How emotional are tele-sales people? The answer is that they are too emotional. They can cry at the other end of the phone, if you want them to do so. They can sympathize and empathize as well. Something like that happened with me.

The phone kept on ringing so early in the morning and an unknown number that the phone displayed on its delicate screen with illumination and background music claimed its responsibility. When I realized that ignoring a phone call can’t be ignored any further, I picked up the call and made a snake-long ‘hello’ weirdly skewed by a wake-up yawn!

‘Hello Sir, Good Morning! Am I speaking to Mr Santosh?’

‘Yes, you are speaking to me’

‘Sir I’m Pooja, calling from YCYCY bank. Can I speak to you for 2 minutes?’, she told me meekly.

‘See, I have not yet got up from my bed... could you call me up a little later?’

‘But Sir, I’ll take only 2 minutes… and this is to inform you about a new Credit card we have launched in the market’

I did not say anything.

‘Sir, this is a special credit card from our bank. We have launched this product 2 months back and it’s only meant for esteemed customers like you’

‘What did you say?’, I was waiting for an opportunity.

'Sir, this card is only meant for esteemed customers like you’ She repeated the last sentence.

'No.. not that.. I heard something you said about launching the card’ There was a chance for me.

‘Yes sir, that we have launched this card 2 months back’ she said confidently.

‘You said WHEN? ’ I got the curious tone.

‘2 months back, Sir’ she became slightly impatient that that ‘Sir’ was a bit loud.

‘And you are telling me now??’ The plate got turned.

‘What sir? I did not understand’ There was no clue for her.

‘You had launched such a great product, you knew that I was an esteemed customer, and you are telling me after 2 months??’ Melancholy added flavor to my words.

‘You tell me something…. will you go for a wedding for which you are not invited?’ There was no gap for her to talk.

‘No sir.. but..’ She wasn’t getting the issue.

‘Yeah, you won’t… this is something like that… you should have told me earlier!!’

‘Sir.. we are sorry..’

‘No ma’m, I’m utterly disappointed… you have spoiled my mood for the day..’ That was touching.

Sorry sir.. we didn’t intend to hurt you like this…’ Her heart must have melted.

‘Ok.. do one thing, you keep the phone.. let me sleep for some more time… I’ll be alright…’

‘Ok sir.. sorry once again..’ She was very humane.

‘Don’t bother… tell them not to call me again…I’m pissed off with your bank..’ That was really effective.

‘Sure sir… don’t worry, thank you’

‘Ohh thanks’

I couldn’t sleep anymore, as I wanted to tell this to at least one person. That day I had a great laugh.

Sure, someday someone will write a book on how to discourage tele-callers from calling meddling into our lives. Perhaps this one would get a commendable place among the ideas.

To propose a girl, you can’t be funny. If she doesn’t like your fun, you are screwed.

But you can be crazy. Here is an example.

Lena told me last day about the latest proposal she has received. A guy, who she knew from long back, holds all the credit to be mentioned here as he has not only proposed to her, but also has set high standards to his male counterparts!

He proposed her on phone. The summary of the conversation is here.

Dear Lena.. I know you from past so many years and you know me too. But do we know each other the way we really wanted to? So I just thought of calling you up. In case if you had any romantic feelings towards me, you can tell me right now! Otherwise tomorrow, if I get engaged with some other girl, you should not feel that I have been ignoring you!

Good way to deal right?

Any way, I really don’t care what happened next as this girl has nothing much to do with me. She would have possibly accepted it as this guy was handsome and from healthy backgrounds!

Dealing with techies is more of diplomacy than technical. If you don’t have the knack, they could probably squeeze your brain to spill out your good moods and all aspirations to survive around them. You will think of the worst possible ways of murdering yourself, licking a power cable (than licking their feet) or jumping off the tallest building with an anvil-stone tied on your neck (than them throwing stones at you) or something more worse your would opt for.

It’s about those software engineers in IT companies that I’m talking about. If you are fated to become a touch-point with the techies in your organization, you would agree with me with your hands up. They have the notorious traditions of behaving badly to their non-techie colleagues when it comes to work. If you say “Yes”, they will say “No”, you say “No” they will certainly say “Yes” for no reasons. This happens mostly in medium-sized organizations, where everyone connects with everyone.

