One fine winter evening

Foreword: A Short story dedicated to my sweet granny:)

The first daffodils were blooming with the soft and tenderness of its budding state. There were these two kids who came trudging down the lane on one fine winter evening .They looked like children who were coming home from school, as each of them was carrying a bag in which might have been their books. Years ago, Charlie, Josephine, Julianne and Alice used to trudge the lane on their daily trips to school. Now they had children of their own who made their way to school.

She was making hot cookies, for which the wide-mouthed jars stood waiting on the table, and then once more looked out the kitchen window. The two of them were closer now and she could see that the boy was the older of the two - ten, perhaps, and the girl no more than eight.

It first seemed that they are going past her house nevertheless that did not seem too likely, for the lane led to this farm and to nowhere else.

They turned off the lane before they reached the barn and came steadily trudging up the path that led to the house. There was absolutely no hesitation in them about their footsteps and neither did they appear to be lost.

She stepped to the screen door of the kitchen as they came onto the porch and they stopped before the door and stood looking up at her.

The boy looked up and said firmly,” Hello grandma. Dad said we were to say at once that you were our grandma.”

“Well its not...” she said, and stopped. She had been about to say that it was impossible that she was not their grandma. And, looking down into the charming faces, she was glad that she had not said the words.

'I am Susanne,' said the girl, in a piping voice.

'Why, that is strange,' the woman said. 'That is my name, too.'

The boy said, 'My name is Robert.'

She pushed open the door for them and they came in, standing silently in the kitchen, looking all about them as if they'd never seen a kitchen.

'It's just like Papa said,' said Susanne. 'There's the stove and the churn and...'

The boy interrupted her. 'Our name is Hallidays,' he said.

This time the woman couldn't stop herself. 'Why, that's impossible,' she said. 'That is our name, too.'

The boy nodded affirmatively. 'Yes, we knew it was.'

'Perhaps,' the woman said, 'you'd like some milk and cookies.'

'Cookies!' Susanne squealed, delighted.

'We don't want to be any trouble,' said the boy. 'Papa said we were to be no trouble.'

'He said we should be good,' piped Susanne.

'I am sure you will be,' said the woman, 'and you are no trouble.'

In a little while, she thought, she'd get it straightened out.

She went to the stove and set the kettle with the cooking apples to one side, where they would simmer slowly.

'Sit down at the table,' she said. 'I'll get the milk and cookies.'

She glanced at the clock, ticking on the shelf. Four o'clock, almost. In just a little while the men would come in from the fields. Samuel Hallidays would know what to do about this; he had always known.

They climbed up on two chairs and sat there solemnly, staring all about them, at the ticking clock, at the wood stove with the fire glow showing through its draft, at the wood piled in the wood box, at the butter churn standing in the corner.

They set their bags on the floor beside them, and they were strange bags, she noticed. They were made of heavy cloth or canvas, but there were no drawstrings or no straps to fasten them. But they were closed, she saw, despite no straps or strings.

'Do you have some stamps?' asked Susanne.

'Stamps?' asked Mrs Hallidays.

'Do not pay attention to her,' said Robert. 'She should not have asked you. She asks everyone and Mama told her not to.'

'But stamps?'

'She collects them. She goes around snitching letters that other people have. For the stamps on them, you know.'

'Well now,' said Mrs Hallidays, 'there may be some old letters. We'll look for them later on.'

She went into the pantry and got the earthen jug of milk and filled a plate with cookies from the jar. When she came back they were sitting there sedately, waiting for the cookies.

'We are here just for a little while,' said Robert. 'Say for a short vacation. Then our folks will come and take us back again.'

Susanne nodded her head vigorously. 'That's what they told us when we went.”

'And where are you from?' asked Mrs Hallidays. 'Why,' said the boy, 'just a little ways from here. We walked just a little ways and of course we had the map. Papa gave it to us and he went over it carefully with us...'

'You're sure your name is Hallidays?'

Susanne bobbed her head. 'Of course it is,' she said. 'Strange,' said Mrs Hallidays. And it was more than strange, for there were no other Hallidays in the neighborhood except her children and her grandchildren and these two, no matter what they said, were strangers.

They were busy with the milk and cookies and she went back to the stove and set the kettle with the apples back on the front, stirring the cooking fruit with a wooden spoon.

