Hopelessly in Love!!!

WARNING: This post is majorly meant for self-enjoyment and hence is quite lengthy and rather uneloquent. To all those who do not have enough time to read this, or is likely to complain "It's too boring." at the end of it, my advice would be to kindly refrain from the ordeal.
I didn't believe in love at first sight until I met him. And then, I couldn't help it. I fell in love at that moment. And one year after meeting him, I'm still hopelessly and desperately in love with him. Hmmmm....
Previously, I had this concept that being in love was the biggest burden that one person could carry, a punishment seconded only by marriage. But now, all my concepts are changed. I have come to the realization that falling in love, if you've found the right person, is the most blissful affair on earth.

I saw him first in a photograph that my brother-in-law send to me. And my world changed from that minute on. I could never express the happiness I felt at that moment in words. No language has enough words for that kind of brimming-to-the-top-and-spilling happiness. From what my brother said, I understood that my guy was welcomed at home and was already considered the most happening and special person in over 15 years.

But to meet him in person, I still had to wait 3 long months. I can assure you that I had even counted the days, even minutes till the big day. I happily left behind all the friends who were, previous to his arrival, my world, and boarded the flight to meet him.

When I first saw, he was sleeping (how inconsiderate!!!). But what first struck me was how innocent and cute he looked in his sleep. I was afraid to wake him up, afraid of how he'd react. But somehow sensing my presence, he woke up. Woke up with a broad beautiful irresistible pluck-your-heart-away smile that extended into his twinkling merry little black eyes. And all the while, the single dimple on his cheek danced with happiness.

I forgot to mention that there is a huge language difference between us. But he is slowly taking the pains to talk Malayalam. But inspite of the barrier, we make long conversations. We meet only once a month or so. So the telephone is our only means of communication. Often my mother has to remind me that I'm calling on mobile and that it has been over half an hour that we'd been talking.

For the major part of a year, he works as a chef, but he is also a charming and handsome airhost. He is a workaholic. Work is his first priority. Sometimes when he is too busy with his mixer-grinder, he does not mind shouting at me also. Thank god, I don't understand his language. ;-p

I think it's time you have a see at my handsome love-at-first-sight:

Meet Noel Mathew Paul, or as everyone calls him, punkikuttan, my one and (so far) only nephew, who has been the center of everyone's attraction, care and love since he first proclaimed his arrival. This bundle of joy is now one year old, still single dimpled like his mom (the person to whom I owe a lot for the lessons she taught me) and proud owner of a set of seven milky white teeth.

His favourites after his appa and amma are the mixer grinder , vacuum cleaner and pressure cooker. The round-eyed doggy who was his constant companion was ditched for the above items. He will forsake everything but not the above mentioned items and advertisements. DO NOT ever disturb him while he is busy in the kitchen cooking.

He has a charming way of attracting everyone to himself, which became evident when he made his novel flight. The cabin crew were fawning over him. (See below for his fan club)

His first air travel did not daunt him by the least and we were told that he was happily waving and talking his baby language at the other kids who were bawling their heads off.

Baby, you don't know how much you've changed everyone's lives here. This post is a bit late, I know. But still this post is incomplete, because like I wrote above, no language has concoted words strong and filling enough to express our deep love for you. There are a dozen score and more of emotions that are jostling to take their place in this page, but unfortunately, emotions are not words. Pride, unbounded happiness, gratitude to the Almighty are just a few of them.

The time that I spent with you is limited, but I have stored those memories deep inside my heart, in a photo album that I've labeled with your name.

In a few years time, you will be (formally and informally) known as Noel, but for your chitta, you will always remain the 'punki' who jumped into my hands right after you saw mamma with your medicine.

