Boggart in the closet

I'm a big fan of the Harry Potter series. The plots are full of wonderful sub-plots that serve not only as entertainment, but also as important life lessons. I know that sounds a bit much. But, bear with me as I explain.

One of the most powerful scenes for me is the Boggart lesson by Professor Lupin. This is from the third book - Prisoner of Azkaban. The scene in the book is terrific but in order to not drive you away from this post, I'm going to settle to show you the scene from the movie which doesn't stand up to the one in the book - but let's make do with it.

What a wonderful way to describe overcoming your fears. Here's an imaginary creature called a Boggart. It's shapeless and will take the shape of what that frightens you most. As Hermoine says and Lupin completes it - "... that's what makes it terrifying". How can one overcome it? That comes in not one, but two parts - think of turning that you fear in to something hilarious, while uttering the spell - riddikulus which is euphemism for ridiculing the fear itself. I just love the part where Ron imagines the giant spider in roller skates. In a way his fear keeps coming at him, but slips away each time. What a wonderful thought!

I guess life as we know it is a closet full of these figurative Boggarts. When we open a door, we never know, or in some cases we know for certain what will unleash upon us. It definitely used to be like that for me - while I was growing up. I was a terrified child. The mildest change to the environment would make me uncomfortable to say the least. Something as simple as a dripping pipe, especially at night when everything else is silent.. just that klunk, klunk, klunk would send shivers up my spine. A dripping pipe can be very irritating - yes, but terrifying? I would end up waking my mom up in the middle of the night to try and get it to stop. The fear is basically about whether it would stop or not.

A daily object of terror used to be the ceiling fan - such a jitters maker. I'd stay awake at the thought of whether the fan would stop rotating when switched off. There were nights when I used to switch off and switch on the fan for a couple of cycles to ensure it will stop and only then I'll climb on to bed. It was my own version of monsters under the bed. Even as an adult, when not in the best frame of mind, it was a botheration. When I moved to the US, I loved that ceiling fans were not a common concept. In March 2015 I moved to an apartment that had a ceiling fan in the dining area. On the day I moved in, I pulled the chain that turned the fan off. I lived in that apartment until Feb 2017 - didn't turn it on once. When I go to India for vacations, it still takes me a couple of days to get used to it.

I hated crowds, loud noises and the darkness. So, imagine me in a movie theater. I have literally screamed my way through some movies in the theater throughout my childhood. And no, my mom never took me to a horror movie. If the protagonist is hanging by a rope, if there's any sort of nail biting ends to movies, my face would be buried in my mother's lap and I'd be weeping and screaming through it. Events that happened in the evenings with a large crowd was a no-no. I'd be super excited to get to a concert or a show that we went to, but within the hour, I'd be bugging my parents to take me home - either the noise or the crowd would have gotten to me.

If nights were the cherry, late evenings were the icing. Once it started to get dark outside, I'd begin to worry even if I was sitting inside the house with all the lights on. I needed distractions - like TV or something to do (except homework or studies). I hated the nights. There were too many occasions where I have jumped out of bed, ran to my parents' bedroom and crawled up next to them - my mom mostly. At that time, when I was 9 or 10, I wouldn't have imagined living alone in the future, let only moving outside the country and staying alone.

My mom was the key. She used to say the most 'ridiculous' things to keep me going. She was best known to distract me from that I feared either by having me run an errand or ask me a question that would keep me occupied for a bit. Once I was in the dentist's office, on the chair and the dentist was about to pluck a milk tooth that was stubbornly lodged in there. I was so terrified and pale - almost about to cry and the dentist looked at me and said - "Are you a strong boy?". I shamelessly nodded in the negative. He laughed and stuck the pointy end of whatever instrument in to my mouth anyways. My mother immediately said - "Of course he's a strong boy. He's going to watch this movie today. It's such a scary movie and he's brave enough to watch it". Without a doubt, I screamed through both the procedure and the movie!

I haven't enjoyed most of the things that children that age used to enjoy. Never sat on a swing or a merry-go-around in my school. If possible, I have avoided looking at others enjoying it as well. Sometimes when I saw my classmates play on those, I used to have mild anxiety attacks - never knew they were anxiety attacks until a few years ago when I read the description in an article and found they used to be oddly similar.

