Blast from the past: B M Reddy

On November 11 1990, the PVKN Arts College Cricket team created history. We won the inter-college tounrament for the first time in the history of the college. I don't think the college repeated the feat.
Our captain was B.M. 'Chilka' Reddy. A drill master, leader, and one of the finest batsmen that the town produced. He played for the state but was not lucky enough to break in to the big league. During the run up to the inter-collegiate, we practiced twice every day. Practice included fitness training and the notorious fielding training, in which each player (all alone) would pick the ball that Reddy would hit, and shoot an accurate throw into the irreverent 'Kombu' our keeper. If you misfielded or if the throw was wayward you had to do a lap on the ground.

Looking back, I think the only reason I can think of why we won the tourney against the mighty SGS College (Tirupati) was discipline and B M Reddy. After winning the inter-collegiate, we went on to win the inter-districts in Tirupati. That evening, a really drunk B M Reddy tried to kill me with a Mysore Bonda. I refused to go buy smokes or something, and he wanted to teach me a lesson. And, all that he could find was a cold, oily, sorry ass Bonda. He hurled it at a hungry me and I dove to my right and caught it and ate it before he could say 'hic!' I choose to believe that we are still good cricketers because of him. Hats off B M 'Chilka' Reddy.

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Dichhaa

On my way to work this morning, I spotted a bunch of kids training for Karate in a neighborhood park. The middle aged, lanky master was shouting those Karate shouts and the kids responded in a thunderous chorus, moving their limbs as if they were slicing some invisible butter. And, a thought struck me: what if one of these kids, when they grow up and become software professionals, is confronted by a Bangalore auto driver or a mugger? Will Karate be enough?

After much thought, I arrived at the conclusion that even if you are an expert in Karate, Marathe, Kung-Fu, Kung Pao, Jin Tao, and every other martial art there is, a seasoned street fighter will kick you donkey to Uranus under 30 seconds.

On what basis am I concluding on this? You'll never ask me that if are from Chittoor.

I think I was in my first PU then; my friends and I'd just finished drinking our 'crush' (grated ice mixed with sewage water, sweeteners, and colour additives.) As we entered school, I noticed Anif (name changed), the body builder, walk towards Bhaskar (name changed). Anif's eyes were glowing; he swung his arms ferociously and his fists were clenched and white. There was a ghostly chill in the air, the boys and girls automatically moved away and made way for Anif. Even the boys playing cricket had stopped the game and were staring expectantly at Anif and Bhaskar. Bhaskar had no clue (or he pretended so) until Anif stood face to face. My curiosity got the better of my fear and I edged closer.

'Why are you talking to my girl?' Anif hissed.
'She's my cousin, what the fu....' Bhaskar did not even get to finish what he was saying. I saw it in slow motion. Anif's head arched back only to swing back and bang! I never saw Anif's forehead hit Bhaskar's nose. In a blink of an eye, Bhaskar was lying on the ground, his face all bloody. Anif waited for him to get up but Bhaskar looked like he was settling down there so much so that I wanted to say 'Good night Bhaskar!'
Anif eyes darted around to spot any of Bhaskar's supporters and he spotted me. A mighty shiver ran down my spine and my left knee started shaking like a Congress government.
'H-h-hey! Sir, h-how a-are you?' I bleated.
He did not even bother reciprocating. I was disgusted that I was calling a guy that never will pass 9th standard in his life 'sir!'

Anyway, what Anif did is called, referred to with a lot of respect, in Chittoor as 'Dichhaa' (pronounced 'ditch-aa.' No, not like 'coming aa?' 'Kings aa?' 'Yesssaaa?')

Do not try Dichaa at home. You need professional assistance to learn Dichaa. I have seen young men train hours on end, hitting their foreheads against punching bags. I know guys that break bricks with their foreheads: Dichaa!

