Those silly dreams!

As I child, those gigantic brown-colored NP lorries fascinated me a lot. I remember reading in my mind, the names of the states it traveled, written in the columns on its body – Maharashtra | Andra Pradesh | Orissa | West Bengal and so on...

I used to envy those lorry drivers and dreamed of becoming one when I grow up. I believed it was one of the easiest ways to visit places. 

Ahhh… those days when dreams were not associated with money!  

What was your dream, as a child?

PS: This post is part of the Write Tribe Festival of Words 2. The challenge is seven posts in seven days and this is the seventh (and the last) one in the series, on the theme Dreams.


Oh no… I can’t stand them!

When I say I am fond of many people, I should also admit that there are people whom I cannot stand even a bit. Like...
  • I cannot stand people who spit on roads. Slap them please! And you have to believe me when I say there are people who even pee in the apartment elevators. How filthy is that?!
  • I cannot stand parents who bring their noisy children to theaters. Wonder why they need to be such sadists to not let others watch the cinema in peace.
  • I cannot stand people who write Raju + Radha on public properties. How annoying is to find such stupid names inside creepy hearts even on monuments. 
  • I cannot stand those bloody oglers. Every time, I feel like scooping their eye balls out with a swiss knife.
  • I cannot stand people who speak loudly on their mobile phone inside trains. Do they realize that nobody is interested in knowing their business deals or extra marital affairs?
  • I cannot stand people who gulp down all the food with no consideration for others. Probably they don't know that there are others too barely surviving in the same planet.
  • I cannot stand people who shower gyan on me all the time. A little bit of it is tolerable; but I wonder makes them think I am dying for they advice so that I can prosper in life!  
  • I cannot stand people who decide my physical attributes. They have a problem when I am plump; they also have a problem when I am skinny. My life. My looks. I decide. Period.
  • I cannot stand those who dig their nose. That doesn't make you Mr. Bean, alright? Worse are those who poke their nose into my life. Look you Nosy Parkers, mind your own bloody business!
  • I cannot stand people who misspell my name. And even those who say pand for pant and mangey for monkey. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t have anything against those simble people dringing joos :p

So, who will be in your list? It will be interesting to know.

PS: This post is part of the Write Tribe Festival of Words 2. The challenge is seven posts in seven days and this is the sixth one in the series, on the theme People.  

How we planned the trip

I guess it was around the same time, many years ago. We 11th graders were very jealous of our seniors who went for an excursion to Ooty. That was when Kerala was just the land of coconuts and not of the Gods. So Ooty was the dream destination of most of the South Indians – be it for honeymoon or even school trips!

Whenever these guys got a chance, they narrated their never-ending stories of the tour and flashed photographs of their monkey faces against the green meadows of Ooty. Yes, it’s universal that seniors love to nag their juniors. So envious we were of the fun they had and couldn't wait for one more year for a similar trip with our classmates.

Through our class teacher, we requested the Principal to allow our batch also to go on a 2-3 days trip to some place. However, it was ruthlessly rejected with no bit of consideration. We were all deeply hurt at the dismissal of our request and were angry about it. However, we were not ready to give up so easily; so we decided to try another route – the Mallu way! Tadaaa…!!!

By that I didn't mean holding dharnas or boycotting classes. Our idea was to submit a memorandum to our Principal stating our need. After all, we Malayalees are good at mobilizing people! So, the core members of the program enthusiastically collected the signatures of almost every student of the batch. Betrayers will be found everywhere and we also had a few among us. We secretly decided to not include them in the trip after we get the permission.

It was D-Day, the Deciding Day! The class leaders approached the Principal with the so-called memorandum presented in a few A4 sheets, neatly clipped in a file. She was at her desk checking some registers while one of them cleared his throat to grab her attention. Not lifting her head, she just raised her eyebrows at them. That one piercing look and our guys almost lost it. Probably, there was something in the air that drained away all the confidence they had gathered from us to put forward the mass request.
One of them began, “Mam, this is a memorandum… I mean a request …a humble request on behalf of the 11th graders to go for an excursion this year”. He stretched the file at the Principal. She continued to look at them; her eyes moved from one face to the other. The boy who began still had his hand stretched; they were not sure if they should stay back or just exit the room. 

The Principal put down her pen, leaned back on her chair and removed her spectacles. As she rubbed her eyes with one hand, she pointed towards the corner of the room with her other hand and said, “Dump those papers into the dustbin and get back to your classes.”

Stunned at her response, they stood there with puzzled faces. She continued, “Is that not clear?”

The next second, the glorified memorandum lied in the trash; all of them got back to the classroom and with much difficulty, ignored the heartless betrayers who made fun of them, “**enthokke bahalam aayirunnu… malappuram kathi, machine gun, bomb …olakkayude moodu!!”