'Where is Grandpa?' Susanne asked.

'Grandpa's in the field. He'll be coming in soon. Are you finished with your cookies?'

'All finished,' said the girl.

'Then we'll have to set the table and get the supper cooking. Perhaps you'd like to help me.'

Susanne hopped down off the chair. 'I'll help,' she said.

'Robert,' said Mrs Hallidays, 'it might help if you'd tell me what your father does.'

'Papa,' said the boy 'is an engineer.'

Later when Samuel Hallidays arrived, at once came out the voices “Hello Grandpa!” from inside. Later, the kids enjoyed the talk with the old folks.

The two older people were in the living room.

'You never saw the likes of it,' said Mrs Hallidays. 'There was this piece of metal and you pulled it and it ran along another metal strip and the bag came open. And you pulled it the other way and the bag was closed.'

'Something new,' said Samuel Hallidays. 'There may be many new things we haven't heard about, back here in the sticks. There are inventors turning out all sorts of things.'

'And the boy,' she said, 'has the same thing on his trousers. I picked them up from where he threw them on the floor when he went to bed and I folded them and put them on the chair. And I saw this strip of metal, the edges jagged-like. And the clothes they wear. That boy's trousers are cut off above the knees and the dress that the girl was wearing was so short...'

'They talked of plains,' mused Samuel Hallidays, 'but not the plains we know. Something that is used, apparently, for folks to travel in. And rockets - as if there were rockets every day and not just on the Earth.'

'We couldn't question them, of course,' said Mrs Hallidays. 'There was something about them, something that I sensed.'

Her husband nodded. 'They were frightened, too.'

'You are frightened, Samuel?'

'I don't know,' he said, 'but there are no other Hallidays. Not close, that is. Charlie is the closest and he's five miles away. And they said they walked just a little piece.'

'What are you going to do?' she asked. 'What can we do?'

'I don't rightly know,' he said. 'Drive in to the county seat and talk with the sheriff, maybe. These children must be lost. There must be someone looking for them.'

'But they don't act as if they're lost,' she told him. 'They knew they were coming here. They knew we would be here. They told me I was their grandma and they asked after you and they called you Grandpa. And they are so sure. They don't act as if we're strangers. They've been told about us. They said they'd stay just a little while and that's the way they act. As if they'd just come for a visit.'

'I think,' said Samuel Hallidays, 'which I'll hitch up Nellie after breakfast and drive around the neighborhood and ask some questions. Maybe there'll be someone who can tell me something.'

'The boy said his father was an engineer.”

'I think,' said Mrs Hallidays, 'I'll go upstairs and see if they're asleep. I left their lamps turned low. They are so little and the house is strange to them. If they are asleep, I'll blow out the lamps.'

Samuel Hallidays grunted his approval. 'Dangerous,' he said, 'to keep lights burning of the night. Too much chance of fire.'

The boy was asleep, flat upon his back - the deep and healthy sleep of youngsters. He had thrown his clothes upon the floor when he had undressed to go to bed, but now they were folded neatly on the chair, where she had placed them when she had gone into the room to say goodnight.

The bag stood beside the chair and it was open, the two rows of jagged metal gleaming dully in the dim glow of the lamp. Within its shadowed interior lay the dark forms of jumbled possessions, disorderly, and helter-skelter, no way for a bag to be.

She stooped and picked up the bag and set it on the chair and reached for the little metal tab to close it. At least, she told herself, it should be closed and not left standing open. She grasped the tab and it slid smoothly along the metal tracks and then stopped, its course obstructed by an object that stuck out.

She saw it was a book and reached down to rearrange it so she could close the bag. And as she did so, she saw the title in its faint gold lettering across the leather backstrap - Holy Bible.

With her fingers grasping the book, she hesitated for a moment, and then slowly drew it out. It was bound in expensive black leather that was dulled with age. The edges were cracked and split and the leather worn from long usage. The gold edging of the leaves were faded.

Hesitantly, she opened it and there, upon the fly leaf, in old and faded ink, was the inscription:

To Sister Susanne from Emma Nov. 30, 1943

Many Happy Returns of the Day

She felt her knees grow weak and she let herself carefully to the floor and there, crouched beside the chair, read the fly leaf once again.

