'Kandu' days

P.B Shelly should have added to his poem - "And when spring comes, can winter be far behind?"

The notice for mess fees showed up, and I have to pay 14k for all the rice and dal I'm supposed to intake in the next few months. Dad down-voted the plea for allowing the amount exclusive over my recently beefed up expense allowance, and instead, he passed only a 7k over it, of which I had already burned up a 3k on miscellaneous expenses that I have no account of, which leaves me with just enough money for the fees and a 300k for a months expense! This is not going to be a jolly semester!

Back at home I was too sick with Dad being always mad on us, and I finally lost my temper when he went all 'Hitler' on my little sis, and shouted at him. He seemed shocked and hurt at my reaction. Nothing hurt more than hurting him, and I was too dumb to not apologize. I know he is a good man, just a bit off at the moment, tired and burdened down by the responsibilities he is struggling to keep up.

Kandakashani (omen of bad luck and miseries) , whom we call "kandu" with love, doesn't end here. Waking up at 5 or walking all the way to railway station, or waiting four hours in the tatkal queue couldn't get me a confirmed ticket for the journey back to college. I had to book for Biju and Vineesh too, and it seems I was way too optimistic to hope waiting list 34 would secure us seats. The Ayyappa devotees had conquered up every nook and corner of the train, and we enjoyed a door step journey on the S5 compartment of Korba Express, sleepless and muscle cramped, added to the pleasure of having company of a bunch of young north Indian girls, probably here on a tour, who would 'face wash' every alternate stations, and spill water all over and mess up our temporary seat (floor), and would sing along horrible songs aloud. Sleep rescued us for the rest of the night, as we crawled up on the berth we finally managed from Chennai.

Spring!

“If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” P.B. Shelly must have had lost his wallet when he wrote the poem!

As heartbroken I was after the Mysore tragedy, the relief came in when Dad announced that he has deposited 10k in my account, for my expenses for the next semester. I hadn’t told him that I lost my ATM card, or my wallet in that case, for the reaction would be terrible, he had already tortured me enough last time I misplaced my voter ID card. I had to rush to the bank to apply for a replacement. I have enough money now to recover all the tangible losses I had suffered. The other good news came in the form of our exam result, I have made it again! No supplementary for the fourth time in a row. Many would be surprised to see me this happy at passing exams, I used to be a topper at School. The college has had its toll on me… *SIGH*

And I haven’t slept this much before, I hardly remember the last time I had woken up satisfied with my sleep. I sleep day and night, until a frustrated dad threatens me to wake up, and not because I am done with my sleep. And I haven’t been drinking milk as much before. It started when I tried this Badam milk mix at home, it started with one glass a day, gradually increased to a half litre packet a day, and now peaks at one and half packet a day. And I have already emptied two ‘half kg bottles of Badam milk mix’, which I must admit, wasn't an inexpensive habit.

The pongal and unprecedented hartals have extended the holidays for another week and I am already tired of being at home, thanks to an ever complaining dad.

#desp

Mysore miseries

Why Karnataka?

Why you do this to me? Last time I visited Bangalore, I was pickpocketed. It was my beloved camera then. This time, Mysore has got my wallet, the hard saved 700 bucks out of 1000 my mom had managed to extract out of a bankrupt dad for my expenses at Mysore during the NOSPlan convention, along with all the ID cards and ATM cards, and the reliance shopping card, and a few Gulf currencies and a bunch of passport photos of my friends, and the 10 Rs coin my little brother had given me for safekeeping.

After the sleepless night in the crowded general compartment of Yeshwantpur express train, all I wanted to do at Mysore was to sleep. The cruel arms of fate had me awake whole night next day helping Utkarsh with Collage and Preetam with Master plan documentary. Before I could rest my bums again, the sun had peeked over the horizon, it was a beautiful misty Sunday morning. I had to set out for the hunt for my shot at Photography competition on “Ethnic Element”. I roamed around the lake by the Mysore University, crowded with joggers of every age group. I stumbled along them photographing lake birds and morning sun. There were no sign of ethnicity around, or may be my head was so dysfunctional after the hours of no sleep.

