PART 1 - AN IRRECOVERABLE FALL

AN IRRECOVERABLE FALL

(A short story)

PART 1:

“I was not meant to love,

And I was never meant for you.

My life was decided,

But your love-

It made me forget everything.

It took me to a new world.

Hope was there in it.

My lost past was there in it.

But finally I broke you I know.

Words won’t help,

But I have nothing else to offer.

I can only say this again and again,

Inside my heart,

I am sorry, I am sorry.”

Shanila, a third year engineering student, was biting her nails and turning the pages of her lab record fast. It was her 3^rd year, 6^th Semester Electrical Lab exam. She had done all the hard work for the exam and her parents even doubted whether she had lost weight during the strenuous preparation session. But when the exam was just minutes away from hugging her she was not able to remember anything. The formulas seemed new to her eyes. The drawings looked incomprehensible and entirely random. Thus, the confidence level in her plummeted to an all-time low. The last glimpses she passed of the record book were making her head swirl like her imagination of how the Bermuda triangle would look like. Her batch would be called in any moment from then on and her heart beat was at an all time best with a burning chest. She closed the book, shut her eyes and sighed with tiredness.

On opening her eyes she saw the peon entering the classroom and say, “Batch No: 3”

Shanila was like thunderstruck. “Batch No: 3”: the words echoed in her head. She closed her eyes even tighter this time, took a deep breath and started walking along with the randomly chosen others from the ‘Batch No: 3’ to the laboratory.

After a while the exam commenced and her experiment to do was ‘Load test on three phase Induction motor’.  She had studied this experiment very thoroughly. But sitting in that classroom and staring at the question paper in her hand, she was not able to remember anything of it, save the name of the experiment. Only the previous day she had practiced drawing the diagrams of it five to six times without even the slightest reference from the lab book. But at the moment, she was surprised that she could only faintly remember it. Shanila was close to tears.

Most of the students in the hall had finished the drawings of their concerned experiments and were submitting it to the Lab Teacher. The procedure was such that, the drawings were to be initially approved by the Lab teacher before proceeding to the practical part. Out of the twelve members of her batch, only three were yet to finish the drawings and she was one among them. Some students were discussing with each other and some were asking questions symbolically by means of their hand to the ‘preppies’ who had finished with the initial procedures. She was a very silent girl in the class and had only a very few to call as friends. Her only friend was ‘Fathima’ and she was to appear in another batch. She had none to ask for help in the exam hall. Tears had welled up in her eyes and were about to flood all throughout her cheeks any moment. Shanila was feeling suffocated. She drew the outline of the diagram with quivering hands, but which she knew was completely wrong. Tension had mopped the memories from her brain leaving only some debris behind. And she knew very well that the debris won’t help her get the pass mark in the exam.

Shanila knew not how to continue. She was thinking whether to swap the question with the Lab teacher or not which would end up her loosing fifty percent of the total allotted marks; meaning that she would eventually fail in the exam, for sure.

She put her head down to the bench and closed her eyes. A final resort would be a prayer. Her beautiful face was all red with pressure. Suddenly she heard a sound, “Shhh….”

She didn't lift her head up. Then she heard it again, “Shhh…Shhh…”

She lifted her head up to see from where this sound was originating. She heard it again. And this time it was a very powerful and long sound, “Shhhhhhhhhhh…”

She turned her head sideways and saw her classmate Anoop looking at her in a very shrewd and stealthy manner. He had a pair of very beautiful eyes and an expressive face. He asked, with his sound mixing with the air thereby adapting sort of a hissing sound, “Which one?”

Shanila didn't say anything. She kept quiet, gaping at him. She was too shocked to respond.

The next moment Shanila saw Anoop suddenly retaining the posture of a studious student writing. Shanila didn't quite understand why suddenly this change in demeanor occurred. Then she saw the teacher passing in front of him. Quickly after the teacher crossed, like a chameleon, his color changed. He switched back to his stealthy mode, professionally. He asked again aerially, “Which one yaar?”

