Camping (2015)

Pratibha, the kids and I love camping. And I love it that parks here provide all sorts of amenities for camping. Showers, flush toilets .. running water at the campsite (sometimes) etc etc . Every time summer rolls around, we head out to the mountains for a weekend or two underneath the stars. The process is tried, tested and stress free. We usually start off with a morning hike and set up camp after the kids are tired. Sona and Megha would go looking for animal tracks and Pratibha would get busy with the camp stove while I setup the tent and supplies. Once the tent is up, there'll be hot tea, some snacks, a book and a hammock ready for me (she prefers a chair). Around sunset the kids come back. We light a fire and kick off grilling. Corn, veggie patties, marshmellows, fish burgers, baked bananas .. just lots of food. Afterwards, when the fire dies down, I lie in the hammock and point out star constellations to the kids .. Alright fine .. most of the time I make up a name .. dad's got to survive. They can sense weakness.

Sometimes though, the wheels fall off. Last summer we camped near lake Cuyamacca. Sites there are hard to get and I usually monitor them year round for openings on a good weekend. One Friday I saw an opening for friday and sat night. I could camp that very night. Some fool had a last minute emergency and must have cancelled. I pounced and roared in triumph. Called up Pratibha and told her to get off work early. She wasn't sure. 

Sonu : "Nikku .. we need to pack, get the kids ready .. can we do it?"

I insisted ..  we've been looking for a campsite here for ages. 

"But we'll get there after dark"

I scoffed at that with utter contempt .. I'd setup a tent so many times, I could do it with a blindfold .. on one leg .. holding babies in both hands. 

"Btw ... any idea why they cancelled"

"who cares ... lets do this"

I rushed out, grabbed the kids from school, and headed home after a quick stop at the grocer. I'm no greenhorn. Last minute is never an issue for a professional like me. I mean .. I have a checklist in a spreadsheet printed and pasted over my bedpost. So I wasn't even nervous. Methodically packed up all the stuff while the kids got ready. 

Tent ... grabbed it and threw it in the car

ice and Ice box .. in the van

grill tools ... in the van

cooking utensils .. in the van

corn, burgers, veggies .. in the van

Paneer .. skip it

Hammock and chairs.. in the van

Toiletries .. in the van

clothes .. in the van

lanterns .. in the van

sleeping bags, jackets, air beds, charcoal, lighter fluid, duraflame log, .. man I was good .. I didn't even need to look at the spreadsheet anymore. Soon as Pratibha got home we headed out. We were halfway there when I asked her to check the weather. Night was going to be in the high 30s Farenheit (2-4 deg centigrade). Still warmer than the ice in Pratibha's eyes. "That explains why the others cancelled" she said coldly. I feigned nonchalance and kept driving. "Those sleeping bags are rated at 32 .. I guess we'll find out how good they are huh" .. I croaked. By the time we got to the campsite it was 9 O clock. I stepped out .. stepped back in .. crawled sorrowfully to the back of the minivan and dug out my thickest jacket. It was freezing. I knew exactly where this was leading. That elder daughter of mine never feels cold. She would insist on setting up the tent and sleeping inside. Pratibha and Megha would curl up in the back of the minivan .. which can take a fullsize mattress once emptied. 

"Anyone want's to go home? .. I can drive while you sleep" I squeaked. 

"No way" .. came 2 full throated roars from the back seat. 

"We just got here" "I haven't even looked at the sky yet" " "We have to explore the woods tomorrow" "And you promised to take me to the lake .. remember"

"Alright .. Alright" I said raising my voice over the cacophony. "I'll setup the tent" 

I could feel the icicles in my lungs by the time I was done with that. To top it all, I had left the tent flap at home. "So much the better" Said Sona "We can see the night sky"I grabbed the lantern and looked whistfully at the Pratibha and Megha cozily cuddled up in the back of the minivan. "Come on .. come on Papa .. it's not even snowing". "Fine .. you polar bear .. I'm coming". She crawled into the sleeping bag, curled up, and was lost in dreams in 5 mins. I tried to curl .. the dratted bag was too small. My face poked out. It was going numb in the cold. I wondered when frostbite strikes. I don't know when I fell asleep. Maybe I just cryo froze and thawed in the morning. That was the coldest I'd ever camped in without heat. Luckily, by morning, things picked up and temperatures returned to normal. Sat night, we were back to our usual camping routine and I still love camping. 

A broken ankle (2015)

I love birthday parties. Kids play a bit and we all go for dinner. Then I stuff myself with birthday cake. In short .. heaven. A few weeks back was my good friend Jatin's son, Arush's birthday. The platoon and I landed at Get Air. I was at my dignified best as Jatin introduced me to his parents and other distinguished guests. Then I turned around and saw paradise. A stadium sized room that was essentially one big trampoline. Basketball hoop in one corner where kids were bouncing and dunking. Track in another corner where kids were having bouncing races. Little platforms from which kids were diving into the trampolines. Trampolines in front of me .. trampolines behind me .. trampolines to the side of me. All calling out to me. I slid over to Jatin. "Exactly how well can your parents see .. like if I bounce in a far corner .. would they recognize me .. I can change my shirt if you want?". A look of sheer joy and ecstasy filled his face. "I got you man, I got your back .. don't worry", He said as he started bounding on the trampolines. His dad walked over with a stern expression. "Oh Papa .. Nishant here wanted to jump. I'm just giving him company" Said Judas as he jumped headfirst into a crowd of kids. I smiled sheepishly at uncle as I let the trampolines take me. A few blissful minutes later I caught Pratibha hopping onto the trampolines. I figured her heart must have filled with pride at the sight of the two of us valiantly upholding the prestige of the seniors in bounce races and dunk contests against gifted toddlers. She must have stepped in to congratulate us on our effort. Or just ever so slightly .. maybe she jumped in to drag me out. I dashed for the exit. I knocked her over and she twisted her ankle. Folks gathered around. She was in pain. The last time I saw that face was 5 years back when she was about to deliver Megha. I was in pain .. in anticipation of the pain I was sure to receive. She gave me a wry smile and a chuckle. Sweetheart .. she had come on to jump as well. She couldn't resist when she saw us jumping.

I helped her off the trampoline while gently reminding her that these activities are certainly not recommended for people of our age. I mean .. who does that right! I was just giving Jatin company. I wasn't really jumping. "Just get the ice pack Nikku", she cut short my speech. In half an hour it was evident from the swelling that it was no ordinary sprain. One ER visit and a snickering X-ray technician later, she's home with an ankle that's broken in two places and a sturdy boot to kick me with if I ever step out of line. We're all fussing over her. Sona's cooking her tea. Megha's washing dishes and I'm going to be toiling around the house for a very long time to make up for what I did. No wonder she's smiling so much these days.

Travelling alone with kids (2014)

Every two years, we take a trip to India to help our kids renew their bonds with grandparents and relatives. It's a time of rest and recreation. Pratibha goes ahead of me. After a period of quiet relaxation at home, I catch a peaceful and uneventful flight to India where well adjusted kids greet me at the airport. A few weeks of relentless eating later, a heavier and reluctant me would head back to San Diego with Pratibha and the kids in tow looking forward to the next trip to India. I never understood why Pratibha palpitates so much when it's time to travel. I chalked it down to inexperience and the lack of the calm collected presence of mind that I am known to possess.