But, nothing is as disastrous as a Dichaa gone wrong. For example, Suri, two years my junior and colony mate, tried a Dichaa on Raju. Now, Suri was all of four feet some inches. In all probability, he is still that. He picked an argument with Raju over the number of balls Raju had bowled. Suri claimed he already had bowled two overs and that it was time to retire from the game. Raju, who detests sarcasm in any form, held Suri's collar. Now, if you are wondering why does none of the onlookers ever separate those that fight, well, peace sells, but who's buying?
Anyway, the moment Raju held Suri's collar, all of us stopped whatever we were doing and we moved closer and formed a circle around the fighters. No, we don't cheer or boo like those American high school boys; come on! don't you know about our Indian culture?
We waited for some action but Suri and Raju were locked in a ferocious argument. After what seemed like ages, Raju said something about Suri's mother. Suri lost it. He should have kicked or punched but he went for jackpot: Dichaa. It was damn funny watching a midget jumping up to hit someone with his head. Raju further opened his perennially open mouth and Suri's head promptly hit the teeth. Suri fainted after he saw all the blood dripping down his head. Never attempt a Dichaa if you are a shorty. Never. Dicha is never bottoms-up. It is always lateral. It is always forehead that hammers the opponent.

People became world famous in Chittoor because of their Dichaas. Dichi (short for Dichaa) is automatically added to your name once you become an exponent of this art form. Dichi Kumar, Dichi Rajesh, Dichi Dilli... you get the drift? If you want to become a 'dada' mastering Dichi is a significant milestone in your career.
So how does one defend the Dichi? Simple. Move back and thank the sweet lord if you escaped unhurt.

Along with Dichi, Guduga, another street fight skill forms what I call the supreme, street fight repertoire. I have seen a couple of guys beating the shit out of a gang of eight using Dichi and Guduga. A dichi and a Guduga will make your opponent call lord Muruga is the old saying (I think.)
What is Guduga? Guduga is normally the second blow (the first strike is always with a Dichi). You hit the guy on his face and as he is crumbling down, finish him off by ramming your knee between his legs. Ramming your knee, my dear reader, is called Guduga.

Now, tell me, if you are a Karate champ and I can do 12 Dichas before you can say 'I am coming,' who do you think will win the fight, if we were to fight, god forbid? Think about it.

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Turtle Neck

Durga Nagar Colony, Chittoor. The place where I grew up. The hill is called the Turtle Neck (look carefully you'll know why it is called that). When in high school, we used to trek to the top of the 'neck' at least thrice a week. We did find some wildlife there; Monitor Lizards, Rabbits and a variety of snakes. No, not on the top but in and around the hill.

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Adventures of Surendar: Dasara Dossier

You’d know that Dasara is around the corner when Suren, my brother, started collecting empty cigarette packets. I’ll come to that later but for now let’s talk about Dasara celebrations in Chittoor back in the wonder years. A week before the puja celebrations started, they’d start erecting a huge palm leaf structure that’d house the goddess for ten days. Even before the structure came up, they’d fix those loud speakers and play devotional numbers by L.R. Easwari. My favorite was ‘Aaatha Karumaari kan pattaa podhum.’ Freak, I still hum it when I am pissed off with the traffic.

The Durgamma temple near the colony entrance organized the celebrations. The temple was quite famous in and around Chittoor. Every bus or truck that went towards Chennai stopped at her door step and smashed a Pumpkin filled with Vermilion and One rupee coins. Suren and I used to hover around the temple when we were short of money, waiting for that huge truck with a huge shipment: when the stakes were high, the number of coins in the Pumpkin increased like mad. Obviously we had to compete with other losers, street urchins, and punks that gambled…. It was a always a tough fight. The driver or the cleaner of the truck would cut a slice out of the Pumpkin and fill that hole with Vermilion and money. He’d then light some camphor on the Pumpkin, swing it in a circle thrice before he smashed it on the road. That probably saved the truck from accidents and robbers but it caused accidents right outside the temple. Quite a few unsuspecting cyclists and motorists would slip and crash because of the squishy Pumpkin all over the road.

