She walked into that building.

The Head of virology was in the middle of his staff meeting. The institute was doing three shifts and the load was going to increase in the coming days. He stopped when he saw Gayatri at the door.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“Our daughter is unwell and we came here to give a sample. She tested positive for Influenza A. We are really worried. Will we get the report in 24 hours? I hear that we need to start treatment within the first 48 hours of onset of symptoms, if it is H1N1. I am really worried.”

“Ma’am! Please don’t panic. The report will be ready tomorrow. You should come here at 8.30 PM and collect it. The reports will be dispatched from here.”

* * *

The next 24 hours were a great ordeal for Gayatri and Raghu. Shruti was quarantined in the bedroom and all family members wore masks.

Raghu worked from home and sent a note to his office colleagues asking them to seal and sanitize his cabin as a matter of abundant precaution.

That evening Raghu and Gayatri left to the institute to gather the report. The grandparents were watching Shruti.

The dark night lent eeriness to the institute. The roads were illuminated by street lamps. The screening center was closed. Anyone who was coming in to submit samples were asked to directly go to the sample collection center.

The office of the Head of virology was open and the lights on. But there was no one in the office. A motorcycle was parked outside. Raghu and Gayatri waited there for a few minutes. Each passing minute increased their anxiety.

Just then, a staff member arrived in a bike. He had gone out to buy dinner. He parked his vehicle and walked towards the couple.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. The Head of virology said that we need to come here to collect the report.”

“When did you submit the sample?”

“Yesterday… We were told to come and collect the report today.”

“Let me check. He is probably at the back of the office having his dinner.”

He went to the back and returned back a minute later.

“He is here. He will be with you in ten minutes. Can you please wait?”

The couple waited. Finally, the doctor emerged.

“What is your child’s name?”

“Shruti, 9 yrs old.”

“And you sir?”

“You would have received a call if there was anything to worry. Did you get a call?”

Gayatri and Raghu looked at each other. “No doctor. We did not get any call.”

“Ok, good. Let me check the computer. Give me a minute…”

He came back a minute later with a paper in his hand accompanied by the staff member.

“Here is the report. It is just common flu. Don’t worry. She will be alright in a few days. Follow your doctor’s advice.”

Raghu and Gayatri heaved a sigh of relief. They thanked the doctor profusely and headed out of the institute. The street lights appeared to shine brighter.

DISCLAIMER: Although this is a story based on actual events, this is a work of fiction. All characters depicted in the story are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The Traffic Stop

“I am very happy that we moved out of that single bed room studio in Cincinnati!”

“Me too! At least for the next two years we will be here in the Detroit area. The company has allowed me to use the leased Camry for another month until we find a suitable apartment and buy our own car.”

“Okay then. Your friends had already mentioned a few apartments that we can check out. Let us go around town this evening and scout the places. The leasing offices are going to be closed since it is already evening, but we can at least create a shortlist.”

Jamuna and I decided that we will leave in half an hour on our apartment search.

* * *

It was just starting to get dark. I pulled out from the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. I got on to Stephenson Hwy. Just as I crossed the traffic light on 14 Mile Rd, I heard the sound of a police siren and a squad car followed me with its lights on.

I pulled over to the left near a Michigan U-turn, stopped the Camry and rolled the window.

“Driver’s license and registration, please?”

I handed out the documents to the officer.

“Please wait here for a moment…”, said the officer. He walked to his cruiser and checked my license in his computer and returned back.

“You guys seem to be new in town. Did you just pull out of a parking lot or something?”

“Yes sir, we are staying at the Hampton Inn!”

“Well, your car’s lights were not on. Please turn them on and have a safe trip.”

He returned the documents to me and went back to his car.

* * *

Two weeks later, I received an e-mail from a friend in New Jersey. I read it along with Jamuna:

From: ….

To: …

Subject: Driving safety tip

-----------

If you are driving in the night and you see a car coming towards you without its headlights on, be careful. Be very very careful…

It is natural to flash your lights at them to indicate that they have their lights off. BUT DON’T DO IT!

The reason is this—In some parts of the country, gangs use a macabre initiation ritual that consists of the newest member who intends to join the gang going around town during the night in a car with its headlights off. The first car that comes in the opposite direction that flashes their headlights at them is the mark and they are supposed to turn around, pursue them and shoot the driver. That is their rite of passage to get into the gangs. So, please don’t flash your headlights!

The Paper Airplane

T

here were four comments when I logged into Facebook. All of them were from schoolmates, about the Alumni reunion at school on Jan 26^th. The last one caught my eye:

‘Have fun guys. I am going to miss it. Do convey my regards to all the teachers who are still there and especially the lab attendants.’

