I know I’m a bit too late in the year to actually decide something like this. In fact, tomorrow will be a brand new year. And what better way to start a new year than to want to resolve to be more expressive, eh? I might need to remind myself here and there that I have to blog regularly and I’m sure I’ll find myself at a loss for words too, but nevertheless, the push is all that’s needed. So wish me luck, that I may stick to this resolution like… um, glue.

2012. A new year. A new writing resolution. Woot!

If only all the above lines that I’ve typed in were true, then my reason for writing this blog would be non-existent. So to share my small anecdote, let me start with the very beginning -

 I travel by bus a lot and though it’s the cheapest and easiest way, it is never the most pleasant. Monday to Saturday mornings and evenings in buses are packed with people who are all in a hurry to get somewhere so much that they don’t mind tussling and grazing a few others if they have to. Once you enter a bus, its eat or be eaten and survival of the fittest. Either way, experienced veterans familiar with the tricks of boarding the buses are often at times the ‘wise-guys’. They are the ones who keep talking to the driver or conductor like they’re his best friends(even though they ignore him) or pass their much unwanted comments towards any heating argument just to show everyone that they are free of all the worries of the world and are smart enough(or dumb enough) to talk back. The other types of passengers in the bus are usually just ill-tempered people who mind their own business if they can.

My experience took place just during the time when the disease called Conjunctivitis(to make it sound cool) or ‘Madras Eye’ was affecting people everywhere. Once I caught it, my eyes became red, painfully swollen and watery. I couldn’t open my eyes because of the swelling and only one of my eyes were in a good see-able condition. First my left eye would start swelling, then my right and so on. Now the thing with Madras Eye was that the affected person must at all times wear sunglasses to avoid direct eye contact with other people due to risk of infection. I had no problem with that ’cause I had a very cool-looking pair of shades that I love to wear. Now all this happened during my 11th std. quarterly examinations. I used to travel to and from school by bus during that time because I always manage to make myself late getting prepared for school and my cycle would be the last thing I would use to reach in time because of the distance, so my only option was the friendly metropolitan government bus(…or was it?). So there I was, proud yet stylish with my sunglasses on of course, walking towards my bus stand where I awaited my bus. I get on the bus once it has arrived and find that its way too crowded which is not a surprise considering there are over 50 passengers who are running late for their schooling, teaching, working etc. I board the bus using the front entrance because it is easier to get in. This must have been my biggest mistake.

...and it isn't even rush hour yet.

The bus conductor was way behind, lost in the sea of passengers and just shouted about getting the ticket for those who have not yet bought theirs’. I hadn’t collected mine from him yet because of the God-forsaken crowd that would never stop pushing and tugging whenever the bus stopped or moved. I was at a very uncomfortable position in-between a fat lady and an old man who both gave me disgusted looks as if I had violated some big national law whenever I moved a little just so that I could get a little ease of comfort. Any way I tried to get the attention of the conductor for ordering my ticket always resulted in these 2 people staring at me and my glasses. There was barely any room left by now and people still wanted to enter the bus during each stop. Then suddenly, on the penultimate bus stop towards my destination, almost half the passengers dispersed from the bus like leaking water from a bottle. Salvation! The conductor was now in my line of sight standing just in front of the rear entrance of the bus and I swiftly but stylishly(note that I’m still wearing my shades) go up to him to get my ticket. But just as I ask him for the ticket, in through the rear entrance behind him appears this semi-bald man with a whistle and a list-card with a pen wearing a policeman’s hat. He is one of the Bus Inspectors who sometimes come in to check whether everyone has their ticket. Oops.