I have experienced this crisis once upon a time while working for a company named Enable Mobile Technologies. Posted between techies and other departments in the organization, I have found red in each and every moment of my professional life. Though they were good friends outside the office, what was domineering was this out-on-your-face behavior, which was sometimes above what I could bear with. Though none of my gimmicks changed them, I did change, from bossy to angry and arrogant to funny!

One day, something they said was very unprofessional though I had no option but to get the work done. I begged for their cooperation, which I had found absent even in then slightest thoughts. They nodded heads with NO written on their face.

I came back to my table, hanged my head down on my hands. I fancied of getting this work done without any hassles. Suddenly one idea struck me. I opened my e-mail and started writing a new mail to my CEO.

“Dear Atul,

You have placed me here not to fail as a Project Coordinator, but to get the work done under any contrasting circumstances.

I have met with failure in getting done my latest project, and I thought I should let you know about this without you asking me about the same.

Absence of cooperation from the tech team has resulted in this unfriendly situation, and I wouldn’t like to name anyone at this time.

I wouldn’t like to work with them anymore and please accept this as my formal resignation letter.

Yours Faithfully,

Santosh G Wilson"

I sent a copy of this mail to the above mentioned guys also. The moment they received this, they got skewed and came up to me.

‘Why did you do this?” One of them asked.

‘I have my prestige.. love it or leave it, that’s what I believe in’ I retorted.

‘But we didn’t tell you we wouldn’t do it.. we were just telling you some technical improbabilities..’ he said in a calming voice.

‘But I sent the mail already’

‘But.. we.., it wasn’t fine man.. you shouldn’t have done this.. Now what will our plight be?’

‘That’s fine guys… You got enough time to do it... Please do it and let’s see if things can go vice-versa.’ I said artfully.

They went back expressively. Later, they sat together with me and drilled down the pros and cons of the project that was stuck. They took every effort to save the project and save our jobs. Ultimately, the project came out successfully.

On the eve of the project launch, I have shared the same e-mail with my tech friends. They did not understand why I was so inclined to the mail once again.

‘This mail got our work done’ I said.

‘Yes, we agree’

‘But our CEO still doesn’t know about this mail!!!’

‘What??’

‘Yes, look at the mail once again.. look at whom did I sent it to..’

‘But... we can see that you sent it to the CEO… then what are you coming into??’

I showed them how I manipulated the email by writing the CEO’s email id in a misspelled manner. Instead of atulzaveri@enablem.com, it was written atulzaveri@enablen.com.

All of us laughed.

Later on, we never had any problems in getting any works done. Together, we marched along! See, you always need a trick to track the techies!

If you scuff your memories on my older posts, you may reach my ancestral village Edamon once again. You may meet up our old maid named Panikkathi as well.

Panikkathi used to tell us stories of ghosts and fiends. Today I thrust them aside as superstitions and falsehood, though once I lived in the tip of fear listening to her stories. This is one such story of a ghost, whom Panikkathi had encountered during her creditable journeys into the woods.

There was this mountainous woods lying close to my ancestral house, beside the meter gauge railway track that separated the house and connected the Punalur to Sengottai. The woods had given the entire village a dusky overlay. With sky-high trees filled the land, light hardly entered into the woods. Shadows rarely escorted the bodies as darkness ruled the days than light. Life was numb and emotions were stuck in the womb of fear. Every moment there asked for courage.

Panikkathi used to go to the woods alone. With a sickle fixed tightly on to her waist cloth, she would walk into and fade out in the darkness, singing songs for a favorable setting. The dead and grounded leaves would grumble her steps with craggy noises but she wouldn’t bother. Trees would stand still, watching her passing them one by one.

One day, it was late when Panikkathi set out to the woods. The Sun was at the end of its trail and darkness spread sooner than usual.

Panikkathi made her moves quicker. The earlier she could cut the grass, the earlier she could return to her home. She went past the silent woods and cribbing crickets. Owls looked down at her audacity. She kept on walking as she could not find grass enough to cut. At the end she had reached the peak of the mountain. She found lots and lots of grass to cut.

