The Red Letter Day

"I am sorry- No letter for you even today"- said Mr Sampath, raising his shoulders to indicate indifference.

"Ah! Are you sure?" I asked in a submissive tone.

"Yes, I just have one for Mr Shah and this telegram for your neighbor, Major Dubey. That's all!" - He said while parking his bicycle in front of a house.

Sampath, my colony postman, was a man in mid forties. On most of the occasions, I spotted a Tilak on his forehead, and on the days when the Tilak was missing, I found him puffing a cigarette while on duty! The Cigarette, the Tilak, his thick glasses, the bundle of letters and bicycle had formed a very interesting character for me.

"How much time does it take for a letter to come from Bombay?"- I asked in an impatient tone.

Sampath spoke very fast and most of the occasions, I could barely comprehend his speech. And this time, he muttered something, which may have meant an approximate turn around time. He then went into a house to deliver a letter.

"What could have possibly gone wrong"- I pondered

I was disappointed, yet again!

It was also the period when the kids of our colony boasted about "The Maggie Club Membership Card". All we needed to do was collect 5 wrappers of Maggie 2 Minute Noodles and send them to a New Delhi address, within a fortnight you'd receive either an indoor game or a wrist band or a Notepad and the like. And by overdoing it, you'd be finally issued a "Maggie Clubber" an attractive membership card. I still remember the name of the Club chairman- Someone by name Doodle Dee.

I grew jealous with some of my close friends who flaunted their membership cards, and conveyed their sense of pride. Very soon, I outnumbered them by managing to secure 3 cards and some special gifts from Doodle Dee. The day I received my first membership card, I tore the envelope right before Sampath, took out the card, and excitedly explained him about the Maggie Club. He was mighty impressed and said he will buy some pack of Maggie Noodles while going home!

Slowly, the Maggie Club rage met its natural death and it reached a stage when most of us didn't knew what to do with the membership cards! And by then, I had already developed a tremendous interest in something else and began working towards it.

It was the most important phase of my life because, I was beginning to receive letters, that were addressed exclusively to my name". And it conveyed a little sense of supremacy, an indication of immature conceitedness and also a tremendous motivation to do more! This was the chief reason for a Postman to become an important aspect of my life.

"I'd be getting 30 Rupees if I manage to get this done" - I told my mother

"Oh Really! That's very good" But are you sure they will accept"- She asked me while looking around my room.

"So far I have sent 4 letters, I am confident at least one of them will work out"- I said ecstatically.

Weeks rolled into months, but I never received any letter from the expected source.

One evening, while I was playing on my friend's terrace, I heard the neighbor's dog barking downstairs. I looked down and saw Sampath, as usual, struggling to deliver a letter, without damaging himself from the Pomeranian breed dog. He always had a problem with that dog and tried to shoo it away. After he succeeded in his mission, I rushed down to meet him.

"Any letters for me"- I asked, panting hard.

" Yes"- he said while the cigarette was still in his mouth.
" Wow, did you give it at my place"- I said this and was gearing up to run.

"Yes, but its from your dad" and I gave that letter to your mother."- He said this at ease without realizing that he just tore my excitement into bits paper!

I used to write letters to my dad, who used to live in some other part of India because of his routine transfers. The letter to my dad contained academic marks, my drawings, about my school life and also the list of things, which I wanted him to get for me( but very reasonable demands!)

I was disappointed yet again. I assumed that Sampath was lying. I got angry and said this to him. He laughed at my innocence.

"Ok, why don't you go through the bundle" - He offered me.

I eagerly groped into that bundle, and found letters from Reader's Digest Magazine, some inland letters, postcards with Gujarati language on them, some ugly Book posts, letters from companies to its Shareholders etc. I never understood it then. But if I were to speak about that today, those letters gave an insight about the kind of people who resided in my colony!

Dejected, I trotted home wards thinking that I'd never get any response from them. I discussed this with a few of my friends who said its not to easy and gave me some kind of dramatic explanations to prove their point home. All they wanted to convey was that its very tough to get a response.

I was feeling low and disappointed. I had spent money on stamps, I boasted that one day, I'd definitely show everyone what I am capable of, I gave false hopes to my mother by telling her that she'd see me earning some 30-50 odd rupees out of this, Back at school, I also managed to get an appreciation from my English teacher, who openly declared me as a benchmark student! All this pompous celebrations, before getting any kind of reply for my letter.