Who knows....In a few years time, I will have lost interest in blogging and might not blog anymore. Who knows... I might not even remember I've been a-blogging once upon a time.. But, kutta, if you ever happen to come across this blog in your life, I wonder if we still will be sharing the same intimacy that we do now? I wonder if you will understand, why this post was ended like it was-abrupt, as if more were on the on the way? People will have come in and moved out of our lives. You will have sisters and brothers(who knows... even a girlfriend). I may have children and family of my own. But whatever be that time unfolds for us, your chitta will always have a special prayer for her punki. That the Almighty hold you in his right hand as you walk along and make your mark in this world. That you are as selfless as your mom and considerate as your dad.That,like King Solomon, you are endowed with heavenly wisdom to light your paths.

Love you all my life..........................

The case of the absconding minister

Congratulations to ourselves!!! Once again India has proved it. We have often heard of absconding criminals and corporate officials. However, we must take pride in the fact that India has produced the world's first ever absconding minister, Maya Kodnani, Gujarat minster for Higher Education.
Maya Kodnani was charged for rioting, arson and murder in the 2002 Naroda massacre where 95 were killed. She did not turn up after the court summoned her twice on jan 29th and 31st, forcing the judiciary to declare her 'Wanted'. She has also skipped the Cabinet meeting this Wednesday. 'She is on tour' is the official line.
What next? Do we see 'WANTED' pictures of the minister on trees and walls offering prize money to those who catch her?
Well, what is the Modi government's take on it? 'The minister is just like any other individual. He/she is herself just like the common man' says Mr. Vyas, the spokesman for the Modi government. So, doesn't she have any responsibility to the public? Any obligation to her Cabinet position. Should not a person in her position act more like a role model?
Vyas replies( or rather, barks) "Who's perception is that she should be responsible? If you percieve that, it is your problem. She is just like any other human being. There is a lot of difference between accused and guilty." WOW!!!!
So, what was the Modi government doing when she absconded? Protocol has it that, Mayaben's security guards should report twice a day to higher responsible ('responsible' as in our 'perception')authorities about her position. So does not that mean, 'the higher responsible officials' know exactly where and what her position is? Or do they also have a perception problem?
And she is on 'official tour'. Official tour when a Cabinet meeting is conducted? Official tour when the court has summoned her twice? An official tour whose destination no one knows?
Should not it be Modi's duty to hand her over to the judiciary? Well, in the first place, what is a tainted minister like her doing in the Cabinet? And since she is there, wouldn't 'Instigation of communal feelings and Initiation of communal division' be a better portfolio for her? And now that Modi has taken law into his own hands and is refusing to disclose her whereabouts, isn't it all evident how much personal interest Modi has in the affair?
If Mr Vyas and the government he represents would stop barking for a minute, let me say,there will come one day when the men, women and children of India would 'wake up from darkness into light'. On that day, all Modis and his likes will have to pay for every injustice you have meted out to us.
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Hark All Ye criminals of the world. If there is a haven for you in this world, then I assure you, India is it. Mayaben will give you a red carpet welcome. Pinarayi Vijayan will write your account books. And Mayawati will provide all necessary help. Come one! Come all!

For the notice of a fascist!!!