I wanted to make the transaction of the ticket but just while I ask Mr. Conductor for the ticket who blatantly shakes his head and shows me his hand, Mr. Bus Inspector stands there and looks at me with a disappointed face. I knew that I would have to confront the guy about the matter of the absence of my ticket. He takes me outside to the bus stop and keeps me with him. I was getting late for my exam. I was not in the mood for this. While being brought outside, I start imagining about the possible outcome of being made to visit a police station because of violating some big national law. The inspector interrupted my daydreaming and started chattering in Tamil by asking me the first question -
Mr. Inspector -” So you are traveling by this bus without a ticket eh? Do you know what the fine is for not having a ticket for the bus?”
Me – “No sir…”
Mr. Inspector – “the fine is 500 Rupees . Now what are you going to do about it eh?”
Me - “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t carry that much money with me to school. I just have 20 Rupees now”
Mr. Inspector – “Hmm… let me check to see whether you are really telling the truth. I’ll check or pockets now”

So there I was, with the inspector scanning my pockets with his hands making sure I wasn’t concealing anything. It looked odd, with me wearing my specs and being interrogated by the inspector like I’m some convict. I wanted to get out of there. After having been assured that I actually did only have 20 Rupees with me, he took it and bought 4 tickets from another bus passing by and gave them to me saying that NOW I have TICKETS to use.

After having showcased his sarcasm or humour(or whatever it was), he let me off the hook with a warning telling me not to do it again. I complied and immediately turned towards the direction of my school and started walking towards it. I reached just in time for my exam with minutes to spare before it started. Whew!

Mini Me

I found a LOT of differences(obviously). My mother looked insanely young and gorgeous, though people tell her even today that she looks like she’s a 20-something. My brother looked just like me when I was at his age, and in all of those pics of his, he was never shy of the camera.He even wouldn’t hesitate a pose or 2 which is a deep contrast to what his current relationship is with the camera lens, now always being very self-conscious whenever someone tries to click a photo of him.

My dad was always his usual self when photographed, always ready to have his picture taken, even if he was sleeping or lying flat on the beach with his trunks or even playing around with my brother or me. Cousins, aunts, uncles and the grandparents had their share of photos which showed them looking much more different from what they look like now.Each and every photo I looked at made me wonder about everything that was happening during that time and moment.

I could sense a connection with everyone in the photographs. Even with those whom I hadn’t known or met. Because they all, to some extent, contributed to the smiles, laughs, awkward poses and overall experiences that resulted in the capturing of  all those moments which I now hold in my hand and appreciate. It’s stuff like this which makes me want to click more pictures of myself.

When I’m 15 or 20 years older, I want to be the one seeing my own face in these photos and be astonished at how different I once looked. It’s a good feeling to have. I myself don’t like my photo being taken but now I think I should stop acting so silly. If no one takes pictures of me now, then in the coming years, no one will ever know how many pimples I really had on my face when I was young.

I’m grateful the camera was invented. The concept of freezing that moment and turning it into a format that lets you store it and view it whenever you want is amazing. So I now pledge and resolve to take as many photos of myself as I can with friends and family and promise not to be a sour-puss if my picture is being taken(or I’ll try at least).

Based on the life of  a young school-going boy who faces and deals with a lot of issues like responsibility, friendship, loyalty, maturity and puberty, this story portrays how this boy confronts his predicaments and grows up, finally attaining Graduation.

This would be the cover to my book

The stage is set, the program is about to start and the audience is seated, a few still coming in and struggling to find a seat to observe. Everyone had come, from mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters to aunts, uncles and grandparents. Our annual prize day ceremony was about to begin and its the only program that we all looked forward to throughout the whole academic year. I’m feeling all nervous about going up there and saying my lines for the 12th standard farewell speech and I check to see whether my suit looks well enough while I remember my mom gleefully giving me the thumbs with her proud trademark smile when I first tried on my coat-suit. I also remember the Headmaster’s haunting words about him wanting to have the seniors’ farewell program and the prize day program as one event and wanting me to prepare for the farewell speech in just one day. I was hesitant at first but he had me forcefully convinced when he gave me one of his boring over-dramatic lectures on why I shouldn’t decline the honour of saying the speech and all.