Anyway, when he smashed the Pumpkin, Suren would dive for it while I waited in the periphery: most times the coins ricocheted off the road and landed far away. While the poor bastards were fighting over the smashed Pumpkin, their hands crimson with the vermilion, I’d sneak out with the money and share it with Suren. On one such occasion, one of my dad’s colleagues broke the story to our folks. My dad almost skinned us alive but we promised to him that we’d never go after that money or go picking Coconut too (oh yeah, they smashed Coconuts too). And by then, we were a little grown up too. We started thinking about decency and all. I was after girls too and tell me, how would it look if I were spotted picking money off the streets? Which girl would have fallen for me?

I warned Suren that he can’t do such shit anymore as his actions could adversely impact my reputation. He said yes and started something totally different. This time, he switched religions. He convinced Hari, one of his friends, to sit alongside the beggars that thronged the Muslim prayer grounds in Greamspet. They even made up a begging song, which Hari rehearsed under the able supervison of Suren. The faithful Muslims gave lots of money to the beggars, I guess it is a religous practice. Suren would hover around, in the shadows, ensuring that his friend was not pulling a fast one on him. They used to make two hundred rupees per head in a single day. For an 8th standard boy, in Chittoor, that was a lot of money. That arrangement crashed after Feroz, Suren's another friend, met him after the prayer and when they were crossing Hari, who was begging in his high-pitched voice, tugged at Feroz's trousers and Feroz went 'These beggars have become a major problem.' Suren then shouted at Hari and told him to 'study or work to make money.' That ended the begging adventure for the morons.

But when Dasara arrived, it was boom time for my enterprising brother. He and Hari (the beggar kid, yeah) collected empty Cigarette packs, made numbered tokens out of them. From the first day until the tenth, they would slog away every evening at the Dasara Palm Leaf temple, where thousands of people came by to visit the goddess. Suren and Hari would spread a plastic mat right outside the temple and offer people ‘shoe protection.’ You can’t walk into the temple with your shoes on and you can’t leave it on the road. So, people paid 50 paise per pair to Suren and Hari, to look after the shoes. Genius! But my dad didn’t think so.

One day, a rather inspired Suren failed to notice that it was in fact his dad’s shoes he was pulling: Suren was fighting with a competitor that had sprung up from out of nowhere. As my dad reached, the competitor and Suren were locked in a fierce battle for my dad’s shoes. My perplexed dad, in that dim light, suddenly realized that it was in fact his youngest son that had won the shoes. Suren was grounded for 200 years and was spanked with my dad’s 1500-year-old leather belt.
[This is not a series but I will be compiling all Suren's adventures very shortly. Watch this space. Baby.]

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The Perfect Love Letter - Concluding Part

This is a long ass post. Don't complain later that I didn't warn you.

Continued from
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

I don’t know how I got back home after my weird encounter with Bhel Pathan. I felt a lot better after drinking my mother’s filter coffee and smoking a couple of beedis on the terrace. It was the end of the month and I had no money. I didn’t even have money to buy her a New Year card. My dad promised to break my neck if I asked for more money. I had pawned my silver chain to pay off debts. My brother hid his piggy bank and I could not find it even after searching for it for a week. I was broke. My girl was about to disappear from my life, thanks to me. And, I was hooked to beedis now.

I sat on the terrace wall watching the stars appear and as the light gave into the allure of darkness. I felt stranded and estranged. I had instructed my mom not to let any of my friends know that I was home. I heard a couple of them talking to my mom at the door and leaving. They were organizing a party. We wanted to try Gin on that New Year’s Eve. I decided to spend the evening alone. The grapevine had it that the girl went mute after listening to AH’s snitching. I knew what it was. Whenever she was incensed, she would shut the world out and stay silent. What was I going to do? I was exasperated. I lay on my back on the terrace, as I had nothing better to do and before long fell asleep. I don’t know how long I was sleeping but someone was screaming at me and slapping my head, when I woke