30 November 1943 - that was her birthday, certainly, but it had not come as yet, for this was only the beginning of October, 1943.

And the Bible - how old was this Bible she held within her hands? A hundred years, perhaps, more than a hundred years.

A Bible, she thought - exactly the kind of gift Emma would give her. But a gift that had not been given yet, one that could not be given, for that day upon the fly leaf was a month into the future.

It couldn't be, of course. It was some kind of a prank. Or some mistake. Or a coincidence, perhaps. Somewhere else someone else was named Susanne and also had a sister who was named Emma and the date was a mistake - someone had written the wrong year. It would be an easy thing to do.

But she was not convinced. They had said the name was Hallidays and they had come straight here and Robert had spoken of a map so they could find the way. It was totally fitting!

Perhaps there were other things inside the bag. She looked at it and shook her head. She shouldn't pry. It had been wrong to take the Bible out.

On 30 November she would be fifty-nine - an old farm-wife with married sons and daughters and grandchildren who came to visit her on week-end and on holidays. And a sister Emma who, in this year of 1943, would give her a Bible as a birthday gift.

Her hands shook as she lifted the Bible and put it back into the bag. She'd talk to Samuel when she went down stairs. He might have some thought upon the matter and he'd know what to do.

She tucked the book back into the bag and pulled the tab and the bag was closed. She set it on the floor again and looked at the boy upon the bed. He still was fast asleep, so she blew out the light.

In the adjoining room little Susanne slept, baby-like, upon her stomach. The low flame of the turned-down lamp flickered gustily in the breeze that came through an open window.

Susanne's bag was closed and stood squared against the chair with a sense of neatness. The woman looked at it and hesitated for a moment, then moved on around the bed to where the lamp stood on a bedside table.

The children were asleep and everything was well and she'd blow out the light and go downstairs and talk with Samuel, and perhaps there'd be no need for him to hitch up Nellie in the morning and drive around to ask questions of the neighbors.

As she leaned to blow out the lamp, she saw the envelope upon the table, with the two large stamps of many colors affixed to the upper right-hand corner.

Such pretty stamps, she thought - I never saw so pretty. She leaned closer to take a look at them and saw the country name upon them. Israel. But there was no such actual place as Israel. It was a Bible name, but there was no country. And if there were no country, how could there be stamps?

She picked up the envelope and studied the stamp, making sure that she had seen right. Such a pretty stamp!

She collects them, Robert had said. She's always snitching letters that belong to other people.

The envelope bore a postmark, and presumably a date, but it was blurred and distorted by a hasty, sloppy cancellation and she could not make it out.

The edge of a letter sheet stuck a quarter inch out of the ragged edges where the envelope had been torn open and she pulled it out, gasping in her haste to see it while an icy fist of fear was clutching at her heart.

It was, she saw, only the end of a letter, the last page of a letter, and it was in type rather than in longhand - type like one saw in a newspaper or a book.

Maybe one of those new-fangled things they had in big city offices, she thought, the ones she'd read about. Typewriters - was that what they were called?

If you feel that you must, at least, send the children back, think a moment of the wrench it will give those two good souls when they realize the truth. Theirs is a smug and solid world - sure and safe and sound. The concepts of this mad century would destroy all they have, all that they believe in.

But I suppose I cannot presume to counsel you. I have done what you asked. I have written you all I know of our old ancestors back on that Wisconsin farm. As historian of the family, I am sure my facts are right. Use them as you see fit and God have mercy on us all.

Your loving brother,

Samuel

PS: If I can finish up work here and get away, I'll be with you at the end.

Mechanically she slid the letter back into the envelope and laid it upon the table beside the flaring lamp.

Slowly she moved to the window that looked out on the empty lane.

They will come and get us, Robert had said. But would they ever come. Could they ever come?

She found herself wishing they would come. Those poor people, those poor frightened children caught so far in time.

Blood of my blood, she thought, flesh of my flesh, so many years away. But still her flesh and blood, no matter how removed. Not only these two beneath this roof tonight, but all those others who had not come to her.

The letter had said 1951 that was eight years away - she'd be an old, old woman then. And the signature had been Samuel - an old family name, she wondered, carried on and on, a long chain of people who bore the name of Samuel Hallidays?

She was stiff and numb, she knew. Later she'd be frightened. Later she would wish she had not read the letter. Perhaps, she did not know.