Recently Pratibha was offered a job in a company very close to our house. It'd been 5 years since she worked and it was a great opportunity to jump back into the workplace. We took it. The only downside was that she couldn't take vacation this year. We talked about what to do about our India trip.

Sonu: "Nikku, you think we should cancel the trip?"
Me (Thinking of all the good food back home) : "Cancel .. no way, I can handle traveling with kids"
Sonu (With a look of surprise) : "You can?"
Me : "Of course .. I've handled them for so many years!"
Sonu (even more surprised) " You did?"
Memory is a cruel trickster. When I needed it most, it mercilessly let me down and I forgot all the times I had panicked and gone running to Pratibha during our numerous road trips.
Me (supremely confident) : " You know what, I'm taking the kids, and I'll take my niece along with me for good measure.

So it was arranged. I'll take the kids .. and my 14 year old niece .. to India for a month while Pratibha settles into her workplace. Word spread like fire. Folks from all over southern California came to see me and wish me luck. I enjoyed the attention thickly refusing to wonder why they looked so sympathetic.

The big day arrived. Pratibha had a happy grin pasted on her face that I couldn't, for the life of me, wipe off. The only time it faded slightly was to put on a face of sarcastic incredulity when I packed Megha's change of clothes. "Only 3?" she asked. I ignored her. One for Singapore, and 2 for emergencies .. I'm a pro ..  I travel light. My usually happy and cheerful kids, who always prefer hanging out with me as opposed to their mom, suddenly abandoned my charming company and clung to their mom like leeches. Ignoring that last minute warning,  I headed out into the wide world with a 4 year old, an 8 year old and a 14 year old for a 42 hr trip, halfway around the globe, to India.

The first flight was to Japan. "The joys of traveling with kids" I thought to myself as my kids and I were led into the airplane ahead of everyone else.
In the past I had looked on with envy as folks in the bassinet row stretched out their legs while I sat cramped several rows behind them. "The joys of traveling with kids" I thought to myself and I stretched myself out to avail of the extra legroom in the bassinet seats I had carefully requested ahead of the flight.

Fiddling with Megha's remote and asking the air hostess for candies to deal with ear aches during takeoffs were minor details. I knew we were going to have a blast. " these moms ... they make mountains out of molehills ... all it takes is an even temperament and some planning" I thought to myself as I dozed off.

Midway through the flight the air hostess woke me up for food. Sona, being vegetarian, got her food ahead of Megha. A fight erupted right away. Sona smacked Megha's hand as she reached for Sona's dessert. Megha pushed Sona's tray with all her might. CRASH .... I now knew why Pratibha never requests bassinet seats. Regular seats have a seat in front of the tray table for support and it's pretty hard for a child to push the tray off it when the mom's got the aisle seat. These ones, require a fair bit of finesse to keep balanced on that miserable excuse of a saucer they call the tray table. I apologized profusely to the horrified air hostess who came running with napkins and set about cleaning Megha's clothes. The first 'emergency' change of clothes was done in the first couple of hours. I started to get a little worried but I didn't show it. After a terrible 45 mins scolding and cajoling, the kids settled down again. I was tired, I'd lost my appetite. I decided to skip the meal and go back to sleep.

I was woken up by an incessant crying. Megha had a tummy ache. I asked her if she needed to use the restroom. She declined. Being the loving and considerate father, I unbuckled her seatbelt and picked her up. She nestled against my chest and settled down. I looked around at the other moms in triumph .. that's when she threw up all over me. The moms looked at me with pity. The poor air hostess came running with more napkins. The second change of clothes were done with. I wanted to cry. I had never missed Pratibha more in my entire life.

Since I had soiled clothes with me in my backpack, I took the remaining changes of clothes and distributed them between Sona and Megha's  backpacks. I then showed Megha the paper bag provided in airplanes to throw up in. " Megha .. if you have this kind of tummy ache again .. please throw up in the bag .. ok?" she nodded to acknowledge she understood. We settled down again. I dared not sleep. A gazillion years later, we landed in Tokyo. We were 10 hours into a 42 hour trip. I asked my niece to keep an eye on the kids as I went to get a bottle of water and a tablet for Megha's motion sickness. When I came back, Megha was throwing up into her backpack. " What are you doing?" I yelled in panic. " Throwing up into the bag .. dint you ask me to do that?" She replied.

The less said about the rest of the trip, the better. Suffice to say, I lost a significant sum in Singapore getting our clothes washed and dried, and I gained a healthy respect for women who travel alone with kids.

Megha's Desk

Sunday is my favorite day of the week. It's badminton day. Every Sunday morning at 8:30, Sona and I head out to her 3 hour badminton camp. Sona gets a workout. And I get an audience that is forced to relive, in painful detail, my glorious badminton days, as I persistently, and unsolicitedly, remind them how insignificant their effort is compared to what I had to do when I was a kid. But destiny played a cruel trick on me last Sunday. I overslept. Sona woke up at 6 .. and let me sleep. Megha woke up at 7 .. and let me sleep. And the unkindest cut of all .. Sonu woke up at 7:30 .. and let me sleep. Just to save a few kids she doesn't even know very well .. in a badminton camp far far away. I woke up at 9 .. sprang out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a voluntary coach .. saw the time .. and and gave out a yell of shock and sorrow.

Sona and Megha blew into the room. "Get ready Papa, we're cleaning the house today". Double blow to the solar plexus. I looked around groggily. To my untrained eye, the house looked pretty clean. In my early years of marriage I might even have mentioned that. But I'm a fast learner. I dint have it in me. "Down in a min, I yelled while sprinting down the stairs to gain more brownie points".

Cleanup at home is fairly simple. Sona and Megha go first picking up the small stuff and Sonu follows with the vacuum. I add the muscle .. to move the big stuff that Sona and Megha cannot handle. Usually I manage to talk Pratibha out of moving the big stuff so I do .. umm .. nothing. But I am a good motivational speaker while they work. Once Vacuuming is done Sonu goes around rearranging every item in the house. If left to ourselves, Sona, Megha and I would utilize this time to pick up all the small stuff and bring them back out. Unfortunately, Sonu is enlightened. So she usually sends us out on trivial pursuits like getting groceries, or washing the car. By the time we come back inside, the house is spotless and glistening. All in all, except for the fact that I'll have to massage Sonu's back at the end of the day, Clean up isn't really that much of a big deal. Honestly, I don't understand why Sonu finds it so difficult. I could do this everyday.

Sona Megha and I spent a happy morning idling around the master bedroom. Just as cleanup was done, I heard 'that' tone outside our bedroom door.