She fumbled at first but then said in a hissing manner, “Uh.. 3 Phase induction motor… Load test”

Anoop suddenly went back to his studious-mode and then he was seen keeping his pen to his forehead as though thinking something very deep, like recollecting something that was just there. His other hand went from above the table to his pocket and came back. He then started writing again. After that he was seen lifting his head up and check with his 180 degree eyes if anyone was watching him. In a flash, he threw something at her. For Shanila it was like a scene from an Opera with a much unanticipated climax.

Shanila felt like she was shot with an arrow but it was a just a light weighted paper ball which hit her forehead. The paper ball landed up on her table. She gaped at the paper ball in front of her in disbelief. Her eyes were wide open. She was shivering and breathing heavily. Perspiration bedewed her nose tips. She then looked at Anoop in awe.

Anoop sort of shouted, “Take it idiot”

She shuddered initially, but then soon came back to her senses and swiftly took it. Shanila had worn her purdah. She then slightly shifted the tip of its hood to the table and took the paper very easily without anyone’s notice.

Anoop was shocked to see this. He thought, ‘Girls have this talent by birth. Damn.....’

Shanila had become very sharp all of a sudden; her hidden talents were taking birth. She then opened the rolled paper between the gap her long purdah and the bench provided. Her eyes were shining. Her brain was working perfectly. Unlike the last time she felt when she had opened up her lab record in the classroom, this time with just one single glance at the hand-drawn diagrams and the formulas inside the paper bit, everything became clear to her mind.

She was ready to put it back in her pocket, crushing it, to relieve herself from the tension of getting caught. She had never been in this kind of a situation before in her entire life. She heaved a deep breath and looked at Anoop and smiled. He looked at her and said alarmingly, “Don’t crush or tear it” 

He pressed, “I need it back”

Shanila knew not why he wanted it back. She had no idea that it was his back up plan.

She nodded her head and after neatly rolling the piece of paper, she carefully slid it inside her churidar pocket.

Anoop, in five minutes time, saw Shanila go to the lab teacher and submit her answer paper.  When Anoop completed the drawings and formulas in another half an hour’s time, he saw Shanila calling the teacher for checking her ‘Output’ for the given experiment.

Anoop thought, ‘Bloody Girls’

This was when Anoop was called in for Viva. Viva question and answer sessions happened according to the new roll number allotted to each student in the batch. Shanila was waiting by his side as her turn came next to Anoop’s.

The teacher started asking Anoop questions on electrical engineering. She then downed the standard to a lesser level and asked him on the experiments in the lab record. Then she again stepped down and asked him on the experiment that he was supposed to do. Then she asked with a sigh, “What do you know son? Tell me that and I shall ask according to that”

Anoop’s friends were laughing. But Shanila was really hurt seeing Anoop struggle. But nevertheless Anoop was full time smiling at the teacher. Like ‘Gautama Budha’ who with his tranquil smile spreads peace, he was trying to spread and build peace and compassion in his teacher’s heart for him.

The exam was over. When the batch got out of the exam hall, Shanila came to Anoop running and said, “Thanks”

Anoop was shocked to see her come to him. He exclaimed, “You? You talk?”

Shanila laughed a bit shyly and said, “Yeah I talk”

Anoop smiled and said, “Hey, I was just joking. You would pass right? I screwed up yaar. I wrote an experiment in the starting. Then I realized that a pocket-confusion had occurred. I found that I was writing the answer for some other experiment. Screw that Benny! He was the one who arranged the bits in order for me. Then I had to start from the scratch. And between this bloody scene, the teacher’s viva. Ooh. Damn!”

Shanila’s beautiful face was covered with sadness, “Oh am sorry”, she said in a sweet and soothing tone with a look of concern and sympathy.

Anoop reacted to this in a surprised tone, “Sorry? For what? Are you mad? Anyhow I heard Amal screwed up his exam as well. He forgot to write in the bit paper one single experiment. And he got the same experiment as question to my good luck” Anoop was laughing heartfelt.  He continued, “Anyhow I have a company next time”

Shanila was shocked at this response from Anoop. Anoop suddenly asked her, "Oh Yeah! I forgot. You have the paper bit still with you right? I really don't wanna write this bullshit again for the next exam"

Shanila was shocked on hearing this. She asked in a doubtful tone, "Next exam?"