But now she must go back downstairs and tell Samuel the best way that she could.

She moved across the room and blew out the light and went out into the hallway.

A voice came from the open door beyond.

'Grandma, is that you?'

'Yes, Robert,' she answered. 'What can I do for you?'

In the doorway she saw him crouched beside the chair, in the shaft of moonlight pouring through the window, fumbling at the bag.

'I forgot,' he said. 'There was something papa said I was to give you right away.'

We take the road less traveled by!

Readers, friends and Countrymen...

This piece of blog is dedicated to the author himself who got frustrated with his 7th sem at IIT Madras .....

And as Calvin says, "That's the difference between me and the rest of the world! Happiness isn't good enough for me, I DEMAND euphoria"

I shall proceed to blog about the trek we undertook....

Yeah so , we take the road less traveled by ....

The comprehensive Checklist !!

1. Mobile+ Charger
2. Sweater + Winter accessories
3. Blanket
4. DIgicams + Batteries - Fully charged + Charger (TOTALLY 4 of us)
5. Gen accessories (Soap, Toothpaste, Toothbrush, Towel etc)
6. Torch
7. Shoes + Socks + Chappals
8. Tickets
9. First aid kit (Bandaid, Tincture, Dettol, Crocin, Salt)
10. Glucose
11. Water - 2 litres
12. Biscuits + Bread (1 Loaf) + Jam + Spoon
13. Small Heater
14. Milk/Juice
15. Monkey cap
16. Trek Bag
17. Dresses
18. Cash - 2k
19. Coolers
20. Entertainment stuff
21. Crackers (from Vishwa)
22. Compass
23. Bino (Hari)
24. Knife
25. Fruits
26. Comb
27. Vaseline
28. Asthma stuff
29. Umbrella

@Arun ... I have left out Beer bottles !!

A Tribute

To the People: This piece of blog is an attempt to see through the author's spectacles to explore the divine genre of music under a naivette's eyes.

This piece of blog is dedicated to the divine genre of music that rejuvenated my attitudes for music. I am talking about the Classical music evolved in India that dates back to the 15th Century.

Carnatic Music......


Few years back, let us check out the kind of conversation that took place in my house at an auspicious time of the day say evening 6'o Clock..Characters are me, appa(my dad) n sowmya(my sis)...

Appa(My dad): Sowmyaaaaaaaa!! Its evening 6'o clock and u need to lit up the light in the Puja room and sing a krithi...

Sowmya: Seri paaa...me coming in few mins....
"Sada Paalaya saara saaksha mohanaangi sada....blah blah blah.....S R G P D S.... S D P G R S......"

Appa: Pefect! There shud not be any Madhyamam and Nishadam in Mohanam...blah blah blah......

Me: (I never follow what they are talking about, although I hear some words like Ragam, S R G M P D N S, Adi, Triputa, Rupakam , Aaah!! MS sings it very well )




The above conversation should have given you a fair idea with regard to my background in music. So I belong to this typical South Indian Brahmin family in whose house one can see :

1. Laminations of various incarnations of Sri Maha Vishnu and the Tanjore paintings of Lord Krishna.
2. A bunch of cassettes pertaining to M S , Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer, GNB, Maharajapuram and Sudha Raghunathan (anybody unaware of these names, kindly google it out!)
   

Truly, about the music that echoed through the generations in many a Dravidian family, about the music which has exhibitted its therauptical powers in many instances; and last but not the least about the music which actually changed my attitudes.......

More Adventures on this music would continue!

To the feminine community at the Valley!!

No Offence Plzzz: This post should not be confused for me being a male-chauvinist, rather should be considered as a welcoming treat given by the highly imaginative author who generally is not jobless!!.... just kidding....

On popular demand,
The Not-S0-Jobless author .

Speaking of the valley girls of author's class, there are N(large no.) notions that arise in the author's mind...Some of them to illustrate the plight of the author at 0000 hrs!!!

1. Am I so jobless in life?
2. I should not have rather started this blog...
3. But why of all things in life only this ?
   