Sonu "Are you going to do something about that desk?"
Me   "What desk?"
Sonu "The desk you bought for Megha last November?"
Me  "What about the desk?"
Sonu "It's sitting in the garage .. it needs to be assembled"

There's a reason that desk was still in the garage. The instruction manual for assembly was bigger than some of my engineering textbooks. Moreover, if memory served me right, it had taken all my physical strength to slide that box off my car to the garage wall. How in the world was I going to get it upstairs and into Megha's room, not to mention assemble it. I looked at Pratibha. Behind every successful man is an angry woman. One look at her face and I knew I was capable of doing it. I broke open the box and moved the pieces upstairs in batches. Then I opened the instruction manual and started weeping. 50 pages of instructions. Each one more complicated than the other. Sonu, bless her, is a much kinder soul than I am. She offered to help. Two hours later, I was done. Four hours later the desk was done. I did do some of the heavy lifting and putting things in place OK. It wasn't all her. Anyway .. I think I owe her a dinner. 

Corte Madera (Nov 2009)

A few days back I got a mail from Nachiket gauging interest in a short hike. Nachiket is one of those supermen hikers and the lowest end of his 'short hike' just about intersects with the highest end of my 'killer record length hike'. Normally I would have run for dear life after seeing such an email but I really wanted to do a hike. I had been active and about and all that recently. I could feel the stamina coursing through my veins. The problem was that whenever I hear or see the name Nachiket I remember Prajakt's story of black mountain. Prajakt did black mountain with Nachiket. He did his best. Ran up, ran down. Stopped very little. Almost lost his lungs with all that heavy breathing. And he still had to suffer the humiliation of having Nachiket go up and down, get tired waiting, and then go up and down again before Prajakt could get back. Suddenly I had one of my brilliant ideas. I responded with interest after adding a few more slowpokes like me in the list and, after much wrangling and bargaining, we pulled Nachiket down to a reasonable altitude 7 miler called Corte Madera.

The night before the hike I did my last check. Water - check. Snacks - check. Spare shirt - check. Sunscreen - check. Electrolyte - check. whistle - check. compass - check. I was totally, completely, supremely prepared. I had thought of every minor detail. I had even gone to the extent of freezing my water overnight so that I could have cold water during a hot hike. I was a pro.

The morning of the hike I was up early and rushed to the starting point. That's where I had my first jolt. My two snails had backed out. They had pitilessly left me to the wolves. As our car approached the trail head I nervously eyed Nachiket and Parag (another superhuman).
"I .. er .. um .. if it's OK with you guys, I'll take it a little slow. You know .. um .. my .. er .. knees are not what they used to be and all that"
"Sure .. no problem", said Nachiket. "Hope you got your poncho."
"A .. what .. oh! .. that .. um .. no. "
A poncho is used to protect from rain. I remembered that all my hikes had been nice hot summer hikes. A winter hike is probably a different beast. Why! .. oh why! do I get myself into these scrapes. We got out of the car and the cold hit me. It was single digit degrees above zero degree centigrade and I had a thin sweatshirt. I glanced over towards Parag and Nachiket and smiled. They dint seem to be taking it much better. A poncho is just plastic. It stops water, not the cold. We had a small discussion and decided that it was OK to carry on since it should get warmer as the day progressed. We started off and I realised I could comfortably keep pace with Parag and Nachiket. The cold had frozen my joints. I felt no pain. It was a liberating feeling. "Maybe these winter hikes are not such a big deal", I thought to myself as my mojo slowly returned. I even dared to strike up a conversation with Nachiket on the intricacies of pro level hiking. I was looking for an opening to start off on my badminton glory days but he dint take the bait. I think he had been warned. We were at this stalemate when the hail started. It killed us. There was no respite. The temperature dropped to below zero. The ice melted into little streams and drenched our feet. It melted on my cap, backpack, sweatshirt and drenched all of that too. Soon I was a shivering shaking mess. Meanwhile, that block of ice that I had labouriously frozen in the freezer last night stayed the same. Like a fool I was lugging along 2 kg of ice and had no water to drink. So much for preparation. Comfortably ensconced in their ponchos, Nachiket and Parag looked at me with pity. We reached some sort of a plateau. "This is the peak" I begged .. but they plodded on. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, we reached the true peak. I spent exactly 30 seconds there. Then this chilly cold wind also started. I shot down the mountain and reached the car in record time. Parag and Nachiket were awestruck by my stamina. They had never seen anyone climb down so fast. It was a good half hour before the shivering abated and I could start the car. We wasted no time in rushing off to soup plantation for hot soup and more hot soup. Note to self: The next time I have a brilliant idea, get the largest stick I can find and beat myself on the head hard and long until that, and future brilliant ideas, don't dare come anywhere near me again.

Pratibha gets her licence (2008)

I recently came to realise what a disability it is to be a topper all your life. The problem with it is that failure destroys you. It paralyses you. life comes to a stop. you don't know what to do.
Now, on the other hand, look at me. What is failure .. I ask you? I don't know what it feels like to fail. Somewhere between the time in kindergarten when I was given my first 'quiz' and the time I got my answers back, I first met that shady rogue called failure. I got to see him so many times that, by the time I crossed over to primary school, he dint bother me much. By middle school, I had forgotten that feeling completely. Now I don't know how it feels to fail. An added benefit of this is that I got really good at studying just enough to pass an exam.

Pratibha, on the other hand, belongs to the former category. Last week we went to take her learner's permit at the department of motor vehicles, here in California. This requires her to take a driver's test. She dint bother to prepare much. Now, when a girl 'doesn't prepare' all she does is go over every line of the drivers manual and take all the practice questions she could get. So I wasn't too concerned. It got to the point where she was teaching me how to drive in Calif. Unfortunately, at the test centre she copped a tough one, and failed by a single point. Came outside all upset and sad. I dint feel too bad about all of that. Never felt like that after failing a test you know. So I led her to the car trying to make small talk.

Me (looking at the questions): "Tough luck .. you got a hard one. I would have failed this too"
Sonu: "It was the toughest one, the lady at the counter told me so"
Me (wondering what would constitute an adequate sympathetic noise) : hmm
Sonu: "She offered to let me take the test again"
Me: "oh! .. and did you?"
Sonu: " No .. I want to study more"
Me(now beginning to feel bad): what do you mean study more .. there's just one book .. you studied it
Sonu: "Nikku .. I failed the test"
I tried to look dignified and understanding ..but I couldn't digest the significance of that statement. She failed by a point on the toughest question paper.. why did she have to study more.
Me: " er .. hmm .. .. you do realise there's no prize for getting the most questions correct.
Sonu: "oh"
Me: "Let's do it"


Ok .. it wasn't that easy, but I got her to go back and she got her permit.

Four men and a Car(2008)

My second coming to US has been no less eventful than my first. Apparently, I am very good at remembering my old mistakes. I had a checklist somewhere in my subconscious memory that meticulously ensured I repeated them all. Therefore I landed in Phoenix,AZ, once more, with everything I need back in India, and everything I don’t need in two over sized suitcases superman would struggle to lift. I got a ride to my apartment from Anand, my boss. At the apartment I met the two unique individuals whose would be the only two faces I see over the next two months. Fortunately they were jolly good fellows and so it was not so bad a deal. Pavan and Surya are my roommates. Pavan had just graduated and was busily searching for a job when I came in. When he was not searching for a job he was cooking. When he was not cooking he was watching a telugu(Indian language) movie. If it was none of these, he was asleep. Surya worked for American express and was a very busy person. He spent all his free time online, searching for articles he could read to while away the 8 hours he was forced to spend in office. They are both very easygoing and I had no trouble fitting in.