By now, we all must be familiar wth what happened in Mangalore on Saturday: broad daylight molestation of citizens, especially women.
Reason: For 'defiling' the sanskriti of India by celebrating Valentine's Day.
Committed by: Sri Ram Sene chief,Pramod Muthalik, a man who is third time on the crime-list and is currently out on bail. Pramod Muthalik was three times(including the Mangalore pub incident)arrested for distributing pamphlets with provocative slogans and the like. Let me also remind you that the SRS is neither an elected organization nor Muthalik an elected Leader. Well, let's just describe him as an illiterate self centered show off. I know that's a little too soft on him.
Muthalik has his staunch reasons to support him when he says he and his "band of boys" have a plan to spoil the big Vday celebrations. They have all plans to make sure that not one single Vday card will be sold. His plans include submitting a memorandum to the Governor.
Well,what will his memorandum say? That people should be denied of their right to love? That they should be denied their right to promote and celebrate love? That men and women should not be seen together on the streets?
Muthalik's protests against Vday is on the basis that the Western culture is defiling our sanskriti. As if thrashing women like cockroaches, vandalising property and gooning around are some of the glorious facets of our heritage, our sanskriti. Oh, maybe he means that every lover should be like Shahjahan. Build Taj Mahals around the corner. How absolutely romantic?!!!
"Why do you need a Day to love? Love when you want, where you want. It is a feeling", Muthalik says.
Oh is that so? Then why do we celebrate Independence Day and Republic Day. We are independent every minute of our life. We belong to a republic by every cell in our body. Then why?
Of course, Pramod Muthalik does not have an answer.
Well, in the first place, who gave Muthalik the right to play moral police here? Mr. Muthalik, wake up. You are not living in Hitler's Germany. This is democratic India. A country where every individual is counted and his opinin valued. If any Indian decides that he will follow this custom, speak that language and eat this food, it is because he has a right- The right to living life his way. Mr. Muthalik, you and your goons cannot question our bloodrights.
As for your observation,'there were 7 rapes in Mumbai and 17 in Delhi on this same day last year.' Sir, I think you do not do your homework regularly. Rapes, murders and births occur every other minute in India, not just on Valentine's Day. Well, you should be thankful that only 24 rapes happened on that day. And Sir, isn't it a bit too big coming from a communal divider like you?
And a last question,Sir. What exactly is your stand on women? I have heard that the SRS consider women like Goddesses. Sir, do you actually go around thrashing your Goddesses in a fit of self proclaimed moral policing? We expect nothing less from a double standard like you, someone who is unfazed by the law, someone who considers himself a law.
I appeal to you, all my fellow country men and women. Do not feel threatened by this law-unto-himself man. We belong to the nation of Gandhi, a man who gave up his life fighting for our rights- our rights to freedom. No hooligan like Muthalik can prise it from us, unless we decide to succumb to him. Do not fall prey to this man who is blinded by prejudices. Live your life the way it is lawfully granted to you by the Constituition of India. Enjoy all your rights. We belong to the largest democratic nation in the world and not one Muthalik can encroach upon our rights- be it the right to love or to celebrate love!!!

Ice Maiden

Been wondering why I do this...

Why I keep doing this...

I hate this part of me...

The unfeeling me...

The insensitive me..

The dry barren cliff,

High and steep, green does not adorn its solitary prickly tree.

The desert winds blowing her ragged ice-satin dress hither and thither,

She looks down below..

The greenery abounds, rivers are merry to hear.

On the barren cliff, high and steep,

Arm propped on a prickly branch, she looks into the valley of abundance below.

The ice maiden....

She is the ice maiden..

Her satin is of frozen ice..

Her breath chills the air..

And she laughs at it all.. Her harsh cruel laughter..

For the high, cold voice of reason tells her all she needs to know.

Her laughter rings and the reasons sting..

So she has frozen her senses..

She senses... But does not feel...

She turns her ice cold face from the valley of splendour.

She turns to me, and I look into my ice cold face..

But I agree...

Yes... I should remain the Ice Maiden...

Touch me... but I wont thaw...

Because I am now incapable of feeling warmth...

Thank You.