"Why am I so scared of everything, ma?", I used to ask.  My mom would just smile at me and say - "Nothing like that. Everyone are scared - they're just not brave enough to accept it". Sometimes she would say "When I was pregnant with you we had construction going on in the house and you were inside listening to those sounds intently. So, you're just a lot alert than most people". She used to play the odd gimmick once in a while to see how I handled it - like having me go to a room in the other corner of the house to pick up something and when I did, she'd say - "..there you go, if you can do that you're not scared". 

I never thought forward - of course I was just a child. But, I wasn't bothered much because I always found my spell and charm of solace with my mom. She understood.

And then came that day - a day I never imagined until then. When I was 15, my mom passed away from a sudden illness. It happened so fast and in a few hours that it was all a haze. It was a horrible day, needless to say. But, within this context, for me it was the first night after she passed that I remember so vividly. It was dark and the night was closing in. I was sitting there surrounded by my dad, sister, cousins and a bunch of relatives. I definitely was way better than a few years before, but the scariest thought was that only my mom knew most of these fears that I had. If the kitchen tap started dripping and that flipped me out, I couldn't think of where I would start to explain to anyone else what was going on. A 15 year old boy frightened of a dripping sink pipe? Everyone around me mostly knew me as a playful and super naughty kid. Yes, they have seen me scream my throats out when we went out for a movie together or at a family wedding or event where we had a performance and it was loud, but that was years ago.

I don't remember how, but I unintentionally hid the scary tears behind the 'I just lost my mom' tears for a few days or at least it was perceived so. I started taking one day at a time, mostly finding excuses to be around people as much as possible. I opened up a little (the most I have with anyone) to my sister who played a key role in helping me through those days. She is my superstar - imagine being 19, losing your mom, supporting the house financially and taking care of me. Some days were easy, some were super difficult. I didn't have a choice. It was the cruelest version of necessity becoming the 'mother' of invention. I started putting a lot of focus and time on my studies. I found a few friends who were around me for the next couple of years until I finished school. For someone who couldn't sleep easily with family at home, I surprised myself by spending some nights at my friends' house to study for an upcoming test or just to watch a movie. Progress was slow - but it was progress.

Cut it to two years further, my sister was off to another city for work and my dad decided to move with her for a year to take a break from work and take care of his health. For a semester in college, I stayed in my uncle's house where my room was in the attic and the rest of them stayed downstairs. For a whole semester after that, I was living alone in a hostel in the city where I had a small room for myself. There were nights where I'd just lay awake till dawn - one thought after the other, crossing and overtaking each other. I'd be out like a baby in the college bus next day amidst the secure feeling of people around me. Once my dad came back to the city, we lived in an apartment and I started living alone there for extended periods of time when he was outside the country for business. This is the phase where I gradually shed my fears and started living with myself in peace. This is also the time when I had a few college buddies to whom I owe a lot for putting up with me and staying around when needed. Of course I haven't mentioned a word of all this to them - some of them may find it out only through this post - if they read it of course.

I started discovering a lot of techniques against these pet peeves. Not that one standard way worked all the time. During my first year of college, I found a unique passion for Engineering Physics - especially when I found it difficult to sleep in the night, I'd switch on the light and start reading the course book. I'd be out in no time with the book on my face. During the course of my college, this was replaced by Digital Signal Processing and then Astrophysics, which was an elective that I picked. The only thing I took away from Astrophysics was the book, which I retained until the time I moved out of India. I'm a Computer science engineer and I have used my Astrophysics book more than any of the relevant courses to my work. I have never gone past page 1. Whenever I finished page 1, it meant reading the book didn't work, I'd try and listen to music on my Jukebox or phone - this is the 2006 version of watching endless YouTube videos (which is what I do now when I can't sleep).

Most of all, I used the phone-a-friend option all the time. I had a bunch of insomniac classmates who were always ready for a chat without any reason. Sometimes I'd call them at 10 PM and we'd talk until 3 AM or so without any subject. I don't know how many times they found me annoyingly unwilling to hang up, but until date they probably didn't know that I was distracting myself from pet peeves. I have no shame in accepting that I was just using them.