A couple of days after I came in Surya bought a car, his first car. A fully loaded Acura. Slick and fast, it was the pride of our apartment .. for a day. The next morning we had a flat tire and Surya caught the bus to office. We fixed the flat that evening and went to bed. The next morning Pavan and I woke up to curses and rants from the parking lot. The other tire was flat. That evening we took the car down to a mechanic. He checked it out and told us that the car needed repairs of ~1200 dollars. I looked to my left and saw a handsome white stranger next to me. A moment later I realized it was not a stranger, it was Surya, on the verge of fainting. For want of money we dint give the car for repairs, and that turned out to be a wise choice. We later came to know that nothing was wrong with the car and the mechanic was trying to slip a quick one past us. Behind the wheel, Surya is the equivalent of your average 60 year old. Wait’s forever to cross an intersection, signal a couple of blocks before the turn etc etc. As if that wasnt bad enought sometimes Surya would go into NFS(need for speed) mode. The gas get’s floored, turns get acute and fear grips your heart like never before. When this happens Pavan and I usually crouch down in our seats crying loudly to the lord to forgive our sins before he takes us. I remember one pleasant evening, when we were cruising down an unfamiliar road. The sight of a Walmart to our right jolted Pavan’s memory and he remarked that we need groceries too. He paid dearly for saying that. Surya’s eyes glazed and in an instant Shumacher Surya was behind the wheel. He twisted the wheel all the way and floored the gas. The car spun into a 90 degree turn, cut an S shape perpendicular to oncoming traffic and shot into the parking lot of the Walmart. The only thing I saw was a building approaching at the speed of light. Somehow Surya managed to stop the car before we crashed.

Time is the best medicine and time helped Surya’s driving too. Shumacher incidents have slowly died out and his regular driving speed has slowly gone up until, now, he’s pretty handy with the car. We were also joined by our fourth roommate. Naveen, a self confessed foodie, and someone who would give the average girl a run for her money for time spent on the phone. Naveen loves to cook, and we love to eat .. a match made in heaven. He fit right into our group. Our car troubles, however, still dog us with us hitting a new low last week. The remote for central locking had died. It seemed to us to be a minor trifle and we ignored it. Ever heard of a fellow called Murphy? He struck again. We were at a gas station. Surya was filling gas, Pavan and I were in the car and Naveen had gone to purchase cigarettes. As peaceful a setting as could ever be. Spotting Naveen coming back, I leaned over and unlocked his door from inside the car. Pandemonium broke look. The car started honking and blinking, and we understood what it meant to be a celebrity. Everyone within a mile radius was staring. I glanced outside the car to see how Surya was taking it. He was frozen, his mouth open, tongue hanging out, eyes bulging .. I don’t think he realized it was just the car alarm. He thought it was a bomb about to go off. A part of him wanted to run for dear life but the other part told him to do something to save his beloved car. His first reaction was the pull the gas nozzle out, with gas still flowing. Nearly a whole gallon later he managed to put that back it. Then, realizing it was the alarm, he took out his useless, non working remote and started furiously jabbing the unlock button with a desperate pleading look in his face. When that dint work he shut off the gas pump, started the car and drove around the gas station. We looked great, horns blazing, lights blinking driving around the gas pump. Dint work too .. so Surya parked at the parking lot and we stepped out. We popped the hood and all of a sudden the sound stopped. Silence never felt so golden before. Still sweating profusely from our ordeal we got into the car and Surya turned the key. Off went the alarms again. Pavan, Naveen and I shot out of the car and pretended we were also part of the pack of ‘irritated bystanders’. Surya, meanwhile, decided that the best thing to do was to make a quick getaway .. but the car would not start. He was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He kept on turning the key but the car would not start (we later realized the transmission was on ‘Drive’ not ‘park’). We decided to call a mechanic and we rang up Surya’s friend to get his number. I don’t think he is a friend anymore. For every sentence of ours he had five questions. Personally I think he dint know the mechanic and was stalling for time. Here we were, on the verge of tears, with half the world staring angrily at us and this comedian was playing twenty questions with us. Fortunately, the alarm turned off again. We waited a full five minutes before we tried starting the car again. This time it worked and we slunk quietly off from the parking lot. We still haven’t fixed that alarm remote.

The Man - The Monkey (1987)

My good friend Vivek got married last 13th and I went to Kerala to attend his wedding. Seeing him brought back memories of incredibly stupid antics from our childhood. This one surely takes the cake.

A bright and sunny day was spoilt by an unfair and malicious detention served cruelly on me for the trivial affair of lightly touching Laxmi on her shins. I argued my case convincingly and Sister Freda, sagely old soul that she is, accepted my explanation right away. However, she needed to work on her spellings and I could not refuse her stirring plea for help. I wrote "I wont kick girls again" three hundred times. Lunchtime was almost over by the time I taught sister to spell that and I rushed off in search of Laxmi to demonstrate the difference between a 'touch' and a 'kick' on the shins. Now Laxmi was a shade touchy about physical demonstrations and I wasn't sure she wouldn't have her friends around her to prevent me from my supreme duty of enlightening the less fortunate. I therefore when in search of my trusty aide who would handle the crowd while I do the tutoring. That was Vivek. I found him deep in thought looking down the parapet of the top floor of a two storied building.

Me: "Hey Vivek". Get over here, I need your help with something".
Vivek: "Hey Nishant, I bet you cannot stand on the top of this railing for a minute without falling?"

I forgot all about laxmi. Mentoring and tutoring was all fine, but this was the sort of challenge that a knight in shining armour could never back away from. You know the knight I'm talking about, he's the one who resides in 7 year olds and blocks out all reason when they need it most. The cry echoed through the corridors of my empty head .. Nishant is up to it. I ran up and on the railing in a jiffy, beaming down at the expression of shock and awe on Vivek's face. And then I looked at the other side. The drop was a good 30 feet which explained why Vivek wasn't on the railing with me. For about ten seconds I was frozen. Then a crowd gathered and started to cheer. My mojo returned and soon I was whistling a merry tune waiting the final seconds out. All of a sudden a shout "sister Freda is coming". Grateful as she would surely be to me for teaching her to spell, I still felt sure she would not appreciate this open display of shared ancestry with monkeys. And so I jumped. All would have been well if I had been facing Vivek, but as luck would have it, I was facing the outside of the building. Things happened real fast. A tree came up and I grabbed its branches, continued to hang from it and that's how Sister found me. She thought I had climbed the tree and hung from the branch and was preparing to walk off with just a frown and a sharp word. By my old nemesis Laxmi was in the crowd. This was her chance to escape from my unsolicited tutoring and she grabbed it. "Sister Freda, Sister Freda .. Nishant jumped from the top floor". I think mom broke her cane thrashing me that day.