After breakfast, I had the company of Binil and Biju for the photo hunt. We roamed around the city photographing that Muslim woman in hijab, and the bullock kart by the Mysore palace, but none of the clicks were satisfying. We walked till we reached the zoo, from where we finally gave up and caught the bus back to City Bus stand. After paying for the tickets, I was too drowsy, I didn’t bother to put back my wallet on the pant pocket, instead tucked it between my thighs on the seat and before I knew, I was dozing. Binil woke me up when we reached bus stand. It was 1 at noon, and I had to submit the photograph by 2. We were thirsty after the long stroll, we decided to stop by the soda shop, I offered to pay the bills and checked my pocket, that’s when it dawned on me. I had forgotten my wallet on the bus.

I ran back to the bus, but the damage was done. Either the bus had already left and I checked in the wrong bus, or the wallet was already stolen, I tried in vain reporting to the conductors and supervisors and police post, they wouldn’t understand Hindi or English, So we had to use a mixed Telugu-Tamil-Hindi-English hybrid language, with actions, to communicate with them. They asked me to report a FIR at Devaraja Police Station. The SI was too uninterested in my tale, that he kind of “GET OUT”ed at me diplomatically, asking me to get a notary sign an affidavit before I could post a complaint. Meanwhile Biju went all suicidal taking the blame on himself for being the third man in the photo hunt, which was a bad omen according to Binil.

I didn't know what hurt the most, the hard “saved” money or the hard “earned” ID cards. I had lost my Voter ID, and I have already experienced the pain of applying for a duplicate one, both from a querulous dad, and the dodgy officers. The election was around the corner and I don’t think I can make it. AAP has got all the attention and BJP was gaining momentum with people frustrated on congress, and people were eating, drinking and sleeping politics. Thank God I had left my original driving licence back at home and was using a clone. College ID can easily be retrieved by paying a hundred bucks, and I reported at the bank to block my ATM. My reliance shopping card must have had earned considerable points, given, Binil had used it for his shopping too. And for the Oman currencies it had, it would total around another two hundred rupees of worth value, but I had kept them for their emotional value. Why God?! Why?

And for the photography competition, at 2 PM, I was desperately running around the bus stand, with the camera around my neck, enquiring at every conductors of the buses from “zoo” going towards “college” about the lost wallet, and at the program hall, Rohit submitted his shot from Srirangam of the ‘Diyas’ behalf of me, and to add up to the wound, the photograph won a third prize.

And when I was back home, I did a commendable performance at not giving away the news to people at home. I had a reputation at home for being careless, and out-of-world, and for destroying things. I didn't want to add another star to my records. 2 weeks later, I was back at college, I had a call from Home.

"What happened to your wallet?" Dad was on the other side.

"Umm… err... How did you know?" Binil had posted the photo of my complaint letter in Facebook earlier that day. My sister might have sold me out to parents.

"I lost it at Mysore." I confessed.

"Why didn't you tell us? Why did you lie about your ATM card?" The other day I had gone to bank for getting a duplicate for the lost ATM card, and while I was coming back home, I was caught by dad, and I lied my ATM card was damaged, that I went for a duplicate.

"Umm… You people would have killed me alive if I had told you." I took a jab at him.

It worked? He didn't question me further. He gave me a short lecture on being cautious and serious and those stuffs, shortly followed by another lecture on the same by mom.

PHEW! That was easy. But something was fishy. I had foreseen an impact that would measure a 9 point in a Richter scale but he was as calm as a 5 pointer today.

Next day, my little brother broke in the twist! The thief had sent home all the stuffs in the wallet by post, except the money and wallet, of course.

Long live honest thieves!