This guilt was killing me and I knew I'd be a laughing stock among my friends and school, if I don't get any response very soon.

One day I was returning home on my bicycle, I had to pass under the Railway bridge. I spotted Sampath in the opposite side. He was through his duty and was leaving for the day. And both of us were waiting for the moving train to pass-by the bridge.

When I was a kid, I thought the reason why people waited for the train to pass-by on the bridge was that they fear that the train might fall down on them. But my growing years taught me that, its not the train, but something that is heavier and deadlier than the train that'd fall on us if we attempt to cross a Railway bridge with a passing train!!

Sampath on the other side, tried to tell me something which I couldn't hear because of the train noise. After the train left, he pedalled his bicycle and asked me to go home quickly. Before I could shout to ask what the matter was, he was already out of ear shot.

I sensed something jubilant! I reached home and was delighted to finally receive that letter! I smelt it first and carefully opened it. I read the contents of the letter slowly and felt as if my legs were in the air! Finally.... Finally, I got a response after a series of attempts!

I read it again and unable to control the excitement, I ran out to show it to my friends and celebrate the victory which I had lost!

(In October 1992, I received a letter from India Book House- Uncle Pai, the editor of the fortnightly magazine called Tinkle. He rejected - my contribution "Shikari Shambu" the story of a fluke Hunter who always manages to win despite his timid personality. Nevertheless, in his letter, UnclePai encouraged me to continue writing more and more stories so that one day it gets published in Tinkle.

I viewed this experience as a defeat for my Personality, but a Victory for my Development. This story is my tribute to it).


© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

Con, Guilt and Truth

The paper plane accidentally hit Miss Malati on her face. The colossal chaos in the classroom ended abruptly. No one had seen her entering the class and no one knew where that plane came from.

"Is this some sort of missile"?- Miss Malati asked picking that paper plane. The class was silent. It was a terrible thing to happen. A paper plane, hitting the senior most teacher, right on her face.

Short, fair skinned and Grey haired woman in her mid 50s, Miss Malati came across as the most rigidly accurate teacher of the school. She taught us English and Social Studies. I was extremely good at Geography- Maps, Countries, Latitudes and Longitudes, Rain forest, I knew it all! And my love towards Geography made me her special student.

Speak up? Who did this? She fumed looking at our faces.

She then stared at Sashi-The bully of the class. Sashi was the most feared guy of the class with his bold stunts like chewing a gum and placing it on the teachers chair, mixing itching powder in a chalk box, sticking nude images on library books and many other notorious activities under his sleeve. The entire class too gave Sashi an accusing look. He enjoyed the attention but gave a "Not me"look. Miss Malati turned to the boys of the first bench. She crushed the paper plane in her palm and displayed her anger. The entire class stood in silence as if attending somebody's funeral.

All of you, get out of the class! She roared like a hungry Lioness. No more classes for you till you do not come forward and confess She looked into our eyes menacingly. Next, our entire 8A section stepped out and assembled outside the class on that sunny morning.

"I know who did that" muttered Ram looking at Sashi. Ram was the class leader and topper.

Hurray! No more classes for today , a jubilant Sashi screamed. A few other boys including me joined the celebration. Little did we realize what actually Miss Malati meant was no more classes till the confessor admits the act. The first day was full of fun. No more classes, we all gossiped, played chits, Word ladder, Book Cricket. The day ended when the final home bell rang and we ran inside to pick our bags and leave for home. It looked like an excursion for us.

Miss Malati entered the class the next day morning.

"I think I told you guys that there will not be anymore classes unless you tell me who did that" She said that and sat in her chair.

One by one all of us again left the classroom and breathed the fresh air outside. The excitement was high and we anticipated second consecutive holiday. In the midst of all this fun, some studious boys actually became worried. Nevertheless, even after the second day we happily went home without a single lecture. Hoping things would be back to normal the next day.

This went on the third day too and then we sensed something very serious. We cannot possibly be having a ball of our lives everyday. A few boys suspected and blamed Shashi for this act. Sashi became furious.

Why the fuck are you guys after me? I am not the one. He said that looking at a group of boys. No one was willing to believe him for that answer he gave.

A little later our Head Principal arrived and spoke to Miss Malati inside the classroom. We were unable to hear their conversation but we realized that we were in deep shit. The Head Principal left after a brief conversation with Miss Malati.