Bees (1992)

It was sometime in 7th grade that I was taught the modus operandi of honey bees. The bee stings .. and then the bee dies. I found that hilarious. I think I even asked the teacher if that qualifies to make it the stupidest animal on earth. I found out, painfully, a couple of weeks later that it's not a bad means of self defense.

The day began like every other day in my life. The sun rose in the east, I was tortured in the badminton camp, I was late for school, I served detention. You know .. every other day in my life. And then, before I knew it, it was evening and I was on my trusty bicycle pedalling to the badminton camp again. There was a colony of honeybees on a lamp post just outside the stadium. It had been there since the stone age and the bees had never troubled anyone. I used to be very nervous around the hive, but ever since that wonderfully enlightening lecture on bees in my science class, I never gave the hive a second glance. So I parked my bike and was just thinking to myself that it's a particularly cloudy day when the first bee stung me. That was no cloud above me. Someone had thrown a stone on the hive and I was right below it. "No problem I told myself, It's me, superior mammal, against some asinine dodos out to commit suicide". I quickly recollected the second sentence of my science teacher. " If you are attacked by bees, cover your face and freeze, they wont see you and they will pass by you". Freeze I did, with an expression of serene confidence, for about half a minute. That's when the next bee stung me. I guess that one was retarded even by bee standards, and so it drove straight into me, even though I had used my brilliant mammalian brains and beaten the system. I jerked in pain and the onslaught began in earnest. The stings were coming thick and fast and I knew that I had come a poor second in this battle of wits. Screaming in pain and fear I ran for dear life and plunged, fully clothed, into a nearby swimming pool. I stayed underwater for a full 4 minutes ( that's still a personal best for me) before I surfaced. Once out, I ran into the changing room and closed all the doors.

Darkness fell before I had the courage to venture out. I hit the road as fast as I could and sprinted home. At first no one would open the door for me. It took me half an hour to convince my parents that I had not kidnapped their son, in fact, I was their son .. just with a swollen face and a bruised ego. Ever since I have had a healthy respect for all animals. Bees, ants .. they're all smart .. it doesn't matter what the book says.

For want of a dustbin (2004)

My first job after I graduated from MS was in a small start up company in Hyderabad called Danlaw. The DSP group in that had all of six people and two of them worked in another office. As can be expected, we bonded into a close knit unit. Within a month of my joining, one person left for USA and that left three of us in office. Ritesh, Madhubabu and yours truly. We did everything together, coding, lunch, even the short tea breaks. Our boss was Reddy, a singular individual. If he needed anything done, he would call an engineer up to his office, describe what needs to be done in 5 minutes, and spend the next two hours explaining the social and economic situation of India and specifically the state of Andra pradesh. The poor engineer would take a good half an hour to recover from this mauling and come back to his senses, by when it would be time for lunch. After lunch he would have two tasks at hand. The first is to get the task done and the second is to crouch under his seat or jump out of the window whenever Reddy sir is in the vicinity. If he fails to do so his punishment would be another two hours with Sir discussing the art of living and the key to a happy and prosperous future. Whatever the case, sir would expect the task to be done at 6, failing which the engineer would be subject to another two hour lecture on the values of time management and punctuality.

That bitter pill called experience taught us that 3 O clock in the afternoon is when Reddy sir becomes restless and comes looking for a lamb to slaughter with his words and we got into the habit of taking a long tea break at close to 3 ' O clock. So there we were, Madhu, Ritesh and me, at the terrace one day, looking down at the road below, talking about how good we had become at time management and punctuality by taking this half hour break. I was the first to finish my tea and I looked around for a dustbin. Dint see one, but I did see a dustbin down below on the other side of the road. Confidence personified, I wrapped up the tea bag in the tea cup (to give it some weight) and threw the tea bag right across the road into the bin. Next came Madhu. He asked me where I threw my cup and I pointed to the bin. He looked unsure "Will it go that far?" "Dude, I just threw my cup" "Alright then! here goes" .. and he threw the cup. But the cup dint fly, it only floated. He had forgotten to wrap the tea bag. A strong wind would have brought the cup right back to us .. but where is wind when you need it .. where is anything when you need it. Darn you Murphy .. I'll get you one day. All three of us leaned over the parapet to see where the glass would land. There was a poor innocent soul down below. Well dressed, tie, polished boots, the works. He had parked his bike and was intent on adjusting his dress and hair, fixing up any minor glitches. Looked really chic too. The glass landed upside down on his head with the last drops falling on his shirt. Madhu and I disappeared in a flash but Ritesh was still there, frozen, a foolish grin pasted on his face. I don't know what followed, as Madhu and I ran straight into Reddy sir and got a fitting punishment for the next two hours. I will however say that, since that day, whenever we went up for tea, Ritesh would bring a small plastic bag with him for us to keep our cups .. just in case there was no dustbin around.

A bike race to remember (1994)

I got my first bicycle in 7th grade. It was a mini Hamilton. Wasn't the fastest nor the most reliable, but , against all odds, I loved my bike. There were four of us 'bikers' in the neighborhood. Kiran, Niran, Nitin and me. Come summer vacation, we used to pack our lunches and set off early in the morning to find a quiet place and have a picnic. Pedal away for hours on end, finding rarely used bylanes, short cuts over sewage pipes, even through compounds of friendly folk who would wave us through. We had a map of the city in our head more comprehensive than that with the finest surveyor.


My Hamilton gave way to a bsa slr and finally a Hercules MTB. I had moved to 10th grade .. but my pedaling never stopped. Biking taught me a lot of things. I learned to ride without touching the handlebar. Learnt it wasn't such a good idea after all. Learnt how much fun it is to ride in pouring rain. Learnt I could beat a moped uphill .. and nowhere else. And finally .. Learnt I could never beat my brother in a race without cheating. Here is the only race I won against him without doing so.

It was my second year of badminton camp. 12 months of training and it was beginning to show. I was as fit as I had ever been. My brother and I were pedaling back from camp after a rather easy workout. Both of us were fresh. I hadn't raced my bro for a while, having still to recover from a particularly nasty loss when he beat me without holding the handlebar of his bike. Anyway .. I heard this voice in my head telling me that this was the moment. "Race you kinu" I screamed and took off. We were on the main road. Heavy traffic on our right and the sidewalk on the left. I felt great. Had a headstart and I felt like I had never pedalled faster. My feet whirled with lightning speed and for one spectacular moment I felt I would actually win .. but the whizzing sound of my brother's bike scorching the road brought me back. He had caught up, he had overtaken, and he was getting away. Suddenly a wobble. Something came flying out of the back of his bike. It was a cog from his bicycle chain. Before I could shout a warning, the whole chain was off and had tangled itself in the back wheel. The wheel locked and Kinu was airborne. I'm sure he would have flown and bounced, skidded and gone on past the remaining 10 meters to finish the race but there was this post in the way. Flew straight into it with a sickening 'thunk'. Poor post .. It dint stand a chance. After all this is a guy who would kick a tree and make it's fruits fall down. I believe there's still a huge dent where he struck it. As for him, he was already up and readying to make a dash for the finish line (still ahead of tortoise me) . Unfortunately concerned citizens who witnessed the crash and had no idea of his superhuman abilities got in the way. They made him sit down. Pointed fingers, asked him how many numbers it was, lectured him on road safety, shone a flashlight on his pupils, checked his tongue and almost got him admitted to the hospital. By the time they realized he was ok, I had won and was standing there grinning from ear to ear, waiting for him to join me. I would have loved to not race him ever again, but a black eye and body slam later I agreed to race him the next day and normality was restored.