This was also the time that I was introduced to the Harry Potter books through my college classmate and good friend. I used to think the concepts of magic and Harry Potter were nothing but crap. But, he kept talking them up and finally dragged me with him to the 'Goblet of Fire' movie. When I told him I liked the movie, he silently handed me the second book - 'Chamber of Secrets'. He told me that it should be good enough and that I shouldn't read the first book until I finished all 6 books (the 7th book was yet to come out). The books had a great impact on me. I don't want to claim that it helped me outgrow a lot of my fears completely. But, it was a good distraction for a year or so when I locked up a few of them and threw away the key.

When the 7th book 'Deathly Hallows' came out, my dad was in the middle east for a business trip and I was staying alone at home. I woke up on the saturday morning (July 21st) went to bookstore to collect my pre-order copy, came back home with some essentials for the next two days and went in to a lock down by myself to read it in peace. Other than the fact that the next day's Hindu paper put in the headline that read 'The Boy survives' and ruined the suspense for me, I spent the two days with myself and the world of Harry Potter to soak it all in. Yes, I was 20 and many of you may not think of it as an impressive feat. But, for me who was trembling at the thought of a dripping kitchen sink and a ceiling fan on it's way to rest, it was a big deal.

It's been 13 years since then and I have traveled across the world by myself for a considerable amount of time powering through, laughing and smiling when it was most difficult and scary, finding new company when needed, retaining good company with me always, shedding negative company when it got too much, dealing with success, failures and heart breaks and met the love of my life on the way. Remember the kid that buried himself in his mother's lap and screamed through movies. Now, his major source of time pass is to watch movies in the theater. I can't keep count of the number of movies I watched in the theater year after year and that's the topmost thing I miss most in this lock down.

Even now there are rare and occasional moments and changes in the surroundings that render me a little jittery for a few minutes. Yes, the frequency has gone down a lot. I have reused all the techniques and added a bunch of them to the kitty as well. I'm not sure if they will ever completely go away or if it will get worse as I grow old. But, I know I can live through it. I know I can look at the face of my fears and ridicule it, and I can do it without a wand and a spell.

PS: This was not intended as a Mother's day post. Started writing this a while back and it was just coincidence that I finished it today. Hence, this last paragraph. 

I'm at the cusp of turning 33 and when I look back, I have grown up to be an entire adult without the one and only person who knew and will knew everything about me and my fears. Sometimes when I float away in thoughts about the day she passed, I can't wonder what would have been going on in her mind right at those moments when she knew this was it. I know one thing for sure - she would have worried about how I was going to manage without her. I don't know if I have managed well or not, but I know she would be proud that I tried and am still trying!

Happy Mother's day everyone!

With my mom when I was 14 - July 2001

Thirteen years and counting

It's strange how casual conversations can induce long and serious thoughts. It's not stranger than realizing how I made it 13 years without something that I'd not have dreamed of living for 13 days. That's about the best sentence structure I could come up with after hundreds of revisions.

Taking the train back to 2001...
Date: 26th March
Time: Around 2:15 PM

My hands were shivering. I was almost about to cry (and after about 2 mins I did). My body was visibly trembling. The worst nightmare I had convinced my paranoid self that wouldn't happen was unraveling before me. All the smart ass quirks and the happy-go-lucky nature that I had always enjoyed weren't going to help me. I did not know the phrase back then, but if it had happened today, I'd have exasperated, "I'm screwed". As the first round of tears rolled down my cheeks, I could feel the heat. I was probably running a slight temperature. I was scared. Drops of tears blotted parts of the text on the paper lying on the desk. I looked again. Nothing! The day had come finally when I did not have a clue about anything in the Biology question paper.

Throughout my school days the only subjects I liked were Maths and English. I'd have read my English books completely within two days of receiving the text books (even before school started), had killer instincts (not knowledge) when it came to English grammar, loved to write my own essays for the non-detail courses and I was allowed to listen to music or watch television when I practiced Maths (which I was prepared to do all day/whenever). I had the charm of sneaking my way through exams even though I never paid attention to any classes in school. How? I'd choose a few topics picked out mostly as samples, read and understand them in a made up way I can remember. I would be able to answer enough to pass and the moment I had the confidence of scoring 60-70 marks (out of 100) in the exam or if someone else was on the verge of finishing the exam (whichever happened first), I'd stop writing even if there were more questions I could answer. I never failed an exam in school (even if it was a class test). Until then!