Anoop looked at her like she was some illiterate girl. "The supplementary exam my dear"

Shanila was fumbling for a way to respond. Before she could think of anything, Anoop was called by Amal from a distance, “Anoooop. How did it goooo?”

Anoop with a smiling face, showed his middle finger to him. To Shanila’s surprise, she saw Amal running towards Anoop and hugging him. And they both left laughing.

Shanila threw an appalled look at the joyful figure of Anoop walking with his friend. Her mouth was wide open. But then she smiled unknowingly, very rare for a preppie as well as desolate girl.

(to be continued...)

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Hemanth Sreekumar

+91 8197560094

THE MALLU PRONUNCIATION - A SMALL INSIGHT

THE MALLU PRONUNCIATION - A SMALL INSIGHT

     “Mallus often pronounce Ball as ‘Boolu’, Cricket as ‘Kriketu’ and Bat as Baatu”, said a Tamilian to me and started laughing. Another day a very well versed Kannadiga guy (a person from Karnataka) came to me and said, “Malayalam Pronunciation is very funny, you know." One of my close friends, a South Indian- turned North Indian, confirming to the status strata she seemed to follow after her requisite adaptation to a so called 'different world' from South India, i.e North India, said, while I was discussing about a vegetable – Onion - in a shopping mall, that it was ‘Aniyan’ and not ‘Onion’, in terms of pronunciation, and said she had to bear a lot of insult for an uneducated pronunciation (i.e ‘Onion’), once in her starting days of her college life, in the new 'North-Indian' World. I accept the pronunciation issues involved with Mallus, and I daresay she is right. But shouldn't there something in place to de-congest this pricking and pinpointing complaints which, as a matter of fact,arise out of the deficiency in self realization?     

         Are the people, who make a fuss on the way other state people pronounce, fully Oxford-ised? A lot of Kannadigas pronounce temporary as ‘temparavary’. Tamilians say ‘Aail’ instead of ‘Oil’ and ‘jero’ for ‘zero’. For most of the North Indians the word ‘L’ comes as replacement for ‘zha’ as in ‘Tamizhians’ (in terms of Original Tamil).   

       We get a Bengali zephyr, when even our revered President, Mr. Pranab Mukherjee, addresses in English. 

Please understand that it’s not a riposte that I am looking forward to, as I happen to be a Malayalee, or rather a ‘Mallu’ as everyone put it, myself. I am just talking about the way people satirize other people for the way they pronounce English, like they are coming right out of a Charles Dicken’s book.

       In India each language is unique in its own way. There exists for each Indian, a mother tongue, and our tongue often gets trained with the way we pronounce our mother tongue. So, it’s up to the person to pull himself up by his bootstraps, accordingly, to find harmony with the new languages; be it English or any other. In that case, when there is a paucity of time, or probably vintage involved, the perfection to which the acclimatization occurs is a matter of incertitude. Students and toddlers who are trained in schools from nursery, with English communication skills, in the right way it appeals to the teachers (who in fact follow the Text books) will be able to do well, and excel in communicative English. But for the others, it’s a matter on the rocks. Whenever they try to say something in other language, in which they might be grammatically perfect and strong, their tongue more often than not, falls for the the twists and turns involved in the mother tongue. Their speech will carry the wind of mother tongue whenever it comes out, ending up as something alien.  So, it’s not fair to laugh at or stereotype a Mallu, Kannadiga, Bengali, or even a Chinese guy. The people who often do the valuation, should introspect and find out what English code they follow. UK or US? And at the end of the search, if they find out are following either UK or US English, pristine, then they may fasten their seat-belts, and tram all those in their way with their dominating language quality. But till then; till our Nation becomes fully Oxford-ised; kindly see English as any other language, commonly used as means of communication, AND DEFINITELY NOT AS SOMETHING WHICH CAN DETERMINE A PERSON'S STANDARDS. IT’S THE HUMAN VALUES THAT STAND, FOR THAT CASE. Do not degrade a person based on the way he pronounces. Do not put him in a place where he fears, he will end up a hostage to fortune trying the Angresi beats with his tongue. Do not make anyone afraid that he might become a joker. Know that, though we are using it, we are not the actual owners of it. Attempts for improvisation is appreciated, but attempts to defame sans a look at the mirror before vying for the facial advertisement might not help. We all have problems here or there. NO ONE IS PERFECT IN THIS.