However, the drama was soon forgotten as we had lot other fun things to focus on.

** a very popular dialogue from an old Malayalam film, which only my Mallu friends can relate to.

PS: This post is part of the Write Tribe Festival of Words 2. The challenge is seven posts in seven days and this is the fifth one in the series, on the theme Travel. 

The Music Within

The best ever music in my life - not something that I listened to with my ears, but it was something that I felt with my heart - when I had a little someone growing inside me. The feeling itself of bearing a tiny life within me was musical.

I felt I was warmly held in those tender fists floating in the womb because my thoughts and words were always answered by the little creature in some way. Our conversations had a rhythm that cannot be explained. Another life that fluttered inside me which tried to claw its way out, just wanting to meet the world - heights of joy and an overwhelming feeling of love! I do reminisce about those nine wonderful months and feel blissful about it.

As I write this, my little boy… I imagine you as a man, handsome and righteous, sitting on the sea shore letting the waves wash your feet while you read this age-old note. I will be there too, older and happier, sitting next to you with your dad, watching the big red sun touch the horizon as we listen to the music of togetherness on that beautiful summer evening.

PS: This post is part of the Write Tribe Festival of Words 2. The challenge is seven posts in seven days and this is the fourth one in the series, on the theme Music. 

In Her Black Dress

There was an Iranian girl in our class who lived in a burka. It revealed just her fair little face.

Extremely reserved, she doesn't even laugh at the silly pranks that happen in class. Most of us believed that perhaps their way of having fun is very different from ours. While we roamed around in the campus indulging in all possible nonsense, this girl spent all her free time in the library. So she was labelled as the official nerd of the batch!

However, of the very few friends she had probably in the country, I was one. We have had discussions on lot of topics, but very rarely she talked about her home. But whenever she did, I felt her relationship with her folks lacked the intimacy and fondness that most of us shared with our family. However not much I know about her personal life as she never liked to dig out the grief and pain she buried in her black dress.  

One day, she came to me and said, “I am sure we will not meet again. My dad wants me to go back, so I am leaving India” I could only look into her eyes in surprise and not react as it was not expected at all.

Saying that, with her nimble fingers she wiped off the tears that rolled down her cheeks and continued, “Thank God, I don’t have many people to say good bye. Here’s a small gift for you; it has foreseen my life. Please don’t forget me…” Her voice cracked as she gave me a book wrapped in silver cover. We hugged each other and even without looking at my face for one last time, she walked away.


She left our college during the time when social networking sites were quite unheard of. Before leaving, all she gave me was an email id to get in touch with. Sadly, I have not received any replies to the umpteen messages I have sent her. And she is not to be seen anywhere in the virtual world.

I only wish and pray that her life is different from the one told in the book she gifted me, “Not Without My daughter”. 

“My dear friend, I hope everything is fine with you.”

If you have not read the book, you may read the synopsis here to understand what I am talking about. 

PS: This post is part of the Write Tribe Festival of Words 2. The challenge is seven posts in seven days and this is the third one in the series, on the theme Books. 

The Barter Deal

This is also an old story. However not as old as the previous one. This happened during our under grad college days.

We famished hostel girls were invited to one of our teachers’ daughter’s wedding. Ahh… a wedding invite! We were all so thrilled. That evening, we discussed the rituals of a Brahmin wedding. We knew the wedding would last for three days, but were not quite sure if we were invited for all the three days.

An invitation is supposed to be for the whole wedding and not for just parts of the function. Right?”, one of us tried to clear the doubt.

Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. I have heard that Brahmin wedding starts early in the morning and will go on till late in the evening”, somebody was kind of sure about it.

Oh! Is it? Well, that means breakfast, lunch and snacks. Three days. Three meals. Wow; nine times in a row, we can treat our taste buds”, she just couldn’t hide her excitement.

While I had a different point of view, “It is not only about food, you see. Our sir will be so glad if we participate in their joy from start till the end.” I looked at others and saw giggles and grins on all the faces. The next minute, there was a burst of laughter!

A dozen of us, decked-up exuberant girls attended the wedding with much vigor and fervor. Our twelve heads were a common sight on all the three days. We kept ourselves busy being the bride’s happy maids, posed for a number of photographs, consumed limitless starters, main course & deserts and laughed our hearts out while we had lots of fun.

We showered the bride and groom with our love and blessings; the grand wedding thus came to an end. At the closure of each day, everybody was given a fancy pouch, with a coconut and some tidbits in it.

We, hostages of the girls’ hostel had no idea what to do with all the coconuts we had collected. The idea of donating them to the mess was immediately rejected as they were unkind and merciless folks who did not feed us well. So they don’t deserve any goodies from us! After a rigorous round of brainstorming, we decided to give the coconuts to Subbannan the next morning if he is ready to offer all of us free breakfast.

