Benches and culture.

Posted: Friday, April 10, 2009 by Rahul. in Labels: , , , , , ,
4

When father principal(with all due respect) had a couple of odd structures erected all over the campus over the summer vacations, one fine year, it was met with a lot of criticism-that it was too high, looked too artificial, and that it didn't go with the scent and contour of the campus in general. At first sight, it symbolized the unsuccessful attempts of a worn-out, out-of-mind, desperate principal, to acquire some lost appreciation by making bamboo out of cement. So we were all but surprised when told that they were 'benches' and were supposed to be 'sat on'.

But never in the wildest and most barbaric of dreams did we ever think that these eerie unearthly cement structures would become the centerpiece of our class one day.

The first major thing that occurs within the boundaries of our school, day in day out, is undoubtedly and unsurprisingly, the arrival of the school buses. The disposition, is not random at all. "How come?" Well a little about the histories of the drivers would answer that. Army, K.S.R.T.C, it varies. So does speed.

And after lots of wiggling, swaying and knocks to your head(and licking adidases, nikes, pumas, reeboks and chappals), its not surprising that we are the first to arrive. The bus, well, is all about the heroics of 'chuck', who comes in and vaunts about how he fell off his heartthrob's terrace(the house's), about how many songs his 8-megapixel-camera-equipped 64kb(solid KILOBYTES) sony-ericcson can store, about how his enfield skidded off the road and ended up in the wheelie pose, and how he bought a new computer, but never cared to unwrap the cardboard, because his grandmother passed away!(he still hasn't done that)

Myself and my friend, 'mammu', provide the counter-argument, snapping at each and everyone of his exaggerations, while 'mathi' silently spectates the unfolding drama. These usually end up in kicks to your external genitalia(chuck is good at those) and nosebleeds.

So we arrive, and take in the fresh air and scent of the campus, still wondering if the calcitration(the kicks-the 'chavuttu') cost you anything. We take a seat in the aforesaid 'bench' and wait.(meanwhile chuck goes on about literotica and stuff).

Bus no1 arrives and Aaron jogs out and joins us. He pretends to have split his ears owing to chelsea being battered again by liverpool(it is the other way sometimes). A long argument follows, with chuck giving audience, and mammu spice, to the torrid brawl.

'Gundu', 'Kathi', and 'Ambadi' walk out of a bus no4, known more for the controversies it spouts, and jest-packed stories than for its six wheels. They inject 'tuitions' into the worn-out football brawl. The talk goes on about tests, assignments, HAC and girls.(where chuck is active again).

Meanwhile, 'nightish' or '89', whichever you prefer, gives us a wave and takes the long route up to the classroom.(that ironically is down the stairs).

'K.C' comes in with his trademark dimpled rainforest smile, and fires his own bit into the conversation. He is one of the people, who has a hell lot of nicknames ranging from 'brukkappi', 'faru', to 'tree-dog'.(A sub-species of rodentia).

Enter noel, 'chubby', and 'motta', together since time immemorial, talking about astrophysics, blackholes and other weird stuff. They take the already fired-up talks to boiling point and get on quite a lot of peoples' nerves in the process.(chuck, K.C, etc). Chuck puts the solids(rocks, stones, gravel, bricks, etc.) to good use and empties his rage on a sheet of metal.(on a car).

To cool proceedings down, the perfect person walks in, in the shape of 'thadiyan'. The guy who speaks from his stomach(that accounts for the huskiness), and walks as if the world were in slow motion(for want of words :D). He is one of the few people, who are always attentive in class, except while sleeping, making the teacher wish hell for bell, reading Dan Brown, aiming carbonate missiles(refer to 'the infusion persists!"), and familiarising with the facilities of pinD's hideout.(dat takes up a lot of time)

"TTTRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG!!!!!"

Disappointment, is the word, when the bell tolls, and we head for the classrooms, having given the day, the start it deserves.

Words can't explain how time fleets by, once you take a seat in one of those benches. And words can't explain how we give 'Babu's'(RAM's) day the perfect start as he arrives in his two wheeler, clad in denims, pulled down to ass-level.

The feeling is inexplicable, and for once, we have our principal to thank.


P.S:
-I express my deepest fucked up sorry to all those who I have failed to mention in this post.
-I express a deeper and 'not-fucked-up' sorry to all those who I HAVE mentioned in the post and take it easy on me, the next time we meet :(

The infusion persists!

Posted: Thursday, April 9, 2009 by Rahul. in Labels: , , , , , , ,
9


Voices all around you.

A deliciously bland polyphony.

There in line with your eye, the preceptor goes on with unimpressive words, cloying sentences, and observant remarks. Around you, well, they sleep, they snore, they hoot, they throw, get thrown out.

The infusion persists!

The atmosphere isn't static either.

Often(very), it may unfortunately transfuse into a war field, where the chances of a hurling carbonate missile(chalk piece :)) going down your auditory canal is pretty high. Once in a while, white and black silhouettes skiff past the hopeful corridor, sending chills down your gyrated spines. Sometimes a succulent someone enters the isolated quadrilateral(the classroom) and the polyphony inflects. You are the happiest person in the world. But otherwise, the same boring forty minutes.

The soothing medley tempts you and you momentously slip into an assuaging hypnoid trance. The pensieve stirs and you silently reflect on the cogitations that strike your gyri and sulci. The sober gravity of your brain strikes differential notes, and one or two of them bemuses you, and draws your worthy attention. The wormhole takes you elsewhere.
You lose your point.

You regain your senses.

The infusion persists!

You open your sluggish eyes to check on your certainity. After carefully alligning your drowsy face in the presumed shadow of the perpendicular text book, you sneak back in, this time all the more voluntarily, revier-ing the revered tocsin.
You open your refreshed third eye to the maestro within you-the sub conscious mind. The factory of varied actions, decisions and often, embarrassingly delirious spectacles. This is what you really are, though you never appreciate the monkish fact. The gypsy within you capitalizes on your mood. It takes you places. The clock doesn't stop. But the transition isn't felt, it ain't there for you to see.

Oh you unfortunate one!

At the end of the day, there are many things which you may happily, ideally, and revolutionarily have undone-including pulling up your pants in the morning(the low-waist stuff)-just for dwindling the summation of accusations made to your dad over the phone by the unenterprising principal, and of course the foggy after-effects.