As it was the topmost place, the land looked brighter. As Panikkathi bent to cut the grass, she heard the clanging noise of bangles. She looked around. To her surprise, she found a young girl sitting a few meters away from her. Facing the Sun setting, she was sitting on a rock bed. Clothed in red, she looked blood-stained, and her luxurious hair had flowed down her back. Panikkathi was not sure of approaching her. From behind, Panikkathi made her wavering steps towards the lonely girl. In a hand’s distance, she stopped. Tenderly she asked, “Dear girl, what are you doing here alone?”

The girl looked back at her. The very moment, the hair that covered her back had moved to her side, and what was seen was horrible. She had no skin at the back!! Her bones were visible similar to viewing a skeleton. She had no eyes. Two dark holes were left.

Tenderly she replied to Panikkathi, “Go home... This is not a good place to stay"

Panikkathi did not think twive. She ran back! She ran down the valley like a horse running away from hounds. Somehow she reached home. She was said to be unwell for a week or more. Later she shared her experience with others.

“Could be an unlucky girl cheated by some men…. Thank God, she spared me!!” she was telling me.
Love or fear, from then, she started lighting a special lamp for the young girl's sake.

Joseph had called yesterday. He wanted to know about Board Painters (Artists)!! I had given him a few clues as where to find them. Later he told me that he had finally passed his MBA and wanted to display JOSEPH MATHEW MBA in front of his house!

Too many jokes nowadays! I forgot to laugh at that time.

By the time I reached for the Airforce Officers’ recruitment, the queue had grown like an acromegalic python. Tailing myself to the hundreds-long line, I looked at my Dad, who was standing beside me as my moral cheerleader. “No chance” I tossed my brows, looking at the hundreds arrayed ahead.

It was the zonal level recruitment process for Junior Air force Officers that was going to happen there. People had come from every edge of the state and I was also one of them. Though started early from home, I could make it only at the end of this large queue, which sprouted from the famous Marthoma School that stood on a tiny mount in the heart of the town. The queue looked zigzag from beneath, as if forcibly bent by the road on which it stood: when the road bent right the queue bent right, when the road bent left, the queue also bent left.

As the school ground was opened for the written test, the queue found its way into it. The big ground ate the queue so quickly and the test started off in a short time.

Almost eight hundred candidates had come for the test and the available seats were just 60. Questions on English grammar, general knowledge and more were listed on the question paper and the time was just 30 minutes.

Suspense prevailed in the school premises once the test was over. Some of the guys had already left, as they had performed so miserably in the test and thus there was no hope left for them. Others waited impatiently for the result announcement, which was bound to happen in a short while.

The results came through a loudspeaker announcement. One of the Officers came forward and read the names of victorious candidates. The ones, whose names were announced, went forward and stood near the officer. The result announcement was almost over. Only three or four people left to complete the required seats. I looked outside as to find a way to get out before the whole scene gets over and it becomes difficult to walk out. My Dad was more optimistic and asked me to wait till the last. It was Candidate 59. My hopes were already sunk but I still looked up to see who was going to be the 60th hero of the day.

“The next candidate is….”, I looked around as to see who would raise a hand or shout a “It’s me”.

“ ……..Santosh Wilson”, the announcer paused.

“ Heh! Was that me?” After making sure that there was no other Santosh Wilson, I smiled at my Dad. The officer asked to me to join the Bandwagon and I was supposed to answer him with some details.

“ What is your age?” He asked me looking into my High school certificate.

“16 years sir”

“Ok, Date of Birth?”

“Eleven Four Nineteen Eighty…..I paused, two or three? If you had asked me what was my biggest confusion in life that time, I would never think again to say my date of birth. I had to remember two date-of-births, as in my records the date of birth was entered differently.

“What? “You forgot your date of birth? “ Though he asked the question to me only, it went beyond even the thousands of ears which surrounded me.

Laughter. Kookoooys. I sweated.

“Two sir” I completed.

“You don’t even remember your date of birth. Isn’t by wonder that you have passed this test?”

“Then it is Eleven Four Nineteen Eighty Three sir.. I’m sure” I negotiated like a Mysore street seller.

“Hmm… ok… all of you are selected.. come tomorrow for your Medical Fitness Tests” He winded up the whole drama.

Next day. Medical Fitness test.

The test would take two days. First day the candidates were supposed to undergo medical tests and the next day would be physical fitness rounds.