I was busy playing a game that involved us to write the classmates names in reverse. Ram called for an emergency meeting. I suggested that we give an apology letter to Miss Malati. The whole class agreed except Sashi who gave me an intimidating look. Finally, the apology letter was drafted and the next question was " Who will give that letter to Miss Malati? I nominated Shreedhar- the most unacquainted boy of the class. He was someone like the character Pea from Swami and Friends. A puny boy who will do whatever asked to. Shreedhar went into the class with the letter in his hand. We all peeped inside through the window of the classroom.

Miss Malati tore that letter without even reading the content. The next moment we stayed off the window and hid ourselves.

We could hear her shout inside- "I want the culprit to come forward. Don't write cock and bull stories" Understand? Now get out!

Poor Shreedhar came back shaken and stirred. He didn't utter a word after that.

On the fourth day, the matter had become worse. We had already lost 3 days of academic portion. Oh Dear! "Why can't the culprit come out for gods sake? We are heading for a doom! exclaimed Ram, who was beginning to lose his temper. Sashi, who was chewing a gum, laughed loudly at Ram.

Since the culprit was not coming out, I gathered a few classmates and hatched a plan to convince a boy named Jai to go ahead and masquerade as the culprit. I told Jai that Miss Malati would be impressed by his honesty and that would also serve as a lesson for the actual culprit. My intention was to hint Sashi.

After a lot of persuasion, Jai agreed to go. I saw a curious Sashi watching Jai enter the classroom. Jai went ahead and confessed that he was sorry for that paper plane act. Miss Malati out rightly rejected his confession.

You think you are some Satya Harishchandra? eh? Get out and send the actual culprit!

More than Jai, the entire class was amazed at this surprise twist in the tale. By now it was clear that Miss Malati was aware of the culprits identity. Jai came back extremely pleased with himself. It was a victory that he lost!! Like Rajesh Khanna, he gained public sympathy and the boys patted him for his bold attempt.

By now, Ram lost his cool. He looked at Sashi and howledYou Rascal! I know it's all because of you! You are responsible for the shit situation we are in! Ram's anger grew by leaps and bounds.

Oh yeah! It must be you! That's why you are reacting so much. Why the fuck can't you go in and confess? Bloody Class leader! Sashi gave it back.

Next, both of them pounced on one another and socked each other badly. A few boys tried to separate the two. It was a dreaded situation and I stood there, sheepishly looking at the scuffle. I wasn't able to take it anymore.

Please stop both of you! I know who it is. - I intervened and said meekly. I separated both of them.

Sashi and Ram stopped hitting each other but continued to exchange dirty words. The entire class became silent. I glanced at Jai who looked at me with raised eyebrows. I saw Shreedhar who stood between two burly lads of our class. He was petrified at the situation.

I think I know what I must do!- I said and walked into the classroom to meet Miss Malati. Had I turned back to see the reactions of my classmates, I would have written about that too. I went straight to Miss Malati.

Miss Malati was reading a book. The moment she saw me, she took off her spectacles and put that on the table. She looked into my eyes.

I stood before her, stiffly like an Army officer and said:

"I am extremely sorry Ma'am"!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

7 minutes of Fame

स्कन्दः स्कन्दधरो धुर्यो वरदो वायुवाहनः।
वासुदेवो बृहद्भानुरादिदेवः पुरन्दरः ॥

November 2000
17:15 hrs

For a first few seconds I thought I must have been dreaming. I sat down leaning against the wall at my back. I pondered - "This has happened to many great personalities". I didn't knew how Vasudeva and Devaki felt when King Kamsa ordered his men to do this act. But I certainly knew how Mohanlal reacted in "Saza-E-Kala Pani". Right from my childhood, I have developed this disease of living in a state of filmdom irrespective of the situation.

The cell had a shit smelling foul that I cannot imagine. Or perhaps, I do not want to! The walls were old and dirty. It was pitch dark inside. The only little ventilation came from a shimmering light which passed through a hole of the wall. Far away, there was a toilet which seemed like ankle deep in shit. The awful smell of urinal overflowed. A stinking swamp oozed out of somewhere from the end of that cell. I cursed myself being a human because I had to breathe to survive. My emotions were mixed with a feeling of extreme fear, hatred, guilt, anxious and very very little excitement.

I closed my eyes and switched on the "Rewind" button of my nervous system to recollect what happened half an hour ago.