Who is Subbannan, by the way? He is the God-sent alternative to the awful food served in our hostel mess. Subbannan owns a small eatery very close to our hostel building and we loved him because he allowed credit to the hostel girls.

The next day, we skipped the ‘so-called’ idlies in the hostel mess and rushed to Subbannan with the bag that contained our prized possession! Our man was seated in his chair, all set to feed his hungry customers.

As we had no time to explain, without beating around the bush we came to the point. “Subbanna… Keep these coconuts. Instead, please give all of us breakfast” saying that, I winked at him and we took our seats.

Totally confused, for a couple of minutes he just starred at us. Then he shot, “Look at you girls… lipstick and high heels. But to eat two idlis, you had to steal coconuts. If you don’t have money now, you may give it later.

We were trying to understand what he was grumbling while Subbannan continued, “I wonder, why they don’t lock the store room in your hostel!” 

In shock, none of us could react immediately. That was obviously the least expected!

PS: This post is part of the Write Tribe Festival of Words 2. The challenge is seven posts in seven days and this is the second one in the series, on the theme Food. 


Behind the Mango Tree

Life was so less complicated when we were children. It was so easy to live life to the fullest.  

Recalling an incident from my childhood...there is a grandfather mango tree standing in one corner of our school ground, which has stood testimony to generations of thick friendships, roaring successes, bitter failures, true love, few heart-breaks, plenty of laughter and tearful goodbyes. 

This mango tree has seen me grow into an adult from a little girl; it knows everything about my childhood – my little secrets and fantasies, my likes and dislikes and my mood swings. It even knows about the friendship I shared with this brown-haired, dimple-cheeked boy, whose face or name I don’t remember now.

It is an old story that happened during the time I lived in brown pinafore that remained above my knees. …the time I believed Cinderella and Snow White existed in a land far away from mine. …the time I laughed when I felt happy & cried when I felt sad. ...the time I worried very little!

Whenever we played hide-and-seek in school, my favorite place to hide was behind the fat mango tree trunk. Once I hid there, holding hands with the dimple boy. Nobody in the world, except the tree knows about the silly game both of us played in secret. We blew raspberries in the air and I vaguely remember him wiping my drooling mouth with his sleeves. His brown hair appeared golden when sun rays through the branches, fell on his head. And as we mastered the art of making bigger and bigger bubbles, the challenge was to break one’s bubble with the others. When we exhausted the saliva in our mouths, we moved on to next phase of the game, which was kissing the tree and nailing ripe mango leaves on it with a sharp piece of bark. In the evening, before boarding the school bus, we ran till the tree to find out if those leaves still remained there. Both of us were sad to see none on the tree, but we departed kissing each other’s cheeks. What happened after that is blurred in my memory, beyond recollection.

I don’t know if that game was played later; but I remember that beautiful day at school, I can still feel the gentle breeze and the swaying branches of the mango tree; can even hear the soft guiltless giggles of the little boy and the girl.  

PS: This post is part of the Write Tribe Festival of Words 2. The challenge is seven posts in seven days and this is the first one, on the theme Memories.  


Look, who’s back in town!

I am back, hopefully this time to stay.

While I absconded, what has been happening in the world? Three years is indeed a long time. Everybody’s life has been so eventful.

Sachin Tendulkar decided to stop playing cricket and instead he thought it makes sense to help his wife make rotis for dinner. I think it is truly a fantastic idea to spend quality time with the family.

This NaMo guy became the latest ‘yo boy’ of the country; his name is dragged into every conversation, even if the discussion is on mosquito repellants or extra-terrestrial attack on America.   

While Mohanlal and Mammotty, in their lungis and dothis continue to rule the mallu hearts, I think Fahadh Fassil and his boxers are a welcome change.

One thing, by the way has been a constant – Salman Khan’s virginity!

While all this has been happening, what do you think I was doing? Sun-bathing in Bahamas? Setting up my billion-dollar-company? Writing a film script?

In fact I wanted to do all of them, but I didn't! All I did was nothing, just nothing!

Finally, I have decided to make up for the long silence. Many thanks to this dude Sooraj, a follower of this silly blog. He pleasantly surprised me one day with an email asking why I don’t update this little space with my stories and fundas. He mentioned a lot of things in his email about which I felt nice. Oh… it was yet another moment when I fell in love with myself.

Also, thanks to my very good friend Roshan who helped me get over the inertia and start all over again. He has motivated me to take up this challenge – ie, seven posts in seven days, starting from Sunday. 

Let me see, how well I can fair at it.

See ya soon! 

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