Finally free of exams, assignments and classes and temporarily rid of teachers and their continual threats, I'd come home to spend a very very long vacation. Home.....
When I say home, I don't mean home as in native place or hometowns. Home is home, as in the warmth it exudes and the cosiness it evokes.
I was born and brought up in Ras-Al-Khaimah, U A E. When I say U A E, an image of skyscrapers, golf courses, five star hotels and other luxurious comforts are what rises up in most minds. But let me assure you, Ras Al Khaimah (RAK) is nothing like that. It does not even remotely resemble the metropolitan business capital of the nation, Dubai or it's actual capital, Abu Dhabi, which has long winded roads and is home to so many of its famous oil rigs.
RAK is one of the six (previously, seven) emirates of the UAE, just like we say the 28 states of India. But truth be said, RAK is a small sleepy, dusty, lazy townhood, whose people value each other's fellowship more than they care about the progress in the world around them.
Compared to it's wealthy siblings, we have just three schools, two hospitals, one shopping mall (with one theatre), one age old park and another theatre here.
During my four year engineering course, which I did in Cochin, I've had lots of friends who studied in the different parts of the Gulf, some of them even in Dubai. Each time I said, "I did all my schooling abroad in RAK, UAE" , I encountered raised eyebrows, a look that plainly said, " Isn't that such a backward place? Do they even have schools there?"
But today I write this to show my gratitude to this little town-emirate, from which I emulated so many values in my eighteen years here, which made, and helped me to remain, me during the four years at college.
I'd decided to spend the first part of my vacation as a celibate, minimising contacts with friends and family, for no reason other than enjoying the bliss of solitude. But my mother, on the other hand, constantly bugged me to call a friend who works with her. Now, this 'friend's' daughter was my classmate till 12th. That is, two years of kindergarten plus 12 odd years of sciences, mathematics and languages equals 14 years of warm and deep friendship.
What makes this friendship extra deep and pleasant is that, our parents are also friends in one way or the other. Either they work together, or meet after work or know each other somehow in their different walks of life. When you live in a very small town, you inevitably end up knowing everyone. Which means that for me and my schoolmates, the words 'friends' and 'family' did not have two different meanings.
So this aunty had been enquiring about me everytime she met my mother. Which was the reason behind my mother's bugging.
Finally harassed enough, I relented and dialled the number.
Me: Good evening. May I speak to Annette's mother?
Aunty: Yes, that's me.
Me: Aunty, this is me, Saumya.
Aunty: Oh, hello dear....
And there ensued certain formalities in conversation that were necessary when old friends talk after a long time. Then....
Aunty: Annette always asks about you all. She says she misses school and her school friends so much. She always says that her college friends are not half as good as you all were.
I remember mumbling some answer to her statement, but my thoughts were racing far ahead of my words. Fourteen years... Fourteen years of fun and lessons... Taking the first step together and then holding hands throughout the fourteen years... One can't condense it and relive it in the four years of college life. The owners of the hands u held, in times of trouble and joy, you could never forget them easily.
Archana, who used to stand with hands on her hips and lips tightly drawn into an overturned S, whenever I planned to copy an assignment. Whose words " A day's honest work is reward enough to the fair-minded" inspired me whenever I was tempted to do the same in college.
Karmjit, who used to rebuke me, when I used admire the girls who wore trendy dresses to school. " Would we wear these dresses to a temple? No, right? School is also a temple and we should rever the Goddess of Knowledge by opening both our hands to recieve it. It wouldn't do to pull your shirt or hitch your skirt at that moment. Always be humble, for knowledge is vast and we are little." A lesson in humility that I never forgot while living in the ever fashionable Cochin city.