My mom was a teacher and used to conduct tuition for around 40 students. Her students comprised of the brightest Rank 1 holders to the precious Mark 1 holders (scoring only 1 mark out of 100). She had a terrific record as a teacher. She had enormous success in terms of progress. The progress was not just about marks. It was methodical. She literally created career paths for many of her students. However, there was one student who always failed her. No prizes for guessing - ME! She had tried force, patience, sending me to another teacher, nice words, beatings, shaming etc. I was just not interested. I always thought she was feeling ashamed that her son was not standing up among her super stars. I also thought it was not fair to think that and most importantly, I neither tried nor cared to try. As long as I passed and went on to the next class, I gave myself an "Exceeded Expectations" rating.

But, it was all coming to an end. There I was, sitting for the first annual exam (biology) in my 9th standard. Even if I wrote stories, I wouldn't be able to write 10 terms in biology w.r.t the question paper. There was no doubt I was going to fail that paper, which meant I was going to have to repeat 9th standard. I was sobbing at the thought of this. The invigilator (Mr. Senram) noticed this and patted on my back. He was sympathetic, but there was nothing he could do. He quietly said, "Don't worry ra! Write what you know". It did not help that he had asked the absentees to stand up (for taking count) before the exam started. Even that was not going to help elate me. I did not know anything. My classmates (those who noticed my sobbing) were looking at me, some staring and some amused. After a while, I just filled a few pages (that would have hardly fetched me 20 marks out of 100 as against the 50 marks needed to pass).

Few hours later...

I was riding my cycle home. I was late by 2 hours than usual. I was just sitting by the basketball court trying to find words to explain to my mom that I was going to have to repeat 9th standard again. I was a bit surprised that my mom hadn't come to school by then looking for me. But, I was sure that she'd be standing outside the gate waiting for me. And as I turned in to my street almost 2 blocks away from my house, I saw her waiting. As I came nearer, I noticed her usual body language of when she's tensed, restless and waiting. Her hands clasped behind her, and though I couldn't see them I was sure that her fingers would be moving against and across each other. Her eyes - a bit red and they'd emote that perfect blend of worry and anger. She had expressive little eyes (probably picked them up from being a Bharatanatyam dancer as a teenager), the expression she has passed on to her grand daughters and something that I prominently notice in the opposite sex. Her entire body would scream that she's feeling unsettled. She'd be standing still though, but not straight, she'd lean a bit towards one side. Her foot - the one on the opposite side towards which she's leaning would be tapping incessantly on the ground.

I was confident that it was going to be a double bonanza that day - for being very late without any communication and for coming with the promise of failing an exam.

As soon as I reached she asked softly, "Yen kanna ithara late?" (why are you so late dear). Her worry took precedence over her anger. I quickly explained my situation without the least remorse in my voice. But, she knew right away that I was scared to death. As I prepared to brace for a furious reaction, she ushered me in to the house, took my bag and put in the sofa and went in to the bedroom. Few minutes later, she called me in there and handed me the phone. My dad (who was out of town that day) was on the line. I was taken by surprise because my dad never interfered in my sister's and my education. It was mom's department. On the other end, my dad sounded very concerned. He told me not to worry and to focus on the other exams. Even if I had to repeat a year he said that it was fine. There was no fury or anger. It was pure concern. After I hung up, she told me to change and start preparing for the next exam. It was English.

I was unusually quiet that evening. I did not bother my sister nor did I move around like I always do. I just sat at my study table and kept reading the same line again and again. It just did not register. I was just reading. I was not sure if it was doing so bad in the exam or my mom's silence that was bothering me. It was all very confusing and sad.

After a while my mom broke her silence. The moment she started to speak, I started crying and started apologizing over and over. She did not say much (which was unusual too). She just told me that if I sincerely prepared for all the other 9 exams and gave my best shot, she'd do everything in her power to request my school management to push me in to the next class. She absolutely had no way to do it, but on that day I'd have believed anything she said. The next two weeks were like a movie scene set on a montage. For the first time in my life I cared about studying. I was frightened about exams. I was determined to pull through. And since it was the first time it was too much for me to take. I created the first of many a havoc for not having performed in the exams to my expectations. It was the most difficult two weeks of my life until then. A month later the results were announced and I was promoted to 10th standard. The most surprising event for me was when I requested for my 9th standard annual exam mark sheet (which is not usually published for annual exams) and saw that I had scored a whopping 63 in Biology (I hardly had written for 40 marks). And I had scored very well in all the other papers.