So here I am, with my very uninspired speech that I hold firmly in my hand hoping I don’t forget anything. Sid walks in from back-stage and comes to me with his every excited face, probably because it is his first time receiving the prize for being the topper of his class. I was ecstatic for him as well. It isn’t usual for the jester of the school to get the prize for 1st rank, or any prize for that matter. I’m proud of him. He had changed a lot in these past 2 years.
“Yo, when is this damn program going to start? Don’t they know I have a prize to receive?!” Sid says, obviously impatient.
“I hope it stays this way, I’m not looking forward to going up there with this horrible speech, man!”, I reply in dread.
“Aw man, when will you ever get rid of your stage fright? Just relax. This isn’t your first time”
“Still, only yesterday did Puro Sir tell me to prepare it”
“Hmm… okay, let me tell you joke. So this dude walks into a library and says to the librarian, ‘I would like a burger and a coke’. The librarian says, ‘I’m sorry but this is a library’. The dude apologizes and then whispers, ‘I’d like a burger and a coke’”
I start laughing uncontrollably. Sid knows its one of my favourite jokes of his and even though I’ve heard it at least a thousand times I still laugh when he tells it.
“heheh… every time, man” I say, noting the fact that I heard the joke for the 1001st time.
“Ya, I know” he says, smiling at me.
Sid always knew how to cheer me up. Whether his attempt was successful or not, it always managed to work.

“Attention to all those present. The program is about to begin. All students involved in the program please assemble to your positions and I request all the guests to remain calmly seated. Thank you”, came the announcement from the speakers with our English teacher Miss Evelyn manning the mic as I could make out by the voice. This meant that Sid had to go back to his place, seated along with all the other eager students who were getting their prizes. I was supposed to be there too but I had a speech to make so I remained at my place, side-stage. I bid farewell to Sid as he wishes me luck on my forthcoming endeavor on-stage and we both punch each others’ knuckles. I can see him walking his way to the seats, with one hand of his inside one of his pant-pockets, as his usual style.

Looking up on-stage I see Pasha and Zeenat, the two MCs looking gorgeous while they prep themselves for the spotlight. They see me and wave and air-kiss to me and I wave at them back. They sign-language me to get ready and stay calm and give me the thumbs up sign for good luck. I respond in the same way to wish them luck and to express that they looked beautiful. They both winked at me together and turned towards the audience to start. All of this happening during the hustling and bustling and the chitter-chatter of the crowd in the background. I could see Sheryl, Dhruv, Craig and Aman running around backstage trying to get their costumes ready for the Play. Faizaan and Guru were among the audience, making sure that all of us who were in the program were cheered. The curtains were lifted and the loud audience suddenly became silent. The program started and the MCs welcomed everyone to the ‘Annual Prize Day-Cum-seniors’ Farewell Ceremony’.

Our Headmaster Mr. Puro(who was sporting his usual odd clothing), Our Principal Rev. Fr. Fernandez and our Chief Guest all entered the auditorium together and seated themselves in their respective places. The program had started. It would be a good 2 two hours before I would go on-stage. Time went by, Prizes were given, Sid got his prize and received a standing ovation from Mr. Puro and Fr. Fernandez(They were proud of him too). I got mine as well. I notice my friends all cheering me on and ma standing in the sea of the audience, waving at me and taking a snap. After the distribution of the prizes got done, the Play started, starring my group of friends who just 45 minutes ago were scrambling about were now at ease, entering the stage in-character.The play finished with an applause from the audience and now it was the closing half of the program where the Farewell Ceremony began. After a few very interesting and inspirational speeches from the Chief guest and our Principal, we had Mr. Puro come on-stage and say his speech. The audience now still quiet, but only because they were bored.

Once he finished his chirpy, witty and entertaining address, the crowd came to a good mood. Puro sir winks at me when he comes down and it is only now that I realize that it is my turn to go on stage for my speech.Beads of sweat suddenly accumulate my forehead and the once dry piece of paper in my hand containing the matter for the speech soon becomes a little wet because of the sweat from my hands. I keep it down on the chair to prevent any more wetness. Zeenat and Pasha very excitedly announce my arrival on stage and I hastily walk towards it, forgetting my paper. I notice only half way through walking that I’ve forgotten my paper and curse the fates for this happening. I can’t go back and get it because the spotlight is already on me and it would seem awkward if I would have to travel back to my chair just for that paper (that very important paper!). While I walk, with each step, time goes by slowly as the feeling of panic seeps into me. I’ve forgotten my whole speech now and I think to myself, Calm down, you just have to go on-stage and talk about your experiences and what you’ve learned. Then I think again, well, what HAVE I learned?