HEMANTH SREEKUMAR

+91 8197560094

FIRST RIDE

FIRST RIDE

"I still remember pleading his mom to serve more of her specially made 'Bhiriyani'. She teased me for making a puppy-face, after I have had three rounds already. She then patted on my back, saying, it will be served next, only if I return home for dinner with her son. I agreed and promised to return for dinner.

It was my new bike and I wanted to test its speed and do a little show-off, with my friend on the pillion seat sharing the pride. He was not just friend. He was my best friend. So why not! I revved the engine to life, and my bike roared in it's young voice. I could feel the power in my hands. Within a few seconds the wind whizzed in toe with the throttle. I was riding quite audaciously and I still remember him, asking me to slow down as he was scared. But, the little maturity I had in me, was completely overridden by my excitement. It was a wonderful and joyous moment that I enjoyed, until that moment came.

Amidst all the excitement gushing through my veins, one small boy, out of the blue, jumped into the middle of the road, which suddenly pumped my heart beat to an all time high. Red-Alert! It developed in my brain, an urgency to avoid a hit, which automatically prompted me to try to brake the bike to a sudden halt. The bike ended up skidding, and I felt my hands giving up on its fight, to maintain its control over the handle. My control went to its precarious best, and things went out of my hands, to the hands of fate. I felt the mixed effect of friction and pain on my right knee, as I skidded on the road. And then, I was pushed off the road by some force.

And I guess it was him; the creator of that force - my best friend.

Dirt and muck started hugged me while I was rolled in an uncontrolled manner. Leaves brushed past my face, with its stems scratching wherever it can on my body. After a split second, even before my eyes registered the events to my brain properly, I saw it happen. Something that would flash across my mind for the rest of my life, perhaps.

A torrent of blood was dripping from my eyebrows. I could hardly make out the figure of a bike and a man being crushed up by the big paws of a giant lorry. The rest, all disfigured and crushed. The traffic was blocked. I tried to get up. My blood-stained body was only half accepting to get up though. People came running from all sides. Like watching a tennis match being played, they kept on switching their gaping at me and the other spot, which was in fact the scraps of what was traveling with me, in the same velocity as a single object, according to the laws of physics. The people around were flummoxed. They tried to help me. But I denied help. I managed to limp my way towards the lorry, the accident spot. Hue of the evening light, raucous sounds of horns, the blood bath, and the commotion around, triggered my heart beat to an electrified speed. Limping across the unconcerned faces, or rather spectators, all I could see was a glimpse of my new bike being crushed up like a cola can, and a hand trapped beneath the front tire of the lorry. What followed it, and from what was left of the body under it, only the dresses helped me to discern who it was. Upon inspecting the scene further, I could see that the bike was covered with blood spots, with shirt pieces torn and the organs of my best friend splattered in every direction around it. Why, I don’t know, but between the giddiness my head carried, tears sprung into life. It was then that I realized that my ‘best friend’ was no more. The message came from within my soul reached me the very next moment. I realized..

'What Have I done?'

Beside me stood a small boy, confused. He was wondering perhaps, whether to thank or console me. I couldn't recognize him, but I guessed it was for this boy, that I lost my best friend.

It was certainly driver’s justice, but selfishness and carelessness which paid a hefty price.

The next thing that ran through my mind: 'How will I face a mother who awaits her son and his best friend for dinner?'"

HEMANTH SREEKUMAR