A year and two months later...

I came sixth (among 150 odd students) in my school in the 10th standard board exams. It was the proudest moment for her, as my mother and as my teacher. I can still hear the screeching sound made by the break of the sunny scooter she rode, as she pulled up in front of my school. I was waiting inside for the results and I ran out as soon I heard the sound. She had looked it up online was telling my score to my cousin who was waiting outside as well. The moment I heard the number I blanked out again. All those reactions from March 26th 2001 came back, only this time they were because of happiness.

That day made a huge difference to who I turned out to be. I started believing in hard work and that it can turn around a lot of things that wouldn't have come your way. I realized that my mom never really cared about the results. With her students, it was different - she was being paid to bring about progress which she did diligently and sincerely. She gave it her best shot. With me, it was always about the effort. Her only expectation from me was that I tried my best, gave life my best shot and that's about it.

I've come a long way from that 10th board exam results. But, that would always be my greatest hit because that was the first, only and last proud moment I gave my mom. She passed away a month later.

It's easy to claim our character during times of glory. Whether that character helps during tougher times is something we'll probably never find out. The real test of character comes during harder times and claiming our character then will tell us who we are and what we are capable of. I learnt this from my mom and I'm still struggling everyday to learn the art with which she lived her life. If I turn out to be half as determined, courageous and strong as her, I'd not have anything more to achieve. It's been 13 years says the calendar, it just seems all very fast, doesn't it?

Miss you ma!

A hurl into the past

As he rode his cycle out of the gates, he pulled himself up and gave a thrust at the pedal, pushing the cycle forward and gaining momentum. The December evening breeze caressed his face. After locking himself up in the house for five days, it felt good to be out. He slowed down as he approached the first X junction between Bharathi Park 7th cross road. He sent cautious glances on both sides. Coast clear. Another thrust and he was off.

He felt a chill run up his spine as he turned into the deserted 5th cross. He halted for a moment to decide if he wanted to go through with this. The easiest option was to turn back and flee. But, that he had come so far made him set course towards his school, without ceasing to wonder why his Hindi teacher would be there at this time. The creeps of riding down through a deserted lane had gotten to him, especially during dark times as these.

Without any attempt to hide his fear, he reached the school. The gates were shut and locked. The watchmen Rangasamy anna and Balu anna weren't anywhere around. Through the steel rods of the locked up gates, he glinted at the gents staff room and no sign of activity there. Both doors closed. He rode to the primary school gate and no trace of people there either. Disappointed, he came back to the first gate. He parked the cycle and stood there thinking. As it sunk upon him, his heart beats increased rapidly.

It was a con!

Fifteen minutes earlier...

It was five days since his school had shut down because of curfew that broke out in Coimbatore on the fifth anniversary of the controversial monument tear down. The usual 11-year old's fear about the images of people killing one another (thanks to Mani Ratnam's classy portrayal in Bombay) gave him sleepless nights and in turn for the family. But, their support was not well appreciated by him during the day, not with all his patience draining pranks.

Three days into the one week shut down, he had enacted a perfect "full-portion" coverage of the upcoming half-yearly exams syllabus. The Hindi composition note he had submitted for evaluation came to his rescue as the only true element of a perfect act. Not that his mom bought his "finished studying" story, he was anyways let free. It was still evening and bright. There were hours before he had to worry about the curfew-special nightmares.

All was well and fun that evening, until the phone rang. He picked up the call and was surprised to hear his Hindi teacher on the line. He passed on the phone to his mom as directed and went off to catch the close of the evening's episode of Centurions. In a matter of seconds, his mom hung up. He shot her a glance as to the purpose of the call and from the look of her face knew that he'd regret it. So much for the act of "If only I had the composition note, I'd have studied the Hindi essays as well", his Hindi teacher and the note were waiting for him at school.

He couldn't say which was pumping faster, his legs or heart. It was the typical flee. With no time to think about why or who or what, he sped back, past the deserted streets. To him, it was just the danger. Whether home lay a few yards or few miles away did not matter. But, somewhere down his weak and fearful heart lay a fighter. A fighter that came up to his rescue mostly when he had lied to someone's face and was taking his last shot before almost getting caught. He kept wiping the sweat off his face, prayed intensely, thanked God as every occasional passer-by didn't turn out to be a killer or mobster. He just kept going until he banged open the gates of his home with his cycle.