What followed was tragic. While stepping into the camp room, I never thought even in my wildest dreams that I would have to strip my clothes. Sad part was that I was not alone. The whole gang had been in the room, stripped off already, and watching others stripping. Cool and comfortable, they were sitting there in their best possible poses. They smiled, as they watched my confusion.

‘What have you got in your pants, gold coins?”, they looked at me tellingly. Without any further hesitation, I removed my outfits and joined the underwear party! Some red, some blue, some torn and some grayed, in general, it was a Communion of Underwears.

As time passed, the striptease came out to be more shameful. I told you already that the premise was belonged to a school. As the school time approached, boys and girls had chirped in to the place. They peeped, squeaked and did everything they could do, just to have a glance and a naughty smile.

“Lying Naked
exposed and defenceless,
to the knives and swords
that are words.
Only a thin blanket
of self worth,
to cover my cold and open
heart.”

Our sufferings came in the form of hopeless frowns at each other. The whole day, we found us sitting in the lounge waiting patiently for our turns to go in and get tested. I had noticed that the ones who came out of the room had an ugly expression on their face.

During my turn, I went inside in silence. I had no guess of what was going to happen.

“Come here” One of the doctors told me. I went to him.

“Remove this” He pointed down at me.

“Err.. sir.. this is my last…. I have not worn anything inside this” I tried to educate him of the deadly situation.

“What?”

He did not get me. So he did what I did not do. I stood aghast!

“Good.. Now cough”. He ordered as if holding my remote control on his hands.

I obeyed him like a tamed beast.

“That’ it…. Alright.. go and wait” I was relieved. I couldn’t help having the same ugly expression from clouding my face.

There were few more tests that took two complete days to get over. And one of the last was Feet test. I was told that I had a ‘Pes Caves Foot’. Arched Foot, it meant. It axed my chances.

I wasn’t unhappy. I was still in the striptease mood. All I felt was a getaway in getting out.

Out in the waiting room my Dad was there. I gave him my Report card. He looked at it for once. Then slashed it into maximum pieces possible and flung it in the ground.

Didn’t he say “damn it!”??? Because he never liked failures.



((Poetry- Thanks to Mr David Anthony)

I was moved. From the height of pride to the bottom of vulnerability. The grime of misfortune stank my senses and spoiled the mood. I cried aloud in mind.

It’s all about a mother. A mother with HIV. A mother of 3 kids. I was watching a TV news program called Kannadi and this plight of a mother stuck me in.

She was gifted with AIDS by her husband, who died a year before: leaving her to fight for life, oh no, not just for her life alone, but also for her 3 blossomed kids. Later, she went to her native village in Kerala with her kids.

Surprise! Nobody discarded them! They were allowed to stay there. Aids means help too, the good men of that village stood by the word!

But one condition; the kids shouldn’t be staying with the mother. The villagers feared that the non-HIV kids too would get affected if they stayed with her. So they split them and put them up in a childcare home, like how we pluck flowers one after the other and throw them all into a basket.

She stood there with a smile that conquered the world watching her. It was a smile of having nothing to hope for. Her smile drilled into the world, which addressed her as a mother! Hey World, you have succeeded in splitting the motherhood and the childhood, but could you ever cut the umbilical cord of love that flooded around you?? You can’t.

It’s not about AIDS. It’s not about a widow’s woeful life. It’s all about the partition. It’s only about the wall built in between a mother and her wingless children. Whatever she is, there is no better justice than letting her stay with her kids!

Moral: Dying is inevitable. Dying of AIDS is just not.

Making money comes so naturally as an instinct! From lollypopping boys to age-over uncles, every one is by default money-keen. We drink, we breathe and we money-make-think. Making money is a such an obsession for all of us, a fact I came to affirm yesterday.

Long time after posting my last entry, I have been awaiting such a good spark of inspiration.

I saw Pizza Hut guys making money out of their work within their work time. They made money with a simple thought, which I had to appreciate in mind saying Hurray!!

The two guys who go to the same route for home deliveries would meet at a certain junction after delivering the pizza. From that point, one guy would stop his scooter’s engine as the other one would push it with leg. Doing like this a dozen of times a day, they would save a whole lot in their petrol budget and pocket a good deal of money at the end of the day.

What else to say than Hurray!, when these guys are making money not only smartly, but greenly too?