 ‘Will do!’ I posted my reply and picked my cell phone to call other local friends who will be attending the reunion.

* * *

The year was 1979. Subbu was waiting for the school bell to ring so that he could run out. He had already made his paper airplane from a page that he had torn from his class notebook.

“I bet you this plane will fly higher and farther than any that you have made!” he challenged Zubair who sat next to him in class.

“Lets see!” replied Zubair, clearly unimpressed.

The bell rang. All the kids let out a squeal and rushed out of the classroom. Subbu picked his backpack and ran out holding the paper airplane in his hand. Zubair was close on his heels. Subbu stopped at the corridor and looked down three floors below. He kissed his airplane for good luck and pulled back his arm to fling it into the air when his hand bumped someone.

Subbu gulped. It was Ram Charan, the mathematics teacher, standing there. Subbu had his hand right near his tummy. Ram Charan clearly wasn’t amused!

 “Come with me!” He dragged Subbu, holding him by the ear. Subbu leaned his head to one side as he walked alongside Ram Charan to the staff room and he could see Zubair thumbing his nose at him as he left to board the school bus.

“Sir, I am going to miss my school bus!” Subbu was almost in tears.

A few minutes later the school bus left the campus, without Subbu.

* * *

The reunion was coming to a close. I walked out of the auditorium and noticed Joseph, an office attendant. I was surprised to see him after almost twenty years. I walked up to him and shook his hand.

“How are you doing?”

“Very well, thank you! I am very happy to see you.”

“Do you remember Subbu?”

Joseph tried hard. He was finding it difficult to recollect the face from the name.

* * *

It was 6:30 PM and Subbu’s father was getting very anxious. He was a prominent man in the city, prominent enough that he had enemies. His son did not return in the school bus that evening. He had already dialed the police to report a missing person.

* * *

The principal was tense and so was Ram Charan. They had never encountered a case like this before. Both of them were sweating as they waited. A police jeep pulled into the driveway of the school and Subbu’s father got down along with a police inspector. They both walked into the principal’s room.

“Where is my son?”

“Sir, please calm down. Mr. Ram Charan here was the last person to see him. He might have committed a mistake.”

“A mistake! What do you mean?”

 “He held him a few minutes after the school as a punishment… meanwhile, the bus left without your son!”

“I am very sorry sir. I did not mean for this to happen…”

In a fit of rage, Subbu’s father pulled the revolver from the police inspector’s holster.

* * *

Joseph could still not recollect Subbu. He shook his head.

I held out my hand and made a gesture like a revolver. Shaking the imaginary revolver in the air, I said, “Who is the driver?”

Joseph’s face immediately lit up. How could he forget that? That’s exactly what Subbu’s father was saying when Joseph ran into the office to announce the news that Subbu was at his cousin’s place.

“Subbu conveys his regards to you!”, I said.

"Gary"

I

t started drizzling just as Aftab and I reached the Leeds train station. A bus left the stop and a girl in her early twenties was deeply engrossed listening to her ipod. “Let me have a cigarette before we go in”, said Aftab. “Sure”, I said looking around as people walked out of the station in different directions.

“So, what do you think about our visit today?”, asked Aftab lighting a Marlboro as he spoke. “It is probably a waste of time! This is the third meeting with them and they are nowhere close to a decision. I don’t think these guys will close the deal anytime soon”, I said. There was a fleeting moment where I thought Aftab was annoyed at my blunt observation, but he deftly hid it flicking his cigarette and nodding his head in agreement.

“Our train will leave at 5:05 pm. We have still have about half an hour. We should be in King’s Cross by 7.30 pm. Do you have any plans for the evening before you leave for India tomorrow? You should probably do a tour of London. Have you done any sightseeing at all?” asked Aftab.

“No”, I replied. “This is my 4^th trip to the UK in a year and believe it or not, I never felt like going around like a tourist! It is terribly boring without friends or family accompanying you”

“That’s true. Let us plan something for your next visit”, said Aftab extinguishing his cigarette.

We walked into the station. A train had just arrived and a stream of passengers walked out through the turnstiles and out the door.

We found our train and got seats with a table. The train was fairly empty with only a handful of occupants. We settled down and the train left the station. Fifteen minutes into the journey, a stout lady walked in with her vending cart. Aftab ordered a Stella Artois and I got myself Coke and chips. The train pulled into Doncaster station. The train halted there for a few minutes.

Two men came and sat in the seats adjacent to ours. One of them was in his late thirties, wore a nice suit and the other was much younger, probably twenty two and just had a black tie with no jacket.  The young man loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves. I noticed that his shirt wasn’t tucked in properly. He pulled out a few cans of beer from the brown paper bag they brought in. In the next twenty minutes, they finished a couple of drinks, joked amongst themselves and laughed out loud.