Our hero constable ordered me to get down from the auto rickshaw and asked me to pay the driver. We had reached the police station named after a powerful Hindu Goddess. I said I do not have any money. He hit me hard on my neck and yakked in Telugu" Paisalu lekunda police station ki vasthava bey?"( Translation: Rascal, How dare you come to Police Station without any money with you?)

While he was bringing me into the Police station, a passing constable asked what the matter was. Our hero exaggerated the incident in such a way as if I was guilty of raping a woman, or murdering someone, or indulging in child abuse and other nefarious crimes. After he finished narrating the incident, this passing cop welcomed me to the police station by smacking me hard on my neck. He did that as if it was his birth right to hit me whenever he wants.

An unknown cop appeared from nowhere and he commanded me to squat. I didn't obey him because I was sure he doesn't know why I was brought here in the first place. We stared at each other in silence. It was a silence which I could smell and taste. It was silence I felt on my skin in that noisy place at the back of my head. He gave his fiercest look and the next moment when I trembled and was about to obey his order, he burst out laughing.

Cruelty is a kind of cowardice. Cruel laughter is the way cowards cry when they are not alone. He did just that. It was a terrible situation. I felt that these cops would do anything to make me feel ashamed.

Every 20 seconds, I heard fiery hate speeches peppered with choicest of abuses being used by the station staff.

Our hero reached the desk of another bald constable and asked him to write my details. The bald cop was in mid fifties. His hair and head resembled a crescent moon (I addressed him as Aadha Chaand) in my mind) He was busy with another man who was writing a complaint letter for a lost gold chain. Aadha Chaand was in charge of FIR activity. He spoke in a flawless rich old city Hyderabadi Hindi. And I was surprised to see him dictating the letter content ( complaint) in an extremely poor and grammatically incorrect English! By his dictation I realized that the letter was full of canned responses.

During that occasion Aadha Chaand lost his temper on the victim and shouted" Aapko bole tho samajh mein nahi aata kya yaaron? Kab se pukaar roon main idhar. "Jaldi Likho- he dictated again- "I sarching and sarching for my Gold chain, bat it vaaas in Wine." I amazingly understood which word he actually meant. It was the word 'Vain'. How and why does he know that word?

My turn arrived. Our hero cop kept holding my Tee as if I was a small time thug. I him asked to let go my T-shirt and I will not run anywhere. When I sensed that they are about to write an FIR, my heart sank. I thought of my career and my parents for a moment. But Aadha Chaand carelessly took out a dirty plain white paper. I sighed relief.

Poora naam bataao- He asked

"Abhishek Naini"- I said in a low tone.

"Abhishek Naidu"Hmmm.... He muttered and continued to write.

Sir- It's Abhishek Naini, not Naidu - I corrected him timidly.

"Tu apna mooh bandh kar. Aawaaz kiya tho phod dunga." He roared and reacted as if all his children have failed in their final examinations. I shut my mouth and felt its best to leave him alone. He continued to scribble in that paper. Even though the surname which he wrote was close to my ancestry origin, deep in my heart I also felt that its good for me to register with an incorrect name in Police Records.

When he finished writing he spoke to his men as if I wasn't there.
"Isko Khoob maaro. Agli baar gaadi chalaane ka naam nahi lega" Andar Daalo Saale ko. He pointed them to a cell.

"Sir- Please. Don't do this. I didn't do this intentionally". "I had to rush to the Municipal Office to submit my Voters ID application and I didn't see the traffic Signal. Otherwise I always obey it. "Please Sir." Let me go" ( Read: Begged)

I thought me speaking in English would come to my rescue as I'd come across as an educated person and eventually win the situation in my favor. I realized how stupid and how horribly wrong I was when the next moment they smacked me thrice on my neck ( again!!) and pushed me into that cell.

When I opened my eyes after 6 minutes, I realized that I had to do something to get out of that place. I got a positive vibe when I saw that the cell was not locked. I got up peeped from inside. I saw that buxom woman who I accidentally hit with my bike while trying to jump a traffic signal. At the time of accident she just fell aside was not at all hurt, not even a minor bruise. But to all the common people on that road, her figure and that feminine moan was sexy enough to stimulate the onlookers and a brawny constable who caught me after a filmy chase. Next thing I knew, he became her hero. And this hero dragged me to the police station.

She was sitting in the Senior Inspector's cabin. To my delight, I saw my Uncle and my cousin negotiating with them. I wasn't able to hear what they spoke. Thoughts were running in my mind. Being a woman favored her completely. And I bet, had I bumped into any other average man (Read: Fool), I'd have never felt the need to write this.