Beach Soccer (2002)

When I came down from US for holidays I had to finally face the fact that I had gone from hunk to huge. Like any self respecting adult I had stoutly refused to acknowledge my rapidly expanding bulk till the day my buttons tore as I struggled to compress myself into my shirt. I stole into my brother's room and borrowed his shirt and would have kept doing that if he hadn't informed dad about my creditable achievement. Much remonstrating and cajoling later I was forced to commit to a more healthy lifestyle. Consequently I ended up one day, joining my friends, on an ill fated outing to play beach soccer.

There was Anish, Vinod, Janson, his cousin and me. We got together at Janson's place in the morning. Chatted, joked, ate, played games and had a rip roaring time till roundabout 3 o clock in the afternoon. That's when I sat on that wretched weak chair of Janson's which promptly squeaked it's final breath and collapsed under me. It was a none too gentle reminder of our decadent lifestyle and so we decided to do something outdoors. We talked about different options and soon we were all pumped up. We wanted to climb mount Everest and take K2 on the way down, but because we dint have any equipment we settled on soccer, or beach soccer to be more precise.

Since we were all committed to this new healthy lifestyle and were all going to be chiseled hunks in a few months we decided to play were all the babes would be out to watch us. Off we went to the most famous beach in Kerala where we could play with loads of sand in front of us and a turquoise blue ocean behind us. Unfortunately this is also the place where the foreigners crowd. They are very friendly folk, but they attract a lot of anti socials and so the police presence in such areas is quite strong. These policemen are instructed to keep an eye on the locals to make sure they don't harass the guests. Not ones to worry about these minor details we rolled into the beach. Soon a spirited game was on and a small crowd had also gathered to watch us. Suddenly something shot through the feet of the people and charged at the ball. It was a dog. Looked like a mangy mongrel that needed a good feed. "I got it" said Vinod, gave it a kick, and sent it yelping on it's way. Police whistles blew all around us and a fuming cop came charging through the crowd.

"How dare you harass foreigners!! They are our guests, where is your culture?"

"psst Vinod .. You sure you kicked the dog? Or did you get someone else?"

The policeman was staring straight at Vinod who, for some insane reason, was staring right back. It dint help matters that Vinod looked like a bouncer at the local bar. His body had run out of space for his muscle and it took up a little space in his skull too, that was the space reserved for common sense. The situation was getting out of hand, but we had a veteran troubleshooter with us. Pratheesh stepped in and negotiated a truce with the cop. Apparently, the mangy mongrel was actually a pedigree dog that came on an airplane with one of the foreigners. It was the guest the cop was talking about. Anyway, we apologized to the foreigner, to the dog, to the cop, and even to the fishmonger who wandered by see what's going on and finally the cop cooled down.

"I'll keep the ball, you folk go, take a swim and come pick it up from me on the way out" he said.

We clapped pratheesh on the back for his slick handling and set off for the water. But something was wrong. We were 6 people and right now there were only 5. Elation turned to dread as we turned round and saw Vinod still staring at the cop.

"I paid money for that ball, who are you to take it?"

Next thing we knew we were all in the police station with one foot in the lockup. Vinod was still trying to handle the situation by waving the ball in front of the head constable whose face was getting redder by the microsecond. I stamped down hard on vinod's foot and brought him back to earth. The cop dint care who was right. You insult him .. you get thrashed .. it's as simple as that. He started off with the choicest abuse I had heard in my whole entire life. It was almost like poetry, the rhyme he managed to find while stringing out the sentences. He was heartily joined by any cop who happened to wander down to where we were. A good fifteen minutes later he said that the rest of us could go but Vinod would stay. Us leaving then would be like leaving Vinod to the guillotine. We doubted if he would make it out alive. All of us started remonstrating with the cop explaining how his tough exterior hid a soft and tender heart and how his muscle had invaded the common sense portion of his brain. The policeman responded with a new string of words even stronger than the first. But we persisted and finally he relented. The evening was over and so were our aspirations to reform our lifestyle. A sadder, wiser group of friends trudged home and resolved to never mention this incident again.

Fighting with my brother (1985-1995)

My elder brother's name is Kiran. He takes after my mother, big built, strong bones, ferocious strength and a ruthless fearlessness, altogether not really a person to mess around with. All this toughness hid a soft heart inside it but that's besides the point as, being his younger brother, I believed it was my birthright to pester the sanity out of him, and once insane he really was a terror. There was hardly a year and four months difference in age between Kiran and me. This was negligible enough for my parents to treat us like twins and so if my parents got wind that my brother and I fought, both of us would get a thrashing. That would be my second thrashing of the day since I would already have got a thrashing during the fight. However, logic not being my forte, fight I would, and emerge with a black eye and an appointment with a bamboo cane I would.

Our fights usually broke up when we hear dad's car honk from the workshop half a kilometer from the house. A frantic attempt to hide all traces of the fight would begin. Book cases would be made upright, bruises would be hidden, floors would be cleaned and by the time the car reaches home both of us would be in our respecting rooms buried inside our school textbooks. When I grew up I realized that it was the textbooks that gave us away. We weren't exactly Einstein wannabes to study when no one was home and dad knew that. So, when he came home, if both of us were studying, a fight had just taken place. Out would come the bamboo cane and my brother and I would begin our dance around mom's legs to try and land the cane in the least painful spot.

I've tried many ways to avoid this. I remember once I ran to the balcony and threatened to jump. Dad closed the door back to the house and said that if there was any way I come down, it would be by jumping. After putting me through a miserable afternoon in the burning summer sun he let me in at tea time and I quietly took my caning. I never tried that again. Another time I refused to eat after getting the beating. Mom told my brother that he could pick whatever he wanted from my place. The delicious chicken legs that were on my place disappeared in an instant. It was all I could do to save my dessert by screaming out that I would eat. After many such failed attempts I learned to take my thrashing and also control my urge to pester my brother. I guess that's what they call growing up. To those who haven't yet done that, let me inform you, it is a very painful process.

Shopping for US (2001)

After my visa arrived I had to face the reality that I would be leaving India soon. All of a sudden even the beggar crying for alms outside the house was an expert on America and all things american. Comments and advise flew in from all sides. Some made sense, some dint and some were outright hilarious. The joke, however, falls right back on us if we choose to follow any of these outrageous comments.