Aftab and I talked about our work plans for the next three months and when I should visit London next. Our neighbours were down to the last four cans of beer when the man in the suit got up and came towards us.

“Would you mind if we joined you?”, he said.

“No, not at all!”, said Aftab and we shifted slightly to accommodate them at our table. “Good evening, gentlemen! I am Eddie and this is Steve.”, said the older man sitting next to Aftab. Steve sat next to me.

“I am Aftab and this is Giri”. We shook hands.

“Jerry, is it?” asked Steve.

“No, it is Giri… G-I-R-I… more like ‘Gary’. If you say ‘Gary’, you wouldn’t be far off!” I said.

“Are you guys heading back to London after a hard day of work?”, asked Eddie. “Would you care for a beer?”

“Thank you”, said Aftab taking a can. “Yes, we are returning from Leeds after a business meeting”, I said, politely refusing the offer.

“Okay, that’s great. We are also returning after a business meeting. We make signs, you know, neon signs, plastic signs, name boards etc., Steve dragged me to Doncaster today saying he had identified a great prospect, but it turns out they are a competitor and they source material from the exact same supplier in Canada as we do. There is absolutely nothing that we can do for them, so we had a good chat and are returning to London empty handed.”

“Yes, Eddie has been teasing me all this evening. But that’s okay. He has been like a big brother to me”, said Steve.

“That’s right. I got Steve out of trouble and offered him a job. He has picked up nicely and one day he will be a great salesman!” Eddie remarked. “But I cannot forget your first day at the warehouse when you were standing on top of the pallet and asking the forklift operator to move it. You were crazy!” laughed Eddie.

“Are the two of you from India?”, asked Steve.

“Yes, we are! I have moved to the UK about a year and half ago with my family and Giri lives in India. He traveled from India for this business meeting”, said Aftab.

“I haven’t been to India, but my girlfriend has”, said Eddie. “She said Indians are very hard working people… and very resourceful, I might add”

“That’s generally true”, acknowledged Aftab.

“I say resourceful because she had a very surprising story that she told me about her time in Mumbai. When she walked out from her hotel, she would find kids who would point out ‘hey, your shoes are dirty’ and invariably they would be with cow dung! They would offer to clean her shoes. The first time around she let them clean her shoes and just after she paid them a few rupees and walked a few yards, another kid would throw a ball of cow dung on her feet! Then they would come back and make the same offer… They got this brilliant scheme going. She was quite upset about this, but I found it ingenious!”, remarked Eddie.

“That’s an old trick”, I said. “I come from the southern part of India, a place called Chennai and we would have guys who would throw nails on the road and set up a makeshift tire repair shop a few yards from there. Cars and bikes that get a flat tire will stop to get them fixed there. How convenient is that?!”

“That’s very cunning”, said Steve. “Do you know Eddie gave me my first job? I would have gone to jail if I had continued my old ways!”

Eddie was silent for a moment. “That’s right, you know. I bought him the shirt that he is wearing today. He came to me last week talking about this huge prospect that he has found and said we should go to meet them. I told him he has to get a nice shirt and got him one. Today is the first day that he is wearing a tie, you know. I had to knot the tie for him!” laughed Eddie.

The train slowed down and eventually stopped for a signal clearance. There was a wall with graffiti. I was looking at it trying to decipher what it said.

“Did you know when I was a teenager, I was a graffiti artist?”, said Steve. Aftab and I looked up a little surprised.

“That’s right. There were many gangs that fought for turf and I was part of one. I would go around with a spray can drawing stuff. Each artist had their own style and we could tell who wrote what just by looking at it. Once I boarded a train—no ticket of course—and traveled for four hours to paint graffiti. Then there was this time when I almost got caught by the cops, but escaped narrowly by getting into an underpass and hiding there for thirty minutes. Man, that was awesome!”

Eddie took a slightly serious look and said, “You see! This is what I had to change. I had to explain to Steve who was very young and inexperienced that there is no future in being a graffiti artist, being chased by the police and ending up in jail as a vandal. He has now changed a lot and mellowed down.”

Eddie looked Steve in the eye and said, “You continue being what you are now and work hard, you can be a good salesman!”

Steve pulled out a notebook from his bag and took out his pencil. He went to a seat a little farther away from us and got to work. A few minutes later, he tore off that sheet from his notebook. He walked up to me.

“It is Gary, isn’t it?”, he said handing over that sheet to me. There it was. G-A-R-Y, penciled in graffiti.