Lincy, the philosopher who taught us to dream big. " Dreams don't cost us a penny. So why don't we all dream really huge?" I have a small dream in me, and thanks to you, I will dream them big and one day I will live it.
Niji, the perseverer. On those despairing long nights when I sat up wondering why my results didn't match my efforts, you always came to mind. The human representation of the ant who tried without complaining and at last, after much toil, made it to the top.
All these thoughts were compressed into less than a minute and I woke up to realise that I wasn't listening to what Aunty was saying.
Me: What about your work, Aunty? How is it going?
Aunty: So far it is going good. Mummy must be telling you everything, right?
Me: Yeah, I know Aunty.
Aunty (Here, a sorrow crept into the cheery voice): The good times have all gone. Now only the memories remain.
The good times.... My mother often recollects the time when she first joined the Ministry hospital. It was only a few Indian doctors and nurses like her in the beginning. And some Lebanese doctors, who couldn't string two words in English together, let alone distinguish between a Panadol and a Brufen.
My mother and her colleagues strove hard to make the hospital what it is today. No matter how weary the day was for them, never could you find them without that comely smile on their face. They were always ready to help, no matter what their burden.
My mother works in the Post-Natal ward of the hospital. Given any time, you could always find atleast one baby abandoned by it's mother there. Most of my mother's colleagues, including herself, are grandmothers now. But not even grandchildren of their own, could cease their fondling hands to give comfort. Not the fact that these little cherubs will never know these mothers when they grow up, daunt their prospects, neither does their love reduce by an iota.
This readiness to help and cheerfulness, I'd packed them into the baggage that I'd take for my four year stay. By God's abundant grace, I used to do well in my studies and scored good marks. But most of my friends included what my classmates would ruthlessly term the 'underdogs'. It was a pleasure to help them and teach the little that I knew, because in return I recieved the genuinity of their friendship. The others would come when it was the exam season and stayed like parasites till it finished. And then they conveniently forgot you. This hypocrisy heartily sickened me, but these lessons were my staff and sandals during those four years.
Now, with the inflation striking all over the world, not even UAE, with its stable economy could keep stable. To keep it's economy stable and to ensure the employment of its nationales, the one way the leaders found was to drive the expatriates out. Especially those working in Ministry instituitions. Now the foreign workers here go to sleep each night wondering what their tomorrow will be.
The good times have gone... Only the memories remain..
Aunty: The fun and togetherness have gone. Only few people like your mother and me remain.
Me: Yes Aunty, I know.
Fun and togetherness... Sharing and caring.. Involuntarily my mind went back to those old times. The Harvest Festivals, where the first of the fruits and vegetables grown in your garden are auctioned in the church, where no matter who bought what, everyone ended up sharing what they had. The Fancy Fetes in school, where there were numerous games to play, the number never satisfying the pennies in our pocket, when loans were happily lent without record and repaid with a thump on the back and a high-five.
Aunty: Keep in touch dear. This is all that we have after 20 or more years of toil. Friends and memories of good times.
Me: Yes, Aunty. I surely will. Take care. Bye.
Aunty: Goodbye dear.
Memories of good times... I will keep it as a talisman till I complete my journey and it will teach me as I walk.
Underneath the dust and the harsh desert sun, lies '20 or more years of toil'. And on the exodus back to where we belong, we will take back only these memories. Thank you, my little 'backward' town, for teaching me these small but valuable lessons...