Philip Kotler is a well-known marketing guru. After him, I would prefer Mathiyas, Mani and Naseer Bhai. Standing together, they had developed a well-planned marketing technique that spun wonders. Rather than a marketing mantra, this wonderful idea should be addressed as a drama, perfectly enacted to attract attention and create action, and its success could stand atop of all those written and recited Marketing theories to play buffoon of them.

Their world was not as big as you might have believed by chance. Instead, they operated in the premise of a petite bus stand situated in the heart of Pathanamthitta, a small town in Kerala. What they sold was nothing but Idlis. Fresh and homemade.

Pathanamthitta needs an introduction.

It has been the slowest town I have ever been to. In my memories, the town lies like a long snail forgot to move on. In a better contrast, it is like a precious chronograph kept slow, consciously by God. Letting people to stay longer and laud.

Garlanded by mountain buds and silhouetted by trees, the town could impress its strongest seal in anyone’s mind. Hidden behind the posters announcing jewelry inaugurations and futile party congresses, trees and electric posts on roadsides would throw you a smile; like a baby, who felt shy for being found naked. Spotted with people walking, like affected by the nothingness of constant hartals ritually announced, the roads would lead you to eternal jubilation. In fact, they would pilot you like a tourist guide. Protruded into the walkways and public roads, with tempting bust-boards, jewelry shops and silk sari showrooms would invite you, like harlots flying winks to take you in. You would wink back and keep walking. Private buses, named affectionately after their owners' wives and kids, would slap you with wind blown like cyclones, as their silly drivers keep on overtaking each other as though they are in Formula One.

You would be stolen. From you.

Standing some years apart, grating the memories the town gave when I was a young, supple boy, a student of Catholicate College, I have no stop for words. Like a beehive, memory-bees twirl around me, buzzing notes of fun and honeyed hilarity.

The Three Marketeers is half imaginary and half true. A sphinx story. Half-human half-animal type. Hah, a story, which has actually a half story in it!

It was said that initially, three were doing individual idli selling at various points in Pathanamthitta. What united them was severe competition from new idli market entrants, and so they stood together, like old dogs unite to fight the new ones. Like senior players fight the juniors. It was essential.

The marketing gimmick was simple. With the handheld packets of Idlis, Mani would enter a bus, which was parked in the bus stand to start off in a while. For a time, he would look at the passengers with a smile, which would return him some curious frowns back. In a clear-cut, sweet-tongued language he would depict the qualities of the idli he was carrying. ‘Fresh and home made’. ‘Salted and non-sticky’ ‘Chutney made of fried coconut grates’ ‘Only five Rupees per serve’ ‘If don’t like don’t pay’ etc etc.

Nobody would even seem to be interested. All his audience would turn their heads and look for something interesting outside the windows. Except one person; Mathiyas.

Dressed in a glowing jubba (A gents wear like kurta, rich middle aged men use to wear in Kerala) Mathiyas would look like a rich Malayali entrepreneur owning Rubber estates in Kottayam. The Golden (gold-like) ornaments on his body would substantiate that he belonged to one of those ‘achayans’ cult.

In loud, imposing voice he would call Mani; “Dey Ivde Vaa”

Looking at the Idli packets and its seller, Mathiyas would then ask for one sample Idli…; “Orennam kodu nokkatte”. Before jabbing the idli into his wide open mouth, he would sweetly remind that he wouldn’t pay if it was not tasty.

Like forcibly sinking the sun into the sea, he would soak the idli neck-deep into the chutney and then take a bite. He would relish the idli in his mouth, as if he had found the best idli ever, and look around to spread the ‘good news’ among his fellow passengers. He would look at Mani and say, “Super! Adipoli Idli, I wouldn’t mind eating the whole what you have”

Wondered by the big man’s grand appreciation of the Idlis, people would look at Mani. If such a gentleman can eat in the bus like an ordinary man, why shouldn’t we, they would think. One by one, they would buy Idlis and eat.

Cut to Naseer Bhai. Wrapped in a Mulla’s attire, he would call Mani from outside. Like his favorite Idli seller in the town, he would talk to Mani. He would bring in the good qualities of the Idlis and declare how much his family liked the Idlis. At the end, he would ask for 2 packets for his family and leave the scene.

What would happen next should be called as a festival of idlis. People, who hesitated to buy the Idlis initially, turn the scene upside down. All of them would buy, some of them would eat there itself, some would take home, some would buy again, some would ask for more chutney and some would even request for a free home delivery. Mani would serve them all, like an obliged attendant.

