contd..

with my priest dream gone sour and sausages relegated to the back of my mind, i realised i can get as confused as ever. even in the way i behave. Once while practicing for a major inter street cricket match, i saw the ball go towards an area of the park, littered with glass waste. Wanting to be the evergreen bold captain, i dived-result:a thick shard of glass entered my hand, the scar of which still remains in my right hand. Not only did i cry out in pain, i was effectively ruled out for the next day's match. on reaching home, my bro and me covered my bleeding hand with just a band-aid.Stupid us. My mom literally fainted when she came back that evening and saw blood still flowing out. That night i realised that all the hype and humour u see on tv about people putting cotton to their ears to insulate the sound is jus crap.Cotton is transparent to a lil bit of sound waves. Especially my mom's. Finally after 2 hours we managed to stop the bleeding. I was too small to realise another few hours and i would be saying...tata.....birla....bye...bye to the world.The glass piece was finally taken out. And good tat cotton allowed the scolding to enter.I learnt that being a hero for silly things isnt tat-its being stupid.unfortunately that bit of sense prevailed in my mind only till the next morning when i saw everyone go out for the match. I threw my sense out, and rushed out eager to show a healthy hand and reclaim my captaincy....

Contd....

I soon realised being a priest is not all about eating sdausages and singing songs.U need some divinity, it wasnt meant for me.I had begun my long walk into the realms of confusion. Josie uncle loved smoking pipe and i used to think he looked like a rockstar with it in his mouth. I tried it once, only to realise the harshness of strong tobacco on tender throat. An immediate repulsion to smokin developed in me and i had joined the long list of anti-tobacco kids, who had not yet found out its pleasures!!

In delhi, cricket was a game played not just as a silly game , but rather a game worth an india-pakistan war. Here the streets always took the analogous form of the bitter nations, as i found out soon. We had formed our own team. I was made the captain( not a boast) since the bat and wickets were most of the time mine.So much for my wishful thinking that i was the only genuine all rounder in the colony. I pipped my bro to the captaincy post since even tho my bro was better than me any day in any game,he was a wide waist guy back then(totally unlike now) and i was the nataraj pencil round the block-waiting to be knocked and chopped by the bullies. My time would come tho .I was close friends with the bullies of the opposite street and tat was a big plus point to stand out among a group of cowards(including me)

priest 2

Now there was another reason for this particular priest fantasy-sausages.I love sausages , ham an anything that is processed meat.One of my uncles who was a priest in Delhi goes by the name of Fr. Josie.He was a sausage maniac like me and wheneevr he visited us would bring huge quantities of them for us. when we visited his seminary, i would be filled with awe seeing the fried sausages kept in 3-4 hot cases waiting to be eaten by a half dozen priests.I would rush in fill my pockets with it and get out before they could come out of their prayer room. Wat a delight it was to see them wonder who stole half the sausages and ransacked their cases.Ha!!

my priesthood dream

Now the reason i wanted to be a priest at one point of my life, had nothing to do with my being a very religious guy.Rather it was a rebel decision.Most of my decisions are. Priests would get respect wherever they went irrespective of who they were. they never needed to worry bout the lines of a hit guy or a loser.And last of all, i was peeved when people would tell my bro was angelic enough to be a priest. Another reason which i think influenced me a lot, was a particular priest known as Father Willy.Originally from Goa, he was a 1000 kv charged super battery.He was great with us kids, very pragmatic and above all very fair in his dealings.

continuation........not silsila...

Ive always wondered why people who are a big hit in one group of friends might not find the going that easy elsewhere, while some who are moderate someplace manage to upgrade. The losers always love remaining as the loser. They find so much happiness in it. right from my days in Delhi, ive tried to upgrade from that moderate group. Since i had good speaking skills while in school and good cultural skills later on,  managed to hang onto the thin line between the moderate and the hitman.....In delhi, it was all about the best cricketer in the block. he competition was fierce in those heady days of sachin, azharuddin and manoj prabhakar.My hero came much later though. People in delhi become mature very fast and then remain like that throughout their life. My friend sonu, his cousin nonu and my bro were the only ones who loved being ourselves back in delhi. In that city noone cares whether ur a loser or a winner.

the twist: A novel i plan to convert

the twist: A novel i plan to convert: "'Hello have you reached home?' 'Yes' you reply into the landline receiver wondering what a dumb question to ask.How else could you have pic..."