Revenge Is Sweet!

Ha ha ha ha...... Probably Ravana must have laughed this mirthless laugh when he managed to capture Sita and bring her to Lanka. Probably all villains in history must laughed this cold blooded laugh. Why should I be an exception? Here was she dead... She unwisely challenged me and here she is now.... At my feet.... Where did all her bravery bring her to? To death at my hands.... Ha ha ha ha ha....
The one month stay at my parents was peaceful for all but one reason.
The day I came here, I lay down in my favorite place to sleep. Unusually my mother cautioned me against sleeping there. I wondered why, but didn't bother about that much. The lights were turned off, when my brother suddenly popped a question.
" Chechi, you'll sleep there all night, right?"
Suddenly suspicious, I asked, " Why?"
"Nothing. I just asked you. You are very brave, right? You'll sleep there, right?"
The You-are-very-brave hit where it should- my conceited ego. I replied, "Yeah. I'll do." He wished me goodnight and I could visualise him laughing to himself in the dark. I again wondered why. And I got my answer in a few minutes.
Now there was a cupboard close to my sleeping place. Just before I was about to fall asleep, I was woken up by a knock. And then another.
Groggily, I sat up, mentally calculating the direction of the knock. The door? Nah, why should Daddy and Mummy knock on our door? They can just come in. So where did it come from? Aah, I must have dreamt it all.
I was about to go back to sleep when again... KNOCK
What??!! From the cupboard? What can be possible knocking inside the cupboard? The Kingdom of Narnia?
I decided to check and got up from the bed. I was just about to open the cupboard door, when...
"Chechi, are you going to open the cupboard?"
"Yeah, what's wrong?"
"I'll tell you what. But you must keep your word."
"What word?"
"You promised you'll sleep there."
"What can be so big in there? OK. You have my word."
"Chechi, there is a rat here."
"WHAT???!!!"
"Yeah, chechi. Honestly. It's the rat that makes all those sounds.It scurries up along the curtains all night. And the cupboard is its favourite haunt."
"What?? But.... But I kept my favorite bag in the cupboard."
"Well, I'm sorry about that. Maybe we can get you another one. Goodnight. Sleep tight" And I could hear him chuckling under the sheets.
My hand was frozen on the cupboard door handle. Another knock made me remove it like I recieved an electric shock. How could my hygiene-obssessed mother allow a rat here for so long? And my bag that I so lovingly bought? And my big mouth... I looked so longingly at the double bed on the other end of the room, on which my brother was sleeping, safe from night prowlers. But now I couldn't lose face before my brother. The thought of being teased was more haunting than any rats.
Oh God. Please give the rat a holiday today. Please put it to sleep. Please.
Praying fervently, imagining all the horrors that a rat could do, I wrapped the blanket tightly around me. I'd read somewhere that a rat's teeth grow at a very fast rate. To keep it under control, it gnaws at everything it could lay its hands- well, teeth- on. What if it decides to gnaw at my feet in the night? Oh no.......
The last thing I remember before I slept off was the Great Plague of London.
When I got up next morning, the first thing I did was collect details. My mother informed me that it was a highly intelligent rat that so far evaded all the traps that they laid. They had got the sticky rat glue and pasted it all around its favorite haunts. They kept rat traps and poisoned foods at strategic places. But it carefully avoided all those. And it was cheeky enough to show its head out in broad daylight.
Well like my mother said, I could only hopefully wait. One day....
And my bag... Thanks to the rat, there were two good holes in its underside. I pacified the beast inside me.
Things again went peacefully. We were all eyes and ears for the rat. But it never fell into the death traps. The days were passing by us without much event.
I listen to the radio almost all the hours I'm awake. And ever since I got my new cellphone, the headset is always plugged into my ears, except when I keep the phone for charging. Now this particular day, I kept my phone for charging and slept (on the double bed). And what do I see next morning when I get up?
I couldn't believe my eyes. It couldn't be true. I pinched myself hard to be sure. There lying on the table were the mangled remains of my poor poor headset. She had bitten it into two and took off the earpiece half with it.
Now the beast in me was fully roused. I ranted and raged in the house. My father offered me his headset(we both had the same type of phone) to pacify me. My mother tried to introduce jest into it with " Dear, it will return it after it has listened to radio for a while."
But no, I was not satisfied with that. I wanted them to buy the latest sure shot rat kill in town and nothing less would pacify me. I promised myself that I would avenge my late headset.
I begged. I threatened to starve to death. I cried. I even tried being nice and cooking up dinner. But my mother firmly refused my demand on the count that it will danger inquisitive little children. Atleast once a week, we have kids visiting us. So she didn't want to take risks with little kids running around. ("What if you suddenly feel like commiting suicide?" was her another attempt at humour to pacify me.)
But after constant badgering (and promises that I won't suicide), she finally relented. And she bought two packets of Mortein rat kill. She repeated the words of the salesman. "If this won't kill the rats, then I don't know what will." Like a child who was gifted with a toy, I broke them and placed them in even more strategic points. The leaflet accompanying said that I would have to wait 2-3 days. No problem. Happy to wait.
Day 1- Waiting. Nothing happened except my sister laughed heartily after listening to my tale of woe.
Day 2- I'm composing an epitaph. The rat who tried to live. But failed. Is that enough? Nah, lemme see if I can make up something better. Meanwhile my friends say that I'm obssessed. One of them says I should be a true Christian and forgive. Another recommends the movie " Mouse Hunt".
Day 3- Mummy said there was some smell underneath one of the cupboards. Happy news finally. Together we empty the cupboard and dismantle it. And sure enough there it was. Dead. I couldn't contain my joy at seeing that immobile body. Carefully Daddy picks it up with a stick, drops it in a plastic cover and buries stick, cover, body and all. So much for the rat who tried to play with me. Ha ha ha ha...
It was with a gleeful heart that I went about disinfecting the house.
My headset is avenged. Now I can rest peacefully in a pest free house. Ha ha ha ha ha.....

Partners in Dream!!!!

