That day, that year...

History & Civics exam was the one remaining unfinished. The concentration was haywire. Dad had booked tickets for the customary tour. As a kid, trips were always fun. H&C exam was duly decimated. The monkey was off the shoulders before the holidays. I was to Bangalore, on a train. It was a Saturday. Dad explained, “No tickets to Chennai. We’ll visit our relatives and take the train to Chennai tomorrow!” All that a kid needed was being to new places and so, I made sure dad wasn’t queried further. The train took the necessary turn past Jolarpettai and reached Bangalore.

A cow was run over by a speeding train on a Railway crossing. Mom was quick to close my eyes with her hands. Any scene that was gory received a straight ‘A’ certification from mom and banned from view. On reaching my uncle’s house, before dad could explain, I said, “We were supposed to go to Chennai. We didn’t get the tickets and so we are here!” I told leaving my dad searching for words.  “Why are you eternally lazy? Get up! Grow up!” mom taunted. The Chennai train was to be at 6 30 am. The roads to the Railway station, on a wintery morning in Bangalore were always busy. I picked up a copy of ‘The Hindu’ and got into the train. ‘Aussies looking forward to winning their 300^th test match’, said the paper. On the way to Chennai, “Dad, the first thing we are doing when we reach Chennai is visit the beach”, I said. Srilanka and Newzealand were playing an ODI.

By the time the train reached Chennai, NewZealand team had thrashed SriLanka by 7 wickets. While waiting for a train to West Mambalam, a bystander at the Park Station remarked, “Chennai la niraya yedam kadal kulla poiduchanga!” (A lot of places in Chennai have sunk under the Sea). Dad dismissed him as another deranged fellow, probably drunk. I was angry with dad; he wasn’t taking me to the beach, as promised – a kid from a land-locked city, visiting a beach was always an awesome idea. My cousin welcomed me home. We switched on the TV. Headlines were run. And I watched in complete shock. The land was, under the sea. What the man told, and ignored without a moment’s thought, was true.

And the world was filled with sorrow. I would’ve been on the beach when it was swallowed but for the tickets to Chennai that I couldn’t get. Kamal Haasan, in his epic Anbe Sivam¸ had talked about Tsunamis. Now people took notice. It was a cold Sunday. It was December 26^th, 2004.

 Result: History & Civics: 47/100.

Australia won their 300^th test.

SriLanka cancelled their tour of NewZealand to head back home.  

Cheers,

Gopsay

C-word

coun·sel Verb /ˈkounsəl/

Counselled past participle.

Counselling present participle.

1. Give advice to (someone)

o He was counselled by his supporters to return to Germany.

2. Give professional psychological help and advice to (someone)

o He was being counselled for depression.

3. Recommend (a course of action

o The athlete's coach counselled caution.

And the paradox: Anna University Counselling.

I remember telling my friend once, “I’m not going to attend Anna Counselling. It’s for the idiots”. Ultimately, I was no exception; I was an idiot as well. Ask anyone in Tamilnadu who awaits the D-day about counselling. They barely know the procedure. In times like these, one educational institution or the other organises a special counselling session ‘How to prepare for the counselling’. Talk of irony, this certainly is one.

I remember my dad asking, “Dei, Hindu newspaper la counselling pathi potrukaaname! Padichaya?” (Did you read the article in The Hindu regarding counselling?). I answered in the negative. Is counselling a misnomer? Well, don’t ask such questions. The concept of counselling is better to be accepted as a dogma. Wasn’t that how we studied all the subjects? “Don’t keep thinking. Just write as given in the book!” That was another dogma.

When Chennai welcomed me like a fresh, just-from-the-pan pottikadai bajji, I still didn’t know how the ‘C’ was going to be. Strategists argue that the best thing to do before a meeting is PPCC (Plan Practically, Carefully and Creatively). I wish to differ on this count. The best way to spend the eve of ‘C’ is to sleep, sleep like you never did.

When you wake up, it is still the eve of the ‘C’ and there is calls abuzz about one guy or a girl getting their desired course of study. You see the clock. It tells you that there are 15 more hours until you are lead into AC halls and made to sit in front of a monitor that decides your fate. What? A monitor is all that’s needed to make or break your dreams? And then you remember, certain things are better when left unexamined.