A novel i plan to convert

"Hello have you reached home?" "Yes" you reply into the landline receiver wondering  what a dumb question to ask.How else could you have picked the phone if you hadnt reached.Call it an instant case of mental recoil or unwanted garb.I call it life. Its strange how people cry out and say they want independence while they are small.But once they meet the girl of their dreams they dont mind losing out on that.Its more of a mental recoil once more.I call it life.

When i was small ,playing cricket like any crazy indian was the only thing in my minute cranial capacity.Hitting the ball for six off kids much younger to me and writing down my statistics for all to read.....aah...life then was different.Noone calls you a braggart, they just remain awestruck.Life was always about impressing the pretty young girls across the block but of course none of us was ever interested in a fling at such a young age.Wat an irony!!

The ice cream man would almost always hde behind the corner of the park and the minute he saw us go inside our home for refreshments after a match,he would start his high pitched verbal advertisment.Result: we would drop the bun or bread on offer at home, plead for money and rush out.Those days of carefree excesses.The money was never our own. We never cared how it got spent.

Delhi was like the perfect place back in the early 90's. The old world charm coupled with people who were beginning to understand the term liberalisation, used to make the national capital almost irresistible. when we moved in , i remember being awestruck of the wide roads and blaring rickshaws, and can i forget the good old ambassadors and omni's.Coming from Kochi, which today has reached the level of delhi back then and after a short while in darjeeling, delhi i knew was the ultimate place to be.Maybe my hormonal senses which were beginning to develop right from class II was enough proof of that.

I have this little problem.I love my share of attention. Maybe that's why i take the initiative almost always to stand out among the crowd. Be it batting lousily while everyone else plays well or speaking in malayalam to the icecream man so as to get his attention away from others or ordering something exotic while everyone else stuck to their plain old fried rice and chilly chicken- the most staple diet of any indian household in a  restaurant.I also have issues at talking straight on looking at the face of a girl....except if the girl in question is very close to me(pun intended). Now chances like that rarely come through though.

The beauty of delhi remains that the residential areas are divided into colonies and sectors. To each his space. Like an intergalactic family on a mission to planet delhi, me and my family were assigned duties to the colony ruled by sikhs. Wherever i looked Sardars , some laughing , some with their hair left free looking like cute girls were walking around. We were the only christian family in that neighbourhood. Being small and never really a religious guy back then , it never mattered to me. I had imagined sardars to be dancing around whole night and even in offices, that's the image we southies generally have of them. They are dancers. But once they get angry, they pick their mighty swords and do whatever required to protect their honour. All these stories i realised are just figments of imagination of a southie whos never gone anywhere north. Just like all northies think the whole of south is a single state-madras.

Schooling in delhi is always a pleasure.PYT's , PYT's again and more PYT's. I was just beginning my long walk into the life that i would eventually be consumed by. That's why i say life is a mental recoil. What we do unto others is done unto us in the long run.Like a cycle.Guess great philosophers have spoken from experience and not just wishful thinking.

My bro and me were like chalk and cheese , that's the term ive discovered as i grew up to identify two very varied items. He was smart, gentlemanly and a charmer. I, on the other hand was a rebel from day one, even inside my mother's womb so she says. She once fell off from a fast moving jeep while i was inside her tummy. but instead of accepting defeat and passing away, she says i built a wall with my fists and shielded myself. How else could i have escaped imminent death. Guess i was a fighter right from the time i defeated a particular million other beasts to the time i emerged outside.Period. Known as a boy who'll get cranky and wanted everything in doubles and never one with a responsible behaviour in front of others, i at times used to think im an outsourced american-arrogant and rude, though charming with a  few interesting ppl. Appearances too didnt help. While my bro used to look clean and cute, i loved my rugged, rough look. I used to find solace thinking cute is meant for dogs. And i definitely am not a dog.Ha.

If that sounded like a sweet and sour mix of my elder bro, well my mom deserves better. "fight" , the referee in our minds whistle from the time we set sight on each other. Its almost as if our whole life is based on the fact that our love needs to be shown through fights. When i was small, the battle lines were drawn mainly for my playing time, church time , eating time(oh yeah i used to gorge a lot) and even my tv time. She used to take me to church promising me 'golu gappa' in return. the bribe was satisfactory and the truce would be accepted. I now think, if not for the bribes maybe i would never know what it means to go out with our parents. Touching.My mom used to always think i'm the biggest heartthrob in town.She used to be scared that i would be whisked away by some girl and my marriage would be a love affair. Though its too early to discount that, some out-of-work astrologer drove that into my mind when i was just 3 years old. So much for my good boy image. My bro on the other hand, was destined for an arranged marriage and my mom left him free. The result: he's married already, a love marriage that too, while i wonder where the astrologer went wrong.