4. May be watching a documentary on African tribes is a better fun!!

Well.. the feminine characters in my school were actually interesting to talk of....Lemme introduce to this character who was called shivani and was often used to be an unofficial moderator between the girls and the boys, who were the classified groups by default, at school.... The relations should have actually been more cordial had the above moderator should not have spread the rumours and gossiped arbitrary things.... one of the biggest mouths at valley... But fortunately or unfortunately, she has some positive points..... She is one of the singers of the author's house--Bhabha and sadly, as far as I remember we have never won any singing competition... Just kidding again, she has always been actively involved in various singing competitions and stuff.......has a decently strong Carnatic background, just that the author never tested her Carnatic skills!!! I remember vaguely in one instance that the author, the above artist, X("another character of this story") , the author and Rakesh(refer to my previous blog) competed for a Patriotic Group Songs inter-house competitions and we made it a big time flop as the author and Rakesh were not able to cope up with the Shivani's pitch in the song "Aye Watan Tere Liye" from the movie Karma... The author and Rakesh were basically behind the scenes to make 4 members in a team(You might call this verb to be participation!!) ....Singing apart, Shivani alias Savita is a nice girl who is always caring for others and is very much social.... The author has a soft corner to this ever-smiling face and never shows up any kind of distress she faces in life... She will be a success in life for this quality!!


A yahoo window pops in author's comp;

X: Om jai XXXXXX ; if you send this by tomorrow you will be a big success in life, while if you stop you will flunk in your next exam!!!

The author is totally psyched as he already screwed up his academics!!

Author: Hello Ma'm.. hi how are you??

X: If you right click on the group and send some crap you will know who are all invisible!!

The author is slowly losing his patience as he is thinking, "why the hell do i need who are invisible and visible... and What euphoria does X derive out of keeping such counts ?" But the author keeps his chill and continues..

Author: So wassup?

X: Ohh hiiiiiiiiii ... how are u ... and wat r u doing now-a-days??

Alas! Our princess has realized that the innocent bystander(literally the author) has messaged her..

This is a typical start to a chat with X... I guess by now the readers must have solved the equation already!!

X = Ramya!!

Well.. one could see the conservativeness and the tradition she still beholds to. She is one woman who maintains a decent dress code and a very trustworthy person. Another Carnatic singer I would always envy to be, as her teacher is from that school of Carnatic which has this totally refined methodology! Ramya.. A homily girl with a pure heart and my gift to her this summer should always invoke the child in her.... Good luck in ur endeavours, Ramya!

Well... I suddenly thought of this childhood rhyme...
"The little red riding hood with a basket of treats!......"

Now this cute little red riding hood I am referring to is my class mate in 7th and the 8th stds whom I used to remember as this silent and a non-chalant girl..... Well.. I had to confess I did some weird stuff then for some arbitrary hallucination of mine (invoked by this idiot called Rakesh) .....anyways, I happen to catch her online after a span of 6 years..... Now do I get illuminated she is a big chatter box and can talk at any length... Believe me, a movie like "Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham" would run for 6 hours if u listen to her version!!!...... If we plot a graph of her temper against the height of bugging her.. The plot shown below is the result!!



PS: Kindly click the image and check out the critical points where the curve deviates drastically!!

Yup , I know I wud be totally blasted by her for this sacriligeous act but I deserve the freedom of expression as any great author would demand!! .... Despite all this fun, she hails from a music family where in her mother is a Carnatic artiste ...... She gets this euphoria when she sings and she apparently got the flavour of singing in her genes, no wonder!! .... The only outstation delegate for a fabulous reunion last year....( fabulous bcoz the arrangements made by the author were so dramatic that only 12 ppl{may be an exaggerated figure for author's satisfaction} turned up out of a class of 31!)...........This reflects her culture of having strong attachments towards her alma-mater beyond doubt.....

Gaurav saaley! Seekh....kabhi life mein mujhe call kiye!!!

So let's see what the little red riding hood has in store for the rest of life in her basket of treats!!.... Mahathi, you deserve to go places around .. As Paulo Coehlo in "The Alchemist" says , Dream really biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig!


A song I would like to dedicate:

So, no one told you life was gonna be this way.
Your Job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's D.O.A.
It's like you're always stuck in second gear.
And it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year.
But -

I'll be there for you ... when the rain starts to fall.
I'll be there for you ... like I've been there before.
I'll be there for you ... cause you're there for me, too.