I woke up early on the D-day when my phone alarm beeped with a ‘IT’S YOUR DAY!’ message (a la Match-fixing technique). An IPL commentator would term this a Pressure cooker situation. To watch the seats in your course of choice take a plunge, watch helplessly is the worst possible thing that can happen. Your consolation: You can do the same to others when your turn comes in front of the computer terminals that decide your fate.

I came out of the C-session with an allotment order for the last of seats in a course I wanted. My month-long permutations and combinations did bear fruit. For some, it was a disaster. I remember watching a parent cry since her ward didn’t get their desired course. Shit happens. But one can’t allow it to touch meteoric levels such as the C.

I once again remember that counselling meant giving professional, psychological advice and assistance. And then I remember to accept this specific C as an educational dogma put forth on unaware students like us. The ones on a roll in Anna University are the umpteen monkeys roaming around without certificates and a cut-off to boast. We, the same pottikadai bajjis, are neatly packed and sent to different colleges to be feasted.

And the C-word ends. You feel better? “Definitely, maybe”

-Gopsay

And Savitha Definitely Feels Gawky. Part 2

Just when a train of thoughts was whizzing past Savitha, the waiter at Gluttony showed up with the menu card. She peered into it as if she’d been given an ‘Entrance Exam Question Paper’. Thanks to her profound love of hating garlic, she had extra work in choosing her lunch. She entered into a conversation with her friends. By the time the dishes hit the table, she remembered nothing of what she spoke. Normally a voracious eater, she struggled for appetite that day. “I recall that fail to remember something that’s maddening my day,” she told her friend. She chose to forget it by relishing the lunch. But then, she found herself in a lurch- she had bitten a green chilly.

Grabbing two glasses of water, she remembered Vijay’s punch dialogue, “Kai vekradhuku munnadi oru dharaviku nooru dharavai yosikanum. Oru tharava vechita aprom yosikave mudiyaadhu!” (One must contemplate many times before doing it! Once you do it, there’s no way you can think again!). All she did was curse Vijay while jumping around with a curried tongue.

She found the same thing amiss. But what was it? She chose not to think of anything as she drove her Activa. She was speeding when a cop stopped her. Although steering past them and remembering Vijay’s quote, “Un valai le sikradhuku era illada, naan Sura! Valaiyum muzhunguven, valai veesaravanayum muzhunguven,” (I’m not a fish to fall to your bait. I’m the shark! I’ll make you the bait) was her pastime, today wasn’t her day. Coercing the cop into settling for a 50 buck ransom, she made her way home.

Some relative was visiting her as she barged past the doorway into the living room. This meant extra chores for her. Just then, someone entered into a pep-talk about her studies, something she preferred not to talk about. “I look like a nerdy hillbilly”, she told herself (which happened to feature in The Hangover, a movie she watched the previous night). Her room was a perfect place to lock herself in. She did it with perfection.

“Savitha, wake up! Why do you sleep away the day? I have the Duranto Express at 6. Bye, bye! I’ll be back in 3 days”, said her mom. Eerily awake, she watched as her parents made their way to the car. She switched on the TV. It was recommended in a book she had read titled “Wiling away the day – Made easy”. She kept switching channels (Jeeva’s songs weren’t on air). The clock struck 8 and she picked herself up from the couch only to make herself at ease at the dining table.

Her comfort levels soared as she saw Ravaa Roast served. Just as she was about to devour it, she got a call, “Hi di! What are you upto”, asked her friend. As she kept talking and giggling over the phone, she served the side-dishes to herself and continued the chit-chat. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you why I called!” said her friend. “Mmm, enna solla vara”, she said as she gobbled up a piece of the Dosa. “I’ve got the tickets for Vandhaan Vendraan,” said her friend. “Umm, ok! I’ll talk to you later,” she said and ended the call while her friend kept wailing over the phone. It was the Annapoorna Sambhar. And Savitha Definitely Felt Good.

Special thanks to Savitha for endorsing her name. :) (I hope I executed the task well)

To Serena, for her constant pranks of Savitha. (Your help was always useful)

To May 9 and HSC Results, for helping me with introspection.

To Siva & Kirthana who remain a source of strength.