I was always rebuked for being a lazy bum, so unlike my dad who was the epitome of hard work in our family. I used to wonder why a boy of jus 8 years old needed to work hard.I guess i was being trained to be the perfect family man.Baah!! My dad loved his work so much he would get up early in the morning to reach office one hour earlier.And his main hobby through the years has been to teach me to wake up at 6 am.as if im gonna budge. One of the biggest life changing incident in my childhood was when my dad took me outside and showed the revolving disc of the electricity meter.I, who used to be an energy spendthrift till then saw the massive speed of rotation of the disc due to my actions. From that small age of 8 years old, even if i didnt learn the lesson of getting up early, i learnt about energy conservation even before the g-8 or g-20 or whoever even thought of it. even today, my hand automatically goes to switch off the fan and lights in a room as i leave it.A lesson well ingrained.

Growing up as the smallest kid in the family, i would always wonder when i would get a my chance to be the dream bully. Years later i did get a sis, but sweet guy that i am, the word bully never even crossed my mind. Delhi used to always have tall well built soldiers walking around with the pride of a lion amidst a fowl of peahens. Looking at their pumped up chests and the awe of the PYT's on seeing them, i knew where i wanted to end up. The Army!!!

Incidents in real life as in reel life occur not as a cliche situation but as a firm reminder that movie makers do their bit of homework.rather than telling that we are being very cinema-like. movies are based on what happens in real life.a prime case would be that of the relations and sacrifices between childhood friends,scenes in which we wish we would go sheeeeeshhhh.My closest friend during my growing up days in delhi(i doubt if ive still grown up) was this sardar guy called Sonu. Always laughing and cackling, i got my jackal-hyena mix type of laughter from tat guy. He would untie his hair most of the time and walk around like a rockstar, wearing shorts and showing off his fat biceps.But he was what you can call a true friend.Thick buddies that we were, once while playing in the courtyard of his home, i happened to break one window pane. Consoling me and telling me to go home , he took the entire blame when his dad came running down.As expected he got a tight bashing and a cut from his pocket money for 3 months.100 rs/month in those days was like 10k today.even today i cant forget how a guy could sacrifice so much for his friend at a tender age of 8.Ive been trying to locate him all through the years, but not knowing his full name its difficult to find him online. It was that day, i realised why Sikhs are known to maintain their honour and dignity.

Growing up in such a neighbourhood, with such wonderful people around me, made me think childhood is the best time in one's life. Waking up at 7, school, returning in the good old cycle rickshaws, running off for cricket till nite, coming back either as a loser , a winner or a bruised body after a fight, tv and sleep.That was heaven.But life never makes it easy, especially not for a fighter like me.If one day would go well with utter happiness, the next would be one of sadness or rebuke.Days were tough being a black beauty(ha) in a block filled with wheat grains. taunts were regular but it was fun to see myself giving pleasure and laughter to a section of people around me. I used to think of myself as the angel to brighten up the otherwise pitiful life of many people around me.They could make fun of my colour, they could make fun of my hindi, but they would never leave me alone. One reason i never saw harm in any racial taunt.It was all part of life's recoil.

I have always wondered how easily i fall in love. A pretty smile, good hair and a good set of teeth...aahhh i can swoon over these anytime of the day.My requisites for my perfect girl were met regularly while in delhi. My first crush whose name i obviously cannot mention here was while i was in my 3rd std.So much for teen love and cupid's arrow.I was born with it in my hand.Harmless crushes, dreaming about myself as the hero of a movie, with a perfect toothed, beautiful hair girl as my heroine was my idea of daydreaming. Some might say i'm too self absorbed.I might be, but eventually for me those days fuelled my imagination and made me realise life is rosy if u want it to be.

My dream to be in the army increased by the time i moved higher up on my heels by an inch.But by then other issues like the fitness requirements and the need to wake up early, no specs, being away from your loved ones for long; all these started bothering me. The first of many's in my clueless life started as i shelved the army dream ad began contemplating priesthood.