You're still in bed at ten and work began at eight.
You've burned your breakfast, so far everything is great.
Your mother warned you there'd be days like these.
But she didn't tell you when the world has brought you down to your knees.
That -

I'll be there for you ... when the rain starts to fall.
I'll be there for you ... like I've been there before.
I'll be there for you ... cause you're there for me, too.

PS : More adventures would continue...................

In Valley i grew....

Word of Caution: It may appear I have actually exaggerated at certain parts of my experiences; but to sketch the true picture of what had actually happened it may have been incorporated without the knowledge of the narrator as he might have crashed(z...zz..zzzz..zzzzzz) quite a no. of times!


Well...Very Well..... I decided. I should speak about my school days though old; the memories are fresh ....... I somehow love sharing my old school incidents which brings back the child in me. As far as my memories are concerned i hardly remember anything below 7th std except for the fact that i gave a hard blow to one of my class mates for which i had been punished to kneel down in my 4th std. I don't remember the reason exactly......(Adida knows how strong i am!!)...... I was a sincere complan boy in my school ( Visakha Valley School,Vizag) till the completion of my 7th std.

But my association with a completely so called notorious, infamous personality in school; yet very famous for his aptitude in hindi had rather transmogrified me into an equally monstrous character in school..... This guy had a knack of cracking hindi exams alone..... The neat trick he implemented was writing the answer for a single question in different pages in different ways.No wonder, at one instance he happened to get a score of 104/100 on account of bad accounting......rather the hindi teacher corrected the very same question thrice without her knowledge(which she hardly had).... The guy referred here is Gaurav Begwani...known as gauri....
Gauri says "Even i can teach better than her!".... which is true... he had strong grammar fundaes better than many ppl in the class. But the poor guy still regrets for having his Roll Number behind me..... The reasoning goes like this......... In our boards i got a 77 and he got a 76 where his hindi is uncomparably better than mine...His claim is that the examiner got too much of frustration that he gave up correcting gurav's paper which 1 roll number behind me....... This could be true because indeed my hindi was pathetic....

I would say i was the luckiest guy to be with him all the three years.... Had i not spent with him, i would have not known how to pain people incessantly......... This guy had a history of following females right from the 4th std as per reliable sources..... But the craziest or the ironical part of his story is that whoever he had followed; she used to leave the school that acaemic year.... Finally in our 10th std it so happened that he left the school for a change!! Tough luck Gauri... i ve my deepest concerns in this regard.... Rather the adventures would continue......

Yeah i thought i would post the adventures; once i finished the characters i had met in valley.... As every story in history had 'The Three Musketeers"; even we were three........... well me and gaurai remained till our boards but the third chap was flexible............. rather we had Rakesh Josyula till 8th std and S.A.K Rajesh till 10th............
Hmmm...... i would not forget to mention our good old teachers -- Prashanth kumar panda---- our geography sir ... i had very bad encounters with this idiosyncratic personality of our school...... He had his own ways of seeing things ... very much of his own.... generally does not conform to the views of approximation; rather always finds faults. One such incident to illustrate my view........

Sir:"What is the ideal temperature for cotton growth in India?"
Me: "Sir... 32.8'C....(As per the data i ve collected from Atlas"
Sir: "No.. You are wrong. It is around 32.5'C"

He was the quiz master of our school..... not for the fact that he knew lots of GK but often he immitated Derek O Brien of BQC "Are you serious or joking?"

The funniest adventure i had in my school in my school days was in my 10th std......It was the last day to submit my Bio-Practical Record.... I have finished all my experiments except for a FROG .... I did not get any sample of frog or a sketch of a frog to draw ........................

This day I still believe I had my greatest amount of creativity I had ever even thought of or imagined ......... No wonder the Bio Teacher threw my record on my face after correction..........the frog in my Bio Record was the pic of a CARTOON frog found in the English Main Course Book- The Frog and the Nightingale By Vikram Seth.


Another incident which often chuckles me was the Question and Answers session before the Board exams ;introduced by our short tempered History/Civics teacher. The deal was that the students should prepare their own questions to ask others in the class... The questions were from every nook and corner of the text book . If a student's question remains unanswered he/she takes the pride of preparing a question that was unanswered.