In the evenings, the Three Marketeers would sit together in the crown of a nearby hill called Chuttippara and share the profit of the day, which would be more than 3 folds of their basic expenses.

Though for a short time, they did wonderful business. Later, it was said that they had gone to Gulf as part of extending their business.

Mr. Kotler, are you listening?

We can miss things by a second and loss them forever. A whole lot of things; even a loving grandfather.

It was our Christmas vacation, and we, Vinod, Prabha and me, were thrilled to be at Edamon, a place where our grandparents used to live alone. We came here to spend the whole ten days’ vacation.

Edamon has a nostalgic grasp in our lives. We used to live there earlier. We finished our primary schooling in this majestic land… the slinky canal flowing beside our house took us the first lessons of swimming… We rode our first cycle through the dust-filled roads of this place… The caning I had received with screech from Joykutty sir in the 4th standard of Govt Lower Primary School has its piquant reminiscence even toGday. I along with my brother, used to buy beedis from Pathumma Beevi’s shop and smoke them all hiding in Guard sir’s murky rubber estate! By now, you must have got a clear hint that how poignantly we had been affected by this place. Well, let’s come back; I will tell you more about Edamon later in another story.

Upon our arrival, Christmas was officially announced in the house. A beam of smile had dawned and spread across the old parent’s faces; like a beam of light cheep into a closed room all of a sudden. A flamboyant Christmas tree was put up, adorned with hanged lightings, color papers and stars. Our grandpa was an expert in making Christmas stars. As our arrival was pre-decided, he had already made all the arrangements to make stars. He cut bamboo in to small bendy sticks, and tied them with tags. With the help of papers and glue, he finally carved out an attractive star, which had six big corners. We hanged it in front of the tree and lighted a candle inside it.

A Christmas carol was performed in front of the tree and there was no other audience other than our exhilarated grandparents. We were treated with kisses. It’s great to be blessed by your grandparents, isn’t it?

The night was amazing. All the five of us slept on a single bed specially made. Stories were told, upon which dreams weaved wings and one of the most beautiful and obsessing nights was being flowed away.

The next day was a Sunday. The morning was promising a long day to kick-start our vacation lookouts. Swimming, trekking, fishing and every groovy option was on the list, and to begin with, church going wasn’t an option but a must-to-do.

Breakfast was on the table and everyone except my brother and me was there. We weren’t in the premises. Later we were told that our grandmother called us as aloud as she could. But those calls weren’t reaching our eardrums.

We missed a breakfast with our grandfather.

It was with our grandpa that we used to go to church. This day, he felt uneasy and we started off alone.

We missed him walking with us.

Before we could reach the church, Panikkathi, our helper came from home and told us that our grandfather was not well and he wanted to urgently meet us.

We ran back. We didn't talk anything. We threw our legs roughly into the dried up rice fields and their narrow walkable bunds; three hearts beat at the same rumbling pace!

On the way, we heard someone saying, 'He is no more'. We didn’t hear it.

But the sight at home wasn’t familiar to us. We had never seen so many people standing near our small house before. Cornered here and there, they threw silence at each other. Their gloomy eyes stared at us mercifully and attended us with care as we slowly stepped into the house.

In front of us, our grand father was lying, blanketed, like a white cloud flowing in the air of prayers. His eyes were closed like a flower fell on the ground. His toes were tied and nose was blocked. Smell of agarbatti filled our senses and we felt that it was not him who was lying there.

Tears were not stopped. The love he gave us came out as tears and we had nothing to stop them. Was he just a grandfather to us? No way. He was our teacher; he taught us in the Sunday schools. He was our mate in the fields. He was our fruit-vendor; he gave us from mangoes to jackfruits to eggfruits. He was our friend; with whom we took baths in the nostalgic rivulet called chirattakonam. Nearby that rivulet, he had secretly fed a rat-snake christened by him as ‘kumar’. One day we found him feeding Kumar and that made us jealous of the snake. We were attached to him so intensely. Above all that he was a gentle man we could take pride of. V K George. That’ was not just a name for him. That was an address.