To QWERTY keyboard, for helping me with the Title of the story.

P.S. I started with an ASDFG and ended with an ASDFG.

- Gopsay

And Savitha Definitely Feels Gawky. Part 1

“What? No tickets for Vandhaan Vendraan! Don’t tell me that! Get the tickets or I’ll kill you!” yelled Savitha over the phone. It was film starring Jeeva. Anything short of a first day first show ticket wasn’t going to satisfy her. “No tickets yaar! Forget about it!” said the voice over the phone. Savitha became restless and started yelling again. “Wake up, Savi! It’s 10 am and you are still sleeping!” Savitha woke up. It was a nightmare. She looked at the calendar. It was a Friday and Jeeva’s film was hitting the theatres only on the next Friday. She breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ve had enough dreams! Get out of the bed”, sighed her mom.

The sunlight was drawing its masterpiece on her room’s wall, stealthily coming through the windows. Savitha found something missing. It was her phone. She had promised to be to her friend’s house at 11. She grabbed ‘Coimbatore Today’, the supplement of ‘Country Today’ newspaper which was lying on the couch. It served her the daily dose of gossips. The newspaper had a photo feature from Rana, Thalaivar’s next film. She wondered if it was K.V. Anand behind the camera. Her phone beeped. Always quick to attend it, she grabbed her phone. It was her friend; a new restaurant had opened and a lunch at the place was duly considered. She felt something amiss.

Slowly munching through ‘idlies and thakkazhi chutney’, watching Aarariraroo song from Raam (which happened to be another song starring Jeeva) on TV, she asked her mom for Sambar. “Thakkazhi chutney irukey! Pinna edhuku”, came the sharp, short reply from her mom. She remembered Vijay’s punch dialogue – Main pesumbudo side ellam silent ah irukanum! (When the main dish is hogging the limelight, the side dishes can remain silent!). She was missing something. But Jeeva on TV was enough a distraction to forget about what was bugging her.

It was 2 pm in the afternoon, the sunlight was all over the place and an oven seemed a cooler place. The buzz was about the new restaurant, Gluttony, and Savitha decided to try it out. She knew something was casting its shadow on her day, but what was it? Why should something mess with her schedule? But the foremost question was: What was asking her these numerous questions?

- Gopsay

Special thanks to Savitha for the name. To Serena, for her valuable inputs!

Thanks to Ernakulam Express for providing me a nice cabin seat with a reading light.

Thanks to QWERTY keyboard for helping me with the Title of the story!

P.S. And Savitha Definitely Feels Gawky has its origin from 'ASDFG' of the keyboard. :)

Three worthy things!

We stand in queues for anything, everything. Standing in queues signifies three aspects.

# Patience.

# Basic ethics of getting bored.

# First come, first serve basis (although 2G spectrum has nothing to do with it).

There are various ways in which standing in queues are beneficial! Who wouldn't stand in a queue to get a Film ticket, a luncheon after being through marathon working hours at the office? Who didn't wait to be the first to get Ipads?

Yet, there are three things that are worth waiting in long lines for:

• A ticket to Thalaivar's film! (Although its a tough ask with Online booking these days).
  P.S. For the sake of non-Tamils, Thalaivar is 'Leader' when merely translated and means 'Rajnikanth' or 'Man of the Masses' when literally understood.
  
  
• A ticket to watch India-Pakistan cricket clash, which is worth the wait on any given day.
  
  
• Waiting in a queue to cast your vote. This is something everyone should be proud of!

-Gopsay

Fat Stat

Statistics from the India Pakistan semifinal clash (and others)

* 260: The estimated heartbeat rate of Indians when Shahid Afridi was batting.

Also: The runs that India managed to score (Pakistani goodwill gesture inclusive).

* 19: The number of wickets

Also: The number of times Rameez Raja would've gone on air saying, "That was a timely wicket - taken at just the right time."

Also: The number of times Wasim Akram wondered why Shahid Afridi didn't take powerplay.

*1500: The number of runs that Misbah ul Haq had to score per 100 balls to win the match for Pakistan when he got out.

Also: The number of text messsages I sent and recieved throughout the match

* 0: The number of sixes, fours or runs that Yuvraj Singh managed to score

Also: The number of fans who believed Pakistan would win when Misbah was playing a gem of an innings.

