Drunkards seem to be the pick of the week for me! I just keep running into them like hell, and they bug me to the point of near-insanity! After the rather bloviating encounter with this loquaciously-psychic ex-military guy at the train last Saturday, I had a skirmish with this inebriated trio of seniors at college today (13th March, Thursday). It turned out to be a fiasco of epic proportions, at least for my egotist-self. The rendezvous left me terse, depressed, and dejected all through evening. I still haven’t got over the whole damn thing yet, and that’s precisely the reason why I’m blogging about it. (A well-written post is the best stress-buster for a depressed blogger; take it from me!)
Statutory Warning: I’m writing this for myself, not for you, dear reader. So if you’ve come here for a quick flip; better leave. This is goanna be long (and even boring, for that matter). If you’re interested, read on. It won’t be a bad read, after all!
Btw, the readers are expected to ‘read between the lines’ (you’ll know what I mean soon)
I wasn’t exactly on the top of the world after my Electronic Circuits lab exam (University, no less!) that fateful day. Bad moods coupled with non-conditional CRO-probes made my easy question a tough nut to crack; the decent viva performance and partial output being my saving grace. A disheartening lunch with motley classmates actually added on to my appetite. Calling it a long day, I was heading home when my classmate who’d given me company remembered that he’d forgotten a book at the canteen. When he rushed back to get it, I offered to hold his heavy, 10-kilo bag (a decision I’ll regret later); waiting for him at the main entrance of my college.
I then notice two final-year seniors (self proclaimed ‘Royal Mexx’) trudge towards me arm-in-arm, shoulder-by-shoulder. Since I’m in talking terms with them, I wave a ‘Hi’, and smile. One’s ‘S’ and the other’s ‘A’.
A: Handsome guy. Cool dude with a penchant for smart tees. “I-rule-this-college” attitude.
S: Not as ‘qualified’ as his arm-mate. Duffer of sorts. Succinctly put, a pain-in-the-a$$ guy with braces in his ill-formed teeth. His attitude’s worse than A.
The inherent sway in their motion plus that obnoxious smell which permeated as they drew close enlightened me. The dudes are drunk!
S: “Enthuvaada, nee bag kachavadam thudaniyo? Ithentha kayyil randu bag?”
(Dude, why do you have 2 bags with you? Bag-mongering eh?”)
Me: “Aanennu koottikko! Entha chettanu veno?”
(If you say so! Why, you want one?)
S: “Dey, kooduthal moda kaanichal undallo… Nee eathu class il aa?”)
(Hey smartass, stop showing off! Which class are you from?”)
Me: “Ithennodu aaraamthe praavashyaam aanu chettan chodikkunnathu!”
(“You’re asking this to me for the sixth time!”)
S: “Parayeda… nee eathu class il aa?” (S’s ugly face contorts to total disarray)
(Stop blabbering. Which class are you from?”)
(What if I don’t tell you?)
S: “Ninte kaavalam adichu pottikkum!”
(I’ll beat you up!)
Me: “Pinne… kore pottikkum! Kuppi pottikkum! Ho, naareeettu vayya. Onnu maari ninne chetta!”
(Aw c’mon. You better go break your empty whisky bottles! Keep off, the smell’s gross! Yuck!)
I notice S’s expression morph into an inscrutable one. Quite uncharacteristic of him, A is silent all the while. Now, he starts talking.
A: (At s) “Vada namukku povam!” (At me) “Paranjapole ninte perentha?”
(C’mon man, let’s go.) (Btw, what’s your name?)
Me: “Njaan Hari. S4 IT”.
Without a further word, they disappear. I move around, schmoozing with fellow-GECians, when my friend runs to me with the book. We ride pillion in another friend’s Activa. He drops me at Law College Junction, from where PMG’s (a busy junction at Trivandrum) just a hundred metres away. As I walk, I get a call from my batch-mate at Mechanical, who asks me to return to college pronto for something urgent. I didn’t quite like the tone of his voice. Why’d he want me back? I’ve never talked to him even once this year. As I walk back half the distance, this guy comes to pick me up in his Karizma! Now, that’s quite odd. Something’s wrong somewhere.
After a quick display of the guy’s biking skills, I reach the college-gate in maybe five seconds. I notice three final years sitting by the steps, faces and expressions stern and tough. Joining S and A was T, a skinny but brainy and capable guy who used to be more friendly with me than the other two. T beckons the guy who brought me to leave, which he does: his face turning as stern, probably a notch more than his seniors. By now, I guessed the issue. I felt my stomach do a back-flip and a pump of adrenaline. Still, I keep a cool head, smiling gracefully at my seniors: asking innocently:
“Entha chettanmaare enne vilichathu?”