At that moment, we didn’t really realize what were about to miss. Tears had sunk our emotions and sobbings our thinking. We were sure of only one thing that our grandfather was not going to be with us any more. That no other home-made star would adorn our Christmas trees. That neither he would walk with us to the fields nor bring sweetest jackfruits freshly picked.

There was a smile on his face. It shined his face like the way the stars he made shined our faces. Looking at me it said, "never miss a chance to be with your parents, ever in your life!"

Young sister of mine later told me that she had seen the soul of our grandpa riding up in the air like a seraph, tinted by the scented smoke hailed from agarbattis burnt in front of his dead body. His spirit was white in colour.

No, I didn’t intend it. Don’t call it a prank.

April Fool’s Day takes me back to the past like a mad cow chewing all day’s grubby grass-rolls with a fascinating smile. With a demure slightness, the day pings back all those ‘horseplays and fooling arounds’!

A simple prank proved out to be a bit worrisome last year. I had called up my friend 3G’s (name changed to provoke him) momma in Kerala and gave her some shocking news! I informed her that he got married in Mumbai and was coming back home. With ample seriousness and convincing voiceover, she was told that this wife of him was a Punjabi, the only daughter in her family and hence the Sardarjis in Mumbai were about to make a riot in search of the girl. 3G was on his way of eloping with his wife.

The poor lady just asked me what I was saying as she couldn’t believe what I was saying. Her voice tapered and she was about to break down. She made a shrill cry and handed over the phone to his sister, who was watching all these.

Poor 3G, no one in this planet can think of him doing like that. Why about eloping and marrying, he even stays away from looking at a girl right for a while! But this mom believed with pain that her son got changed once he came to Mumbai 2 months before.

His sister told me that her mom was not feeling well. I couldn’t hold it any more as I got frightened that something wrong would happen. I told her that it was a prank directed by me. Though she did not really understand the meaning of April Fool’s day, she didn’t abuse me over the phone!

During my schooling days with my brother, innovative pranks used to give us brakeless laughter. Once we had created a ‘paper tiger’. We coiled rubber bands tightly on a matchstick and wrapped it in gift wrapper. At various crucial points on the walkway, we placed them and hid near to watch the fun. I still remember one of our innocent victims who took it with utmost care. After confirming that no one was watching him, he opened it like a greedy dog ragging a food trash. In a moment, he got shocked as the rubber band loosened matchstick and it created a krrrrrrrrrrrrr sound on the paper! Sure, our victim was not having a nice time! Wasn’t it creaky?

Another outstanding prank I did was with a friend, Jose. We superglued coins on some public places and roads. And the result was beyond our laughing limits!

Along with its fun, April Fool’s day has its difficult moments too. As an active prankster, you tend to disbelieve others even if they tell you actual facts. Theeppathi Muthalali died on April 1, but we refused to believe the person who first brought the news. Muthalali was a businessman and he used to run the main grocery store in Edamon, a place where we used to live. By the time we confirmed his death, he went under the soil.

One more April Fool’s day is in. My friends, I don’t really know what I should do to all of you. But 3G, Joseph and Jose, be sure, there is something on your way!! And of course, you too dear Jackass!!

‘Bed Bugs’ rhymes well. But make our life, a hell!

Bed bugs won’t care whether you are a male or female, cool or sentimental or whether your blog is growing. Come in group, they’ll booze your blood as if a Cranberry Bacardi Breezer.

The beauty of your nights and the story of your dreams will together turn to a nightmare as these sleep-slayers dine on your body.

I had days when I left my body wholeheartedly to their grand feasts. With me, one of my close friends, Santosh Kumar too had these ‘bugrighted’ days. We used to stay in a house in Coimbatore, where I did my PG Advertising Degree.

He had a bed, I, a mat, but we never slept! The bed bugs cheered all through!

An incidental story has its time here. 'Bed Bugs Killer Machine'. The Classified Advertisement read. ‘Kill all the bed bugs and put an end to your sleepless nights! .Original price Rs 1000. Our price, just 500’.

Uncle Johny couldn’t hold his excitement! In addition to writing for one, he went on to enlighten the neighbors with the news, since he thought that their life too would be as depressed as his own due to the prying bed bugs.

The news spread anticipation. Uncle Johny’s Bed Bug Machine came by post.

The Post Man came running. With him, a procession of eager villagers too.