One of my dad's friends was from England. A sane source for advise .. or so we thought. "you have to get atleast three pairs of coats and trousers. Abroad, you wear it all the time" he said with an oh so sagacious expression that dad fell for hook line and sinker. The next day we set out to get the coats and trousers. I saw a few decent looking shops on the way and suggested to dad that we should stop. "No way! This is America we are talking about .. Best place in the world!!" he said contemptuously and drove on. Off we went to the most expensive shop in town. By now I was working out the math. I dint have any coats but I had once bought a shirt from this shop .. it cost Rs 1500. Putting a coat at three times that would make it Rs 5000. "Whatever", I told myself "it is America, land of opportunity, where gold flowed on the streets .. I'll get back my investment in a jiffy." Poor poor me.

Once inside, I could see that the shop was empty. No surprise that. Who in his right mind would shop at a place like this! The person at the counter saw us and came sprinting. I think he was waiting all day for a customer. "show us the coats please" dad said. Now this one was a smooth talker. He had already sized us up as those who don't usually buy coats. He walked us slowly to the coat section.

Salesman:"for you sir .. or your son?".
Dad: "My son .. He's going to America."
Salesman:"I see .. Handsome boy .. He will look good in a coat and suit"

I glanced around to see who he was talking about ... No one in sight. That meant the game was on. I had seen this pitch before, having done it many times to get my way with people. As if on cue he started off.

salesman:"Sir I have a suggestion. Your son has broad shoulders. I think a tailor made coat would look better. We have a wonderful tailor here. Just pick the cloth and we'll take care of the rest."

He did it well. Never once mentioned the price. My protests were silenced and back we went to the tailoring section. There was an even slicker talker there. "Hariharan sir?? Do you remember me? I was your student in college". My dad's face suddenly took on a knowledgeable dignified look and I knew right then that dad would buy ice pops in the artic circle from that guy. He showed a lot of cloth pieces and recommended the most expensive one. Dad just nodded wisely and send me off to give my measurements. I was able to talk him out of buying a third coat. But by the time we got out of the shop we had spent Rs20000 on two pairs of coats and trousers and dad's pockets were empty. Eventually dad came back to earth. We sat silently in the car on the way back. By the end of the trip dad had exercised his parental priviledges and somehow passed the blame on to me. Told me that this was the end of all my US related shopping. I wore the first coat only once, on my flight to US. The second one is still to be worn by anyone. They are now 4 years old and neither my dad nor I can bear to look at them.

Combined Study (1997-2001)

The average engineering student opens his textbook for the first time after the first semester results have come in. By now, the euphoria of having made it through the entrance exam would have died down and he would be extra motivated by the fact that he has failed most of his subjects in the previous semester. A session of panic follows when he realizes that the scoundrels who write engineering text books write in a language more similar to Greek and Latin than to English. What with all the sigmas and Pis and Kasais, the poor fellow would barely be able to make out the page numbers. After a night of tossing, turning and dreaming bad dreams of begging for a living, our hero would turn up in college. He wouldn't have shaved, his eyes would be red and he would bear an uncanny resemblance to a monkey in a tunnel caught in the headlight of an oncoming train. Senior students would see him, nod sympathetically and remember a similar day in their lives. Birds of a feather flock together, and so, very soon, a group of students would get together and form what is called a combined study group.

Engineering college being what it is, depression never lingers, and our study group too would not stay dull for very long. After a couple of hours discussion a broad set of rules would be outlined. For every group that I have seen, they are the same rules.

1) Thou shall not commence study until a week/a day/ a night before the exam.
2) Thou shall study only what is in two out of three modules in the syllabus, if possible, thou shall not study that too
3) Thou shall not study for more than 5 minutes at a stretch
4) After this 5 mins thou shall take a break of at least 15 mins and finally .. most importantly,
5) There will be plenty of snacks

I was no different from the average student and so, in the fourth semester, armed with a failed subject, I ventured into the mystic world of combined study. Since I was a semester late in failing for a subject, most of the combined study groups had already formed. All I needed to do was to join one. I ended up in Janson's group. This consisted of a core group of 6 people. Janson, Anand, Pratheesh, Paulose, Akhil, Faizal and finally me. Akhil was the meticulous one. He would already have gone through the textbooks once and would attend the combined study sessions only for the food and some clarifications on portions he hadn't yet understood. Usually these portions would be stuff not in the syllabus and would hence end up never being discussed in the combined study. Faizal would have collected all the notes from all the girls. He would also have bought a copy of the syllabus and managed to get his hand on some old question papers. Without doubt, leaving Janson, he was the most important member of the combined study group. Janson was important because he was the host of the study group by virtue of the fact that his mom made the best tea and snacks. Also he lived in a protected forest outside city which meant we could make as much noise as we wanted and the only creatures that get disturbed would be hyenas and buffaloes. Anand and I were the regulars. We came early, cracked jokes, discussed politics, played computer games, had philosophic discussions on the irrelevance of mundane degrees like ours and finally bid polite good byes to everyone and left. In four years and eight semesters, we never once risked trying to decipher the cryptic messages inside the textbooks. That left Paulose. His was a cardinal role. He was what we called the benchmark for combined study. If he understood, everyone had mastered.

Janson being the fundamental and also the mental one, would read the portion we were to study. This is when Paulose would be at his active best trying to make Janson's task as hard as possible through such juvenile measures and pouring tea down his shirt, or sneezing boogies onto his face. However, once Janson is done studying, Paulose would retreat into a shell to wake up only when Janson is done explaining the portion to the rest of us. This meant that after a protracted session of crying and scolding, Janson would sit down and explain the portion again. Unfortunately, while Paulose is a wizard at some things, those are not in the syllabus for engineering. This means that by the time Janson is done teaching for the second time, Paulose would still be looking expectantly at Janson, waiting for that elusive explanation. Another crying and blaming session would follow and an exasperated Janson would agree to teach Paulose 'one last time'. By now Akhil would be snoring loudly, Anand and I would be into our 10th game of Mortal Combat and Faizal would be making whimpering noises from the next room wondering how we would manage to finish 2 out of three modules by the end of the day. Janson's mother would save the day. I am sure that without her Paulose would never have made it out alive from Janson's house. She would surface with her magical tea and myriad snacks and we would all forget our little differences. We would eat, drink, make merry, and when the last morsel is down Paulose would have forgotten all about the subject. Janson would pick up the book to study again and Paulose would pick up the remnants of the tea and pour it down his shirt again. Thus the cycle repeats till the morning of the exams.