To our ideal brain as a devil's workshop; myself and gauri were preparing questions which were extremely stupid .....One such question was "Explain about ICV Sagar".........Our Class topper--- Gargi Das gets up and says " It could be a dam near Hirakud in Orissa"...........I was like, " Oh yeah....Sorry, ICV Sagar expands for Ishwar Chandra Vidya Sagar!!"........Somehow we spoilt the entire motivation behind the session that day.

At the thought of my school;
the memories reach me fresh and pristine.

The dawns began with our charming faces
On the roads of those creeking bus races;
The ideas that made my attention drew
In Valley I grew....

The aroma of our ground I can smell
On which we ran and fell;
We were the sportive crew
In Valley I grew.

I'd hear the rustling of leaves,
And the gossip of eves;
whenever we ensue
In Valley I grew.


------- Inspired by The Dead Poets Society.

Finally before I finish I would sing my school song proudly; (Welfred Sir I miss your guitar work).........
Hark we boys and girls of Visakha Valley
Proudly Sing the glory of our school
From the madening crowd are we
In the dale of beauty
Near the surf-riden sea

Our Devoted Teachers training grew us
Enlighten our minds and sharpen our brains
Citizens of India, Visakha Vallians
Help Us God to reach our goal.

Well ......... Very well.......... probably the motivation to start blogging comes from the fact that the inconceivable souls like me needed to be comprehended. To simplify the above equation; i thought i need to convey about myself!!

Yes! Before i begin my blog about myself; i sometimes use "hi-fi" words to act smart.
"Yet to be smart; one should act smart!"

The person, the reader is actually trying to read about, is Srinivasan Gopal. Though the name sounds familiar as a South Indian with the Iyengar trade mark; the person is actually very much complicated. Complicated because his behaviour or reaction to any particular situation is unpredictable to that extent that even Heisenberg's Uncertainity does not work(acting smart....). By now the readers must have realized that i have indeed acted in a complicated way in my above sentence so as to include Heisenberg for no reason or fault of his or even mine!

The readers must have also realized that the person knows some science. Very well this time their predictions go right as the person we are talking about is in his 3rd year BTech Electrical Engineering, INDIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY MADRAS(IIT MADRAS).
To date back to 2 years ago; this person has got an AIR of 107 in his JEE where in he took BTech Computer Science in his first semester of his engineering life. Its probably time to start filling his pages. In his fist year, he has got the best and the worst neighbour one could ever get. The above range to qualify a room neighbour may seem vague but people would definitely agree with me when it comes to S.Gokul or popularly known as Gandhi in IITM, who resided in 314 Sarayu(the narrator was in 315 ). Excpet for the physical barrier there was no barrier for the flow of thoughts or the kind of interactions we shared ( technically known as FART in IITM). I always used to envy this most creative soul. I admire his quote-unquotes.
Here are a few of them
"We are never made to think independently; we see through the glasses of our profs!"

" In our four years of IIT life we are filling up the bucket but never know how to use the water in it."
Well, he is a clean guy with a charming face and a frank attitude.

Now the worst part of having him as neighbour goes like this...... he could brainwash people to take a drastic step in their career. Well the right example to this that the narrator has slided from a higher branch (comp sci) to a lower branch(Elec). As such no more regrets; he has always been the right guy to fart with. He generally invites fart. I consider him as a big time stud of IITM for his creativity into describing things.

Yeah.... the other chap i would describe about is Sankar Adida known as adida; a very matured individual indeed. As such no regrets; we were togehter in Applied mechanics, chemistry(generally he hated this quantum chemistry) and not to forget the Basic Elec classes. In his life time he has probably put his only proxy for me in this course and finally landed himself and myself in to trouble. It was Venkata seshiah our grand old prof of elec dept who caught us on account of proxy and adida probably never made it again. A nice guy to share and argue views. None can realize the logic inside him unless he starts putting fart! Guys.... give it a try; i bet u ll definitely come out of his room with a smiling face...

One more interesting character should i probably mention is the character who was my analog circuits lab partner with his amazing attitude of knowing things. The character i am talking about is Pratik Pradeep Dalal (PD). He probably is the only person who laughs at my otherwise sensational humour called PJs (Poor Jokes). After all, i would say it is easy to crack a joke but tough to crack a poor joke. PJ-ing is an art! i am sure PD would agree to this.

So far so good.............. guys my next post would be due in a couple of days with more interesting characters and my experiences with them........