Well packed in a hard-paper box, the machine evinced something special about it. Uncle Johny came forward. He seized the machine from the post man. With a kind of smugness, he opened the box. A

wesome, there was another box inside that! As brows got raised, he opened the second one. What was taken out was startling, a hammer and a stone!

There was a message attached to the hammer! It read like this; ‘When you find a bed bug, catch it with your hand and place it on the stone. Take the hammer and knock lightly till the bug dies’.

Later someone told that Uncle Johny had regained his consciousness at night! Bed bugs help too!

Panikkathi was a servant of my grandmother. Dark and short, she was a bold woman of around 60 years old.

She belonged to a crazy gene as she used to do every weird thing in life such as smoking, drinking, dance after boozing etc.

During our childhood, she used to tell us stories of ghosts and fiends so that we wouldn’t get out of home at night to catch fireflies.

Catching fireflies was only meant for us, the luckiest kids like us!

What I wanted to tell you now is a melancholic note from Panikkathi’s life.

Panikkan was the husband of our heroin. He was an old sagely fellow, who took care of a temple nearby his home. One day he died leaving Panikkathi alone in this world. Between trembling nights, Panikkathi lived her lonely days.

One day, an old man from a distant place came to stay with Panikkathi. Panikkathi found it wholehearted to offer a stay to the homeless man.

Days passed like a brakeless car. And Love happened! Panikkathi was in love with that man! Having decided to be the better halves, they fixed a date for their wedding.

The auspicious day came. Dressed in her simple bridal clothes, Panikkathi came out. Like shy conquered, she was looking down and smiling to the floor. Panikkan’s temple was seemed to be a happy preface for her new life.

The registrar came! The registration book came! But the bridegroom did not come! He had gone out urgently to buy some stuff and not turned up yet!

Raising her face, Panikkathi found that there was no one near her! Neither the registrar nor the registration book! Like mocking her, a leaf fell down from a nearby coconut tree.

It was said that Panikkathi had collected a ‘big’ amount for her wedding and her bridegroom had taken her for a ride!

Between Nisha and me, there was a hand.

It came so sudden like a bolt from the blue, then chomped the love in her mind and spewed the debris to a grimy land of contempt.

I have been silent all these days. But now I feel that urge within me to put down those magic moments here to have your sympathies on the same.

It was the fourth week of our ripened relationship.

I met her in Lintas, where I had been doing my training (trailing, as they would put it). In a jiffy, we became friends and a bit more than that. If I‘m spot on, she was a 'Coconut' by legacy but a 'Dosai' by nature. She spoke excellent Tamil but understood my Malayalam as well. Those were my first days in Mumbai and I was overjoyed to have a wonderful companion like this.

Like every other day of our sprouting romance, this awful day also came without any warning.

I was supposed to meet her at 10 near Churchgate station but I was late to start from home. Came to the Santacruz railway station, the queue before the ticket counter took my breath for a second. Like a leech of thousand legs, it appeared to me as frustrating my morale. I decided to go illegal.

Churchgate station came in half an hour.

I saw her standing way ahead biting her nails.

She saw me reaching her like a bullet fired late.

Then came this ghastly hand. Wrapped in black cotton sleeves, it was of a decent ticket-checking officer.

He snared me with this wonderful hand of him. Though I was sure I hadn’t bought a ticket that day, I searched through my clothes pocket after pocket. Finally, the ticket I got was of 3 days old.

He had options to relieve me! Either pay Rs 300 as fine or spend a quality time in the Jail.

The total amount that he could excavate from my body came up to Rs. 50. He did not seem to be adherent at all.

From a distance, some one was watching all these sudden ‘twists and turns’ in the story. She looked at me like how the inspector looked at me… same disrespect, same incredulity. I lost myself.

She came forward and paid the man and released me from his custody. I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t getting any.

What more to say, that was our last meeting. She never came in my way afterwards. She had never waited for me in the corners of Churchgate station… And I never had to skip the queues too.

The hand still remains valid in my memories; like the ‘hand of a God’

She seemed to be my 'Would be'!
But soon I realized, She is my 'Wouldn't be'
Yesterday, she confirmed that she is my 'Shouldn't be'

Why should I recharge my mobile?

It’s YOU, who call me. I mean YOU ALL.

Then, why don’t you collect some funds and recharge my mobile?

Yes, do it.