(Why did you guys call me?)
“Irikkade avide!” (Sit down!), S says, fingers pointed to the step below… It was a command.
“Oh. Ningal irikkumbo njaan nikkaano, bahumaanam okke…”)
(C’mon, I’m not supposed to sit when you’re sittin..)
The smile on my face is still prominent
“Bha! Panna ____ ! Ninnodu irikkaanalle paranjathu!”)
(You bloody M**#$*#@! Didn’t I ask you to sit?)
I flinch. The smile
prematurely-died. That was the first time someone verbally abused me, erm, in such ‘strong’ terms. I quietly obeyed.
S: “Ninakkenthaada, seniors ine bahumaanam ille?”
(Don’t you respect seniors?)
Me: “Athinu njaan enthu cheythu?”
(But, what did I do?)
S: “Nee eathu class il aanu?”
(In which class are you?)
(Cut the crap!)
S: “M@#$# ! T@#$#!! Maryaadyakku nee eathu class il aanennu paranjo!)
(You bloody M*********, tell me in which class you are!)
I’m harried. But I go by his words just to please him.
Me: “S4 IT!”
S: “Nee eathu class ila?”
Me (really angry this time): “S4 IT!”
S: “Nee eathu class ila?”
Me: “Mathi! Chetta… over aakalle!! Kudichu ennu paranjondu enthum kaanikkaam ennu thonnaruthu!”
(Enough’s enough! Don’t think you have the license to do anything ‘coz you’re drunk!)
S: “Bha… <long line of beeps. Fill in with the choicest Mallu abuses starting with ‘ത’, ‘മ’, ‘പു’, et al..>
Me: K “Ithenthu…”
S: “Nirtheda! Ninte moda okke njangal college il ninnum poyittu mathi, kettoda panna ______!”
(Stop you… Keep showing your bloody a$$ off after we pass out! )
T (in a matter-of-factly-tone) : “Eda. Nee seniors ine respect cheyyaan padikkanam. Seniorisnoodu bahumaanathodu perumaaranam!”
(You should learn to respect seniors!)
A torrent of emotions gripped me. It began with a sea of anger, at being verbally abused for no significant reason at the whims of an intoxicated duffer. The fit of ire saw me retort back with vigor, keeping my limits as a junior, nonetheless. Further abuses, added on to my plight; had I not been physically disabled thanks to a surgery, I’d have hit the guy back. Eventually, I realized that it was all a façade I’d made about me. At the end of it all, I lost control over myself, and felt my voice break into sobs; tears strolling down my eyes!
I couldn’t believe it at first. It all happened so involuntarily, even before I could think further. I felt ashamed, but there I stood weeping like a girl, desperately controlling my sobs! My tears softened their blitzkrieg, apparently. T came down to me, held my shoulder, and tried to calm me. I didn’t hear him; I was busy controlling the demons in my mind. He was part-apologizing, part-offering me a juice to drink, part offering me to leave me home. I was sobbing, refusing his offers, desperate to escape home. A minor-crowd gathered around us while I was making an ass out of myself! Meanwhile, A stopped a biker who passed by asking him to leave me to PMG. It was none other than Anoop Chettan(S8 EC), the erstwhile IEEE head of my college; the very person who renewed my membership! (Damn, another ‘impression’ ruined!) After a lot of coaxing and cajoling from his and T’s part, I agreed to ride pillion with him.
In a bid to calm me, perhaps, Anoop chettan changed the topic, incessantly questioned me about the LiNK meeting, and part-congratulated me on me being elected the hub-driver. Overwhelmed by emotions, I managed succinct replies, in a sobbing voice. I got off at Law College junction, thanking him for the lift, and began walking to PMG with a heavy heart, confused mind and a bad mood which hasn’t yet worn itself off…
Apart from large-scale disgrace and humiliation, the fiasco led me to a temporary fit of introspection. Being a boys’ school product, I’ve heard enough abuses all through my life. But, it was the first time I myself was victim to some of such choicest abuses. I evidently over-reacted to the issue. But my reaction wasn’t pre-planned or something. It was just it; a reaction, instinctive and guttural. It was even a discovery of sorts: I had a sensitive side to my character. Though I’d learnt to be stoic at the face of difficulties, I hadn’t quite mastered the art of being immune to them, the art of keeping my head above all the time…
Ah, I can feel my stress bust off like popping balloons. Blogging helps, dude! 🙂
Thanks for reading through the four-page big crap! 😀