He parked his cycle and ran, kicking out his slippers and straight into the house. "Maaaaaaa", he shouted as he ran through the hall and turned into the kitchen. She was standing right in front of the gas stove, making coffee. He was panting so badly that he unusually seemed completely out of words. She turned towards him and handed him his evening coffee. He looked up at her.

There was that smile. The smile, fourteen years later, he still gives to anyone who fell for a prank he pulled off.

Can't believe that it has been this long already.

Nine years and counting.

July 2nd 2011

Chiju

23

So, this is how it feels to turn 23??

Being a Leo

 

I'm a proud Leo. I feel so strongly about it because I see this great mindset match with people who are Leos too. I'm not a fan of astrology and don't care about the negatives of the same. But, it is always great to believe in positive thoughts and good ideals. I fit into most of the categories of a Leo. Dominant, organized, attention-craving, naughty and the list goes on.

So, Whats up?
Looking back is a tricky thing to do. Who doesn't have regrets when he is 23? I shouldn't have chosen this course; what was I thinking? It shouldn't have discarded my passion at its learning peak. Should I have told her earlier; Would that have made any difference? The whole attitude change I went through, I don't think it was worth it. Why am I working on something that I don't care about? A few of them at this age. But, its not only about the regrets. Well, at least not today. Its about hope. Its about commitment. Its about reality. Its about passion. I usually promise myself a lot of things this day, every year. Except last year, I've never kept any of those promises.

I've gotten bored of this promise deal. In the practical world, not all promises can be kept. I want to be practical. Aren't we missing out on the thrills of life? So, no promises (at least not aloud) this year. No hopes. No dreams. Lets get into some live action and see how things unwind. For a change, I'm going to practice "happy-with-what-I-have".

About today

To that note, when the clock strikes midnight, I'm wishing myself a very "Happy Birthday". I had planned to get myself an important gift yesterday, but, decided to postpone it. Certain things are more important than getting a gift at the right time. :) Its a good thing, also because I can dedicate an entire post as to why I wanted to get that and what I'm going to do with it.

Last afternoon, one of my friends asked me to suggest 10 of my favorite songs for some compilation he was working on. I gave him 5o songs in 5 mins. So, that kindled some real want to go back to my good old music. Spent three hours listening to marvels of our Indian musicians. And an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. What more can I ask for????

Sweet Memories

Back to the looking back thing, thanks to technology and my uncle, I was lucky to see how my family celebrated my first birthday. Nothing like the feeling of someone wishing you from the beyond. Please note that I'm not SREERAJ and it was a spelling mistake made by I-don-know-who.

22 years ago..

I loved this clip. Hope you enjoyed it too. Its really good that people don't know what you'd grow into, else they'd be careful on what they invest on you.

Thanks to everybody who've been with me all these years. The little good I've done till now wouldn't have been possible without you people. I have no specific names. There are so many of them. I'd want each and everyone of you with me till the very end.

Chiju

August 10th 2010

PS: Having regrets when you are 23 is not a big deal. What's important is to revert each one of them down the line.

Eight years and counting...

The boy got down from the car, opened the back door and pulled out his bag. As he swung the bag on to his shoulders, he started complaining all over again. He wanted to press the facts and strike the right chords. "He called me naayae amma" (Mom, He called me a Dog), he said. He looked up at his mother, who was walking beside him, holding his hand, giving little attention to his whining. He had repeated the whole tiffin-box-pushing incident over and over since last evening.

As they walked into the school, he said, "You should scold him nicely. He shouldn't fight with me anymore." His mom did not respond. "Naan baatukku chaaptindu irundhen, avan gudhichaan3rd row lendhu" (I was minding my business and eating my lunch, he jumped from the third row), he repeated, "fulla kottiduthu" (It spilled completely). He went over the details once more as to how the other boy was being mean to shout back after spilling his food. He kept on grumbling about it, alternating the modulation between angry and sad, until they reached the chapel.

They came to a halt in front of the chapel. She let go off his hand and said "Avana ingakootinduvaa" (Bring the boy here). In no time he was running as fast as he could to II-A (2ndGrade - A section). His happiness knew no bounds. He couldn't believe that it was happening. He sprinted into his classroom and threw his bag haphazardly on a desk. He walked up to another boy, who was sitting in the middle of a group and said, "Stallone, My amma has come".