School mostly meant freedom and fun to me. To be always under the shadows of an extremely studious sister was tough duty, but I tried sincerely till my second grade and then stopped. I became totally allergic to studies and only fear of the unknown( the CBSE boards) could finally cure me in the ninth grade.


Those who know me will be hugely shocked by my next statement, but I am being very honest when I say I was a quiet and law abiding student in my younger years. I can imagine the perfect 'O' shape that many mouths will make at this statement, but let me continue. I was, and even am, a huge day dreamer. I never used to listen in class, dream and dream all along.


And somewhere in my fourth grade, I got a partner to dream with me.


It all began when the Malayalam teacher made me sit in the front bench along with Rajitha because of my horrible spelling and equally undecipherable handwriting. Rajitha was smart, had an awesome handwriting but more than all that, she could string two words together in Malayalam and read it as well. Wow... That was my first encounter with a wiz and the front benches.


I was feeling outshined by the minute sitting next to her and I was just about making my mind to hate her, when she turned and smiled at me. Out of politeness, I smiled back.


" Can you read that word on the black board to me?", she asked pointing to a word.


Again civility induced me to read the word to her.


"Well, what's wrong with you? You read pretty well. Why should the teacher scold you then?" Well, they were the first words of praise that I recieved in the Malayalam class room. And our kahani began there.


After that hour and all the hours that followed, we sat together. She patiently lectured me on the beauty of alphabets and how they make a beautiful song when strung together. Like how pearls are beautiful by themselves, but become exquisite when strung on a chain.


One day, in one boring Social Science hour, when we were discussing, under our breaths, things that were not even remotely related to the Mughal empire, she asked me, "Do you like hearing stories?"


Immediately piqued, I replied " Yes, but why all of a sudden?"


"I'll tell you a better story than Akbar's history. Give me a pencil and paper."


I tore a piece of paper from my notebook and gave it to her. And there began a storytelling saga.


It was amazing how she could make up so many stories about princes, princesses, wars, famines, horses, fishes, stars, fairies and angels. And as she narrated her story, she would draw on the piece of paper. Her stories had life in it, and I would always wonder, at the end of it, had it really happened.


Like the earth pulls us towards it, we had naturally gravitated to the back benches by the time we entered fifth grade. And we made it our Kingdom there.


When the occasional rains came, we used to sit and wonder why the rain drops fell downwards. On those really cold days, we used to sit outside the classrooms before the morning bell, and watched our breath forming a smoke as we spoke. Then there were the games of Black Shoe that we played. Our favourite needle-leaved tree, underneath which we spent most of our break times. The paper boats that she taught me to make, but I failed to learn. And the chicken-pox that we braved together.


In between she used to help me with my handwriting. She used to hold my hands as we carefully and slowly made prints on the paper. She was ever patient and persevering. Always cheerful.


Summer vacations come during the month of July-August here, and that year, when I was in fifth, my parents decided to spend the vacation in our hometown in Kerala.


I was really excited and called up Rajitha and told her the news. She promised to be ready with so many more stories by the time I come back.


Vacations were a happy time. But I was looking eagerly to school reopening again. And finally after days of impatient waiting, school reopened.


The first bell rang and still there was no sign of Rajitha. I was quite lonely in the last bench, but i decided to wait for her. Minutes passed into hours, hours into days and days into weeks. Still no Rajitha.


It was then that a girl who we used to consider a continual pest, informed me that Rajitha and her family had cancelled and left for Kerala forever.


I remember crying for days, for a friend who would never come back. I wonder if she did.


She had opened to me a whole new world. The world that I still live in. A vibrant world of colours and sounds... In which you willingly give joy and share pains. Where you never forget to hold hands with the blessing that friends are.


Pal... I have a passable handwriting now, but thanks to you mainly, I scored laudable marks in Malayalam in my tenth. I may have forgotten how to make those paper boats, but you remain vividly in my memory, just as it was yesterday. Pal.. At every turn in life, I keep thinking what it would be to have you by my side. I do not know an answer exactly, but it would have been different than it is now. It would be like having your shadow as your soulmate.