The Senior Inspector asked his sub ordinates to release me after a condition, set by the woman to which my Uncle had agreed.

Finally, I achieved redemption from my 7 minute stint in the cell.

While coming home, I asked my uncle "What was that woman's condition and why did she withdrew her complaint?

My uncle replied- "Oh Nothing! She wanted us to compensate for the little damage caused to her new dress and we agreed to pay her 750 rupees!"

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

My Cinematic Maturity

Oh My God! That song again! It was everywhere. The song was getting on to my nerves. But this was the same one raved by the masses. Why? It topped the charts -Superhit Muqabla on DD metro, Philips Top 10 on ZEE TV and any other countdown program. The word of mouth gained a momentum and it was full of excitement. Someone murmured ecstatically at my school- 13 songs! Wow! Another one said- I have purchased the audio cassette. Yet another girl muttered- I loved the movie!

It’s been a long time since I’ve hated a movie so much that it caused my physical pain. So much that I have decided to tell this story which transformed the way I've looked at cinema.

September 1994- I was just a month old in my first teens. I was an ethnocentric, grew up watching films of a different milieu. I was always addicted to different league of cinema. Never fascinated by the richness depicted in a film. I never cared about arty-farty concepts like Marriages and Family ties in a cinema. One fine day, my cousins dropped in and suggested that we watch this film.

I was certain about my expectations. The promos, trailers showed that this movie is strictly for connoisseurs of Bollywood family genre of the D grade variety. Nevertheless, we reached the celebrated theater of Hyderabad which was then considered on par with a multiplex. I looked around. Men posing as Salman Khan had arrived with their girls.Women in burka gearing up, college goers holding one book in hand. Nearby, the head of a family who had a difficult time controlling his Janta. I then got a controversial thought- How can someone watch a film along with the family?

The movie began. The director took creative liberty and introduced a 'Dog' in the titles. Right from the intro credits, I knew this movie is going to be worth my agony. Folks, I was only in 8th standard, when such thoughts occurred in my mind.

Sitting there in my seat I felt like I was being repeatedly stabbed in the eye, blinded by the saturated tones, the overwhelming family melodrama, a large house that can even put Buckingham Palace to shame, a bunch of familiar actors who hammed it effortlessly. I felt as if the film was standing on its own ground, and is managing hard not to get it right.

3 songs in less than 15 minutes irked me. Good lord! How many more? And believe me, I was actually counting the number of songs. Because I was planning to quiz people back at school. How idiotically convenient! However, I quickly understood what followed later in the film. I realized that it was a potpourri of set pieces that are the staple diet of this genre of movies. How can a family be so jovial, happiness everywhere, filthy rich, enthusiastically moronic characters, play antakshari so often? I desperately craved for one thing from all those scenes- Logic. Because all these years, I was used to English movies at Sangeet Theatre, a few good Telugu movies on television and a reasonable collection of Hindi movies on cable TV and VCR. But this film busted my Grey cells.

A little later, Salman Khan arrived in a ridiculuos two piece golden tuxedo. He danced away trying to woo the heroine dressed in a rich green outfit that caused fuzziness around my eye balls. Even today, I tinge a vomit sensation when I see Madhuri Dixit ( Don't ask me why)Some clunky dialogue made me cringe with embarrassment. It always happens, when the audience laugh over a shitty comedy scene, I actually feel embarrassed. And whenever I laughed, I was not laughing WITH the movie, I was laughing AT the movie for sheer ridiculousness of it.

As time ticked, I became impatient. How long will these celebrations continue? I wondered. It's supposed to be a movie and I longed to see some action and violence too. Minus that laughable "Tragedy Scene" where our Surabhi girl slips off the staircase, I failed miserably to understand the intent behind that film. But at the same time, I understood my own cinematic sense too. At the age of 13, I was already beginning to appreciate and distinguish quality movies and this constipated torture which I was going through.

And when that silly Pomeranian dog(who later had taken care of the climax too) declares a no-ball during the family cricket game, I had completely lost it.

Finally, after 3 hours, the movie ended. I stepped out in dismay having watched an extended wedding video! I wore a weary and anguished look. But the good news was- I went into the theater as a teenager and came out as a man!

I decided- I will only marry the girl who hates this movie as much as I do!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.