"Come, Come", he added victoriously, "Chapel la irukaanga. Nethu en tiffin boxa thalli vitta illa" (She is in the chapel. You pushed my tiffin box down yesterday right). Stallone looked petrified already. He did not know what to say. He looked around and the other boys looked bowled out too. He stood up trembling about what was going to happen. Left with no choice, the two started, while one looked comforted the other contorted.

There was no conversation throughout the walk to the chapel. As soon as they reached, Stallone started, "Aunty, he only first scolded me". "Amma, but he jumped and pushed my tiffin box", the boy shouted, his face throbbing with anger that Stallone complained on him. The boys kept telling on each other referring to the tiffin-box-pushing and recalling other instances from the past. Though it was a child's play, the enmity behind it was evident.

After listening to the nuances of the two boys, she finally spoke. She started by shushing her son. Then, she looked down at Stallone who was almost about cry out of fear and anger. She did not say a word. She smiled at him first, patted on his head and opened her handbag. She pulled out a couple of snickers and handed it to Stallone. Both the boys were taken by surprise. One was happy and the other was furious that his enemy was getting two of the few left over snickers his dad had got him. He didn't dare say a thing though.

"Both of you are good boys right?", she asked. Stallone nodded with a smile while the other boy was still staring at his mom for her betrayal. "Stallone", she said, "if you are his friend, you'd give him one chocolate". With no second thought, Stallone, still smiling, offered a chocolate to his new friend. "You", she nudged the boy, "if you are his friend, you'll take it". The boy wasn't quick enough, but he knew what would be the post-school consequences of denial. He accepted it with no change in mind or expression.

"Shake hands?" she prompted. Stallone gave his hand in acknowledgement, but her boy was still stubborn until he caught the expression on her face. She wasn't staring at him. She did not look angry. It was the smile*. The smile to convince him to finish his homework, to sit through music class, to not shout while she conducted tuition, to wash his hands before he ate, to go back to sleep after he had woken up from a bad dream, to pack his bags according to time-table every morning and more. He gave in. He shook Stallone's hands. "Go to class now and be friends", she said as the two boys, prepared to leave with one's arm around the other's shoulder.

That day, she taught her son, why it was important to be friends, to let go small things and how anger masked all the long lasting love that was buried beneath. He was too young to understand the implication then. But, he caught up later. Stallone and Sriraj (aka Chiju) were great friends till they passed out of school.

We're not in touch now, but I really wish he reads this.

Eight years have gone by.

Doesn't seem long, I wonder why.

For all that I do, see and breath,

Has you in it, is the truth.

Dedicated to my Mom who left to some other world, eight years back, the same day! (July 2nd2002). Today is my Mother's day! Miss you ma!

*The smile - The last chance for me to realize that I'm being unreasonable. Its more of the final convincing mechanism. Past the smile, trust me, which has happened many times, is really a nightmare. :) I don't feel bad about it today because I used to be such a brat. :P

Seven years later

Seven years later.
Millions of seconds ticked away,
Should have been any other day.
But, my world had a great sway.

Seven years later.
Never did a thought ring,
You never told a thing.
This sad song - I'll forever sing.

Seven years later.
Many of the zillion things you told,
"Too early", I wondered.
Time is what you never had -
Much later, I understood

Seven years later.
Always, made you feel bad,
Yet, beside me you stood.
Once I made you proud -
Were you too satisfied?

Seven years later.
However lost I was,
Never had to look for the way.
You had me find your hand - end of the day.

Seven years later.
Made me look at the Gods everyday.
I carry the habit even today,
Pains though, to look at you and pray!

Seven years later.
Never did you let anyone serve.
Would have only been fair,
Had we a chance to fight.

Seven years later.
The many times I've walked the streets,
Unhappy and in despair.
Someone known to you, I meet,
Believe, you sent them to repair.

Seven years later.
I thought you were selfish.
Never realized I was foolish,
Until I saw what you had left behind.

Dedicated to my Mom who left to some other world, seven years back, the same day! (July 2nd 2002). Today is my Mother's day! Miss you Ma!

PS:
1) I'm attempting poetry for the first time. Poets and poetry lovers, forgive me for bull-shitting the style. More than anything, the content mattered to me.
2) Its good to be emotional once in a while, shows you are still alive inside.