At that moment, everything I had gone through in the past two years came back to me. And in a heart-beat, I was prepared for my speech and had known the gist of what I was about to say. I had reached for the steps and began climbing up on-stage towards the podium. While the spotlight, hitting my face like a weight that I can’t lift off, I reach for the mic to adjust it. My friends and family both eagerly look at me with their confidence. I wipe my forehead with my handkerchief, smile to everyone and begin…

While she effortlessly shoots me down along with my story, my brother who expertly added to my insult comments, “I know! His hair looks like a jungle!”(smarty-pants). With both of them being satisfied with what they’ve said, I’m left sitting there, having lost the ability to continue speaking and the mood to go on or even do anything to defend myself against the sudden bombardment of accusations. From where did the stupid topic about the haircut come in?

Well, at least they said what they wanted to. But didn’t they forget that I was the one talking first? What is one supposed to feel when he so interestingly wants to say something but is rudely put down by his own listeners? *Sigh* I guess it’s that feeling when someone gets belittled and is left alone without having expressed the true intent of his words. Such type of reaction normally activates my overly-hyper dramatic conscience and I would start thinking about things like – maybe it would be easier if I just didn’t speak so much or didn’t speak at all – Though that would be totally overreacting. However, if it’s something I’ve learned, it’s that it isn’t about the weight of the matter being talked about. It’s about being heard. But whatever it is, at the end of the day, I didn’t have my haircut. And they didn’t get to fully hear the rest of my story. Conversation over.

Nevertheless, I got back to my senses, and started riding it. The moment I moved, I felt like I needed to go faster and faster until I reached the speed of light. I know it sounds a bit extravagant, but at that time I just wanted to ride my cycle and never stop. And from that day onwards, I rode my cycle everyday as if they were the last and I showed it off like how a robber would stick his gun out. I had every reason to because it was shiny, blue and had bright yellow streaks of fire running down the frame. It was quite a piece of art, and I loved it. The thing was that, whenever I started cycling, I couldn’t stop. I would go on ’till I found some proper excuses to go back home like, “Man, it’s too dark!” or “I think I’m feeling a little hungry”.

Then the day came when I shifted my house and entered into an entirely new area of observation. This meant that I could go around on my cycle and discover all of the streets, get to know them and find some awesome wide roads fit for just cycling. One thing although I hate about cyclists is that whenever they ride on the road, it’s like as if they’re riding a Mercedes-Benz or a Rolls Royce. They go right at the centre of the road, coming in people’s way and peddle so slowly that my brother can’t help but use profanity against them.

Anyway, as time went by my cycle started gathering dust in its corner as I was too caught up with other things(like laziness) that I didn’t have time for it. My cycle had been through a lot and it was clearly seen and I wanted to revive it but never had a proper opportunity to do so(mostly because I was lazy). But now, after sitting outside the door of my house one afternoon and cleaning every single inch of my cycle and getting it done up, I looked at it and I felt that same nostalgic feeling I got when I first got my cycle and I remembered all those fun memories I had riding it.

So I just eagerly sat on my cycle, smiled, and rode into the sunset.

Well, here goes -

You know, people always say that the world is a small place. But I don’t know how far that is true. Sure technology has come up with ways to enhance our communication capabilities with other people all over the world. But could it be possible that the person sitting right next to you in the cinema hall was a long lost friend from the distant past? It may just be a coincidence. But I do believe in coincidence; once in a while at-least, but I’ve not quite yet experienced it. And I’m not saying that it is impossible for it to happen. People from all over the world come to meet in different ways by the net, or the phone, or the nearest coffee shop or at any other place as a matter of fact. And it is these type of catalysts (like the net) which help make contacts faster.

Small, no?

Face it, the world is a pretty big place but that doesn’t stop people from socializing with other people from across the globe. And as they say everyone is related in some way or the other. Okay, supposing you have a friend who’s friend’s, friend’s cousin’s sister’s friend is you, then you are somewhat connected to all the people in the middle. I know it’s complicated but it’s really neat because the more friends you make, the more you come to know the whole world. And who knows? One day you might just turn around in the cinema hall and find your long lost friend from the distant past with your new friend from the near future. It’s not impossible.