Yours truly was looking for a write up as he decided to own a blog. Every Tom, Dick and Harry owns one. I’m neither of the three but I own one, err, I mean a blog. I was reading the Reader’s digest which was giving tips on how to write a note.
It asks to begin by writing a memoir and not an autobiography. Duh. As I kept pondering, there is a memoir I wish to share on this auspicious Friday I have decided to start a blog. It might be funny, or it may not and some of you my go insane as you read this. But it was a Sunday, the 11th of January, 2009. My dad’s alma mater was calling me. He did his graduation in REC, Trichy, now NITT. My friends were calling me for the pongal holidays to go say hi to a few deities. My friends Vivek, Avinass and I started in an ABT bus, yes the one that has Hanuman lifting a mountain. We got in, all was hunky dory and we slept off as we crossed Chennai. It was near Villupuram we took a break where had to pay Rs.2/- to pee in the open. It was near Ariyalur that we were woken up for a second time to realize that the bus had broken down. Margazhi paniyil, mayangidum iravil, Oorvasi vanthal enai thedi… went a film song. While the first part was true, we wouldn’t have been surprised if it was Mohini instead of Oorvasi. It was 2 AM in the morning on the national highway and we were lucky to get into a government bus where we slept on the floor of the bus and finally finished the lousy albeit very funny journey to the place of my birth.
NITT. One of the premier institutes of technology. I was in the hostel in Vivek’s room. This was the last day of class before the holidays started. It was also the day the day the Golden Globe awards were announced. Having nothing to do in the hostel, I was roaming the precincts of the institute where my father wished one of his children would study. I am out of running. But wait. I get a call from Aravindh, another of my friends doing chemical engineering there.
There was a guy, Charan. He was absent. There was a teacher, who was new. There was me, and I was asked to take Charan’s place. If this sounds like the 79 synonyms listed in the Oxford dictionary that defines silly, I was asked to give proxy attendance for him. For once, and hopefully not the last, the girls were looking at me. Guys were smirking. I was Charan, from Gopalapuram, roll number 8, 3rd year, Chemical engineering, NITT. I wish my dad was there to see my baptism. The teacher started by asking questions on physics and ended up with some random stuff fuck alone knows. I ended up answering one question which he deemed was right.
As I conclude this memoir, guys were thrilled in the class at some fun. I was strangely feeling smug, having given them something to smirk about. I will not go into further details about the journey which had a roller coaster bus ride to Kumbakonam resulting in 3 visceral reactions to end up in emetic regurgitations the whole day as Aravindh would put it.
I would rather like to drift back to the Reader’s Digest guide on writing a memoir which says not to make the memoir chronological. It explains the first two words of this note.
And thereby hangs a tale.