Labs in College (1997-2001)

Labs in colleges all over India are very similar. They consist of a bunch of bored instructors huddled in a corner, a vast collection of apparatus from the Jurassic age and a large group of students broken into groups, taking apart these machines and trying to get them to work. The 'instruction manual' for labs are few old lab manuals handed down from the Nile valley civilization. Successive generations of prospective engineers faithfully copy down every word while putting their engineering brains to good use checking out the scenery around them. This meant that no one knows what is copied and if it is copied correctly. Mistakes are inevitable and these add up. In short, by the time I entered the college, the instructions in the 'lab manual' was 'the one way the experiment was sure to not work'. I found this very convenient. All I needed to do was hang around, do nothing, and finally blame it on the apparatus. After all, no one was going to get the result.
But a scan down my previous blog would tell you that I was unfortunate enough to have a nerd in my friend circle. And nerds don't like bad outputs. To add to that he found a real fundamental (read mental) guy called Janson to help him investigate what goes wrong. Anand joined in with them and they huffed and they puffed and soon they had an all new set of experiments that used to actually work. Lord knows how many curses I rained down on them the day their efforts came to fruition. Soon, however, I came to look at it in a far different light.
My lab group consisted of 5 people. Neena, Musfira, Paulose, Peyush and Me. Musfira, bless her, would ensure paulose, peyush and I had our rough records up to date (wont be allowed inside the lab without one). Then Neena and Musfi would answer all questions fired at us by the instructor before we are allowed to lay our hands on the apparatus. Paulose would promptly disappear to reappear only when the output is on view. Neena and Musfi would begin their doomed attempt to get the experiment up and running. Doomed for two reasons
1) they are girls 2) As proved by my nerd friends, the circuit diagram is wrong.
Peyush and I would stand around passing snide heartless comments waiting for the inevitable. Then, like some junior Einstein I would strut over to lab book, try to imitate the thoughtful look of the previous night on Akhil and Janson's face , say a few intelligent expressions like "hmmm ... interesting" .. and finally redraw the diagram I had painfully committed to memory. Inevitable I would draw back to looks of awe from Musfi and Neena. To this day they believe I am a very fundu guy .... Thank you akhil and janson .. Sob (tears of joy) my gratitude is unbounded. Peyush would take over and before you know it .. The output would be on the screen.

College pains (sometime in 1998)

My first semester in Engineering was one of the most interesting chapters in my storied B-Tech days. It all started with me being dragged down, kicking and screaming, from the badminton circuit to CET. I can still remember the sinking feeling I got when I stood in front of the Head of Department on my first day in college (I was a month late and he wanted to know why). We dint like each other. It was pretty obvious. He saw in me another of those sports walas. I saw in him another of those twisted narrow minded nerds who were the reason sports dint flourish in India. His first words dint help either. "Lets get one thing straight...If you fall short of attendance, you fail...It doesn't matter if you bring a certificate saying you are world champion. Anyway...what are you now??" "I'm national champion".
So off I went to meet my advisor. She was a pretty stern lady...but hey...what's a pest after a session with the devil. She took me to class and I settled into the third bench next to a really friendly guy called Anand. On the other side of Anand was a nerd if I had ever seen one. Round glasses, serious face, but what finished the picture was that Physics was being taught and his nose was buried in a chemistry book. I'd seen people do a whole bunch of things when they get bored with lectures... play games, read magazines, pass notes....But I'd never seen someone study another subject because the lecture was boring. Anand chucked at the shocked _expression on my face and assured me that everyone was not like that. The nerd's name was Akhil, and we went on to become best friends. A week after that the fourth member of our gang came to class. His name was Devraj. Anand and I had progressed to being back benchers by then. We came to know in the morning that two students had transferred from another college to ours. And in the second lecture they were done with their meeting with the devil and the staff advisor. Devraj came into class and took the seat next to me and Anand, looked up, nodded at us and said "did you see that girl outside??? Maaaaannnn...she's too good!!!!"... A moment of silence..followed by a low chuckle from Anand... Now this was funny. Here was this complete stranger...no introduction, no embarrassed silence.... starts off talking about a girl...to us....a couple of misogynists. We liked him right then. After all the statement showed he was one of us. He had priorities...and academic excellence was not on top of that list. A few weeks went by..I remember a particularly interesting lecture in which my advisor tore apart the fundamentals of electrical engineering by proving I=VR inspite of feverant protests from me,Anand and a few others.

My second month in college was when I scaled the heights of notoriety. That was the third month of class...midway through the semester. One fine day I got a letter saying I have been transferred to the Industial Engineering Department. I dint want to go. All my friends were in Electrical Engineering...and for the first time in my life I dint hate girls. I enjoyed talking to them and all that. But there was the order...and the hope of being freed from the clutches of the devil. I took the order home and showed it to dad. I've always read of people turning purple...but till then I had never seen it. Dad was livid. He knew me...and he knew that if I were in a class of fun loving boys...I'd probably never clear engineering. It seems that when I applied for sports quota I had ranked industrial engineering over electrical engineering. But I had finally used my merit seat and so the sports seat was supposed to be cancelled. There was some mixup and the seat dint get cancelled. That how I got transferred. Que sera sera .. I told myself .. and went to bed. The next day I had a particularly long session in the badminton camp and was late for class. To top it all.. I spent about five minutes finding out where the Industrial Engineering classes were. Finally, I reached the class, fifteen minutes late. Something was wrong. Industrial Engineering was supposed to be one of the noisiest classes...but the class at whose door I stood was so quiet one could hear the lecture from my electrical engineering class. Then it struck me....I had walked into a pop quiz. I looked at the board where the questions were written and got a familiar sinking feeling. My first day in this class would also be the first time I get zero for a quiz. Better get it over with quickly, I told myself. I took out a paper and pencil and started off furiously writing down all the questions (I dint know the answers...so I figured questions were better than a blank paper). The subject was Organic chemistry. The teacher was a pleasant and friendly looking lady. With all the wisdom of years spent teaching chemistry to those who would never need it again .. she realized my problem. To pass time, we struck up a polite conversation.

Teacher :" So, you're new here eh!"Me :" Well, I'm new to the class, but I was in Electrical before "Teacher :" Really? Well, who teaches chemistry there?"Me : (not turning pink because I'm dark) "umm...lemme see...well..."Teacher :" come on, it's the middle of the semester"Me : (turning pink inspite of being dark) "umm..yeah...well...I know her...or...well.."Teacher :" Does anyone teach you chemistry"Me : (Relieved to get the easy way out) "I'm not sure ma'am, I don't quite remember"

And that was that. I got my zero and she went her merry way. The next day I ran into my actual chemistry teacher (her name was Mary). A few caustic comments from her later I had committed her face to memory and considered that chapter closed. Woe be me .. A week later, dad had the transfer order revoked, and I was back in Electrical. And guess what the first period of the day was? There she was, my favorite Chemistry teacher, doing the roll call, and there I was, sunk so low in my seat, you couldn't tell me from the varnish on the bench. My number was 42. The whole class had gotten quite used to skipping from 41 to 43. So this time after 41, there was me calling 42 in a voice so low the fly buzzing over my head asked me to repeat it, and there was Manju screaming 43 like she wanted the windows to crack when she said it. But still Miss Mary managed to pick it up. The temperature in the class dropped by a couple of degrees. Her pencil stopped and her hand came up signaling the end of roll calls for the day. I made another fruitless attempt to sink through the floor, and finally looked up into a pair of coal black eyes. "So....you're back" . "Listen up everybody, this young man here believes we don't teach chemisty in Electrical Engineering". (huge laughter from the sycophants in the first two rows). And so it went on for the rest of the lecture.....and for the rest of the semester. I got good at chemistry though, thanks to her, and eventually, we got to develop a healthy respect for each other too. Thank you Mrs Mary .. you dint know it then, but you probably saved Engineering degree