Also: The number of Tests I dream of playing.

*11: The number of players Dhoni could ever dream of playing in his side.

Also: The number of fours that Sachin struck.

Also: The number of times Dhoni wondered why Ashwin wasn't picked in the playing 11.

*04: The number of times Sachin was dropped.

Also: The number of times Aamir Khan was shown on TV.

Also: The number of minutes Indian PM and his Pakistani counterpart spent shaking hands with the players.

*09: The number of times Sachin has got Man of the match awards in world cups.

Also: The number of fours Sehwag thumped from the Pakistani bowling.

Also: The number of times Afridi wondered why on earth he got out.

*152: The score that Sehwag would've had if he played 100 balls.

Also: The number of times I got warned by neighbours for noise pollution.

*02: The number of wickets each Indian bowler got.

Also: The number of times Sachin wondered whether he was himself, while batting.

* 73.91: The strike rate of Sachin Tendulkar's 85

Also: the percentage of bets I won.

Also: The percentage of people who changed channels when Yuvraj was out for a golden duck.

*69: The number of runs Umar Gul conceded.

Also: The runs Sreesanth would have conceded if picked.

Also: The minutes spent by Raina wondering why Pakistan never knew his weakness for short pitched bowling

* 26: The over in which India lost two wickets, Yuvraj for a golden duck.

Also: The over in which Yuvraj took the first of his two wickets.

Also: The total runs Pakistan gave India away as a goodwill gesture.

10 replies that suggest a person doesn't know Internet

# 1. Do you use Yahoo?

A: Yeah, but I prefer Hurray, instead.

#2. How good is Bing?

A: Yeah, ping pong is a good game! It helps you increase your powers of concentration.

#3. What about Facebook?

A: Oh, don't remind me of that! I'm done with my exams! Forget it.

#4. Do you surf?

A: Yeah, but I don't have a passion for it as Matthew Hayden does.

#5. Did you see RottenTomatoes' review for Inception?

A: Oh, what did that organisation do? Did they sue the film-makers? There wasn't any monkey business in the film.

#6. How well do you know about Pirate-bay?

A: I've heard of Hudson Bay, Bay of Bengal and others. Where on earth is Pirate Bay?

#7. Do you use Google Chrome?

A: Is that a new product in the market? I'm good at guessing. That's a dye, right? I've not tried it. How much is it priced?

#8. How long does it usually take for a mail to reach you?

A: It depends! The postman who delivers for us is usually drunk. You can't trust him!

#9. Can you send me a song via Gmail?

A: I don't understand why you are fussy about Gmail. Can't I send it through Fedex or Bluedart?

#10. Wikipedia is good. How much is it useful for you?

A: I've got a copy of Brittanica Encyclopaedia. Do you think I'll have to buy a copy of that too?

Saint Patrick's Day

A random check of the mails throws upon me a question, "Do you celebrate Saint Patrick's Day?"

The bug in me compounds the query with newer ones.

So what is Saint Patrick's Day, anyway?

A: It's more of a day of feasts, a day of pride for the Irish. 17th of March, it is celebrated on. Green colour it is synonymous with. It is on Saint Patrick's Day that Chicago river runs green (Paint it green!). A specific Wikipedia search will get you more trivia.

How do I remember Saint Patrick's Day?

A: Oh, not a big deal. A bit harsh, though. Wasn't it on the Saint Patrick's Day, 2007 that Pakistan lost to the Fighting Irish? That was a very good day for those advocating Green, maybe. I remember Rameez Raja guffawed, "there's definitely an edge!" and the replays showed that there was a feet's gap that separated the bat.

So what has that got to do with you?

A: It was on St. Patrick's Day, 2007 that Irish cricket team finally came to the fore. Bob Woolmer was dead in no time. And for Indian cricket fans, India had lost to Bangladesh, embarrassingly. Yet, to see their Arch-rival go down to the Irish meant less 'embarrassment', less mockery of India's performance at the world cup.

Alright! So what have you got to say now?

A: Saint Patrick's Day wishes! Enjoy a drink with a cassette of the famous Irish win. Visit Chicago river. Swim in it and turn up green the next day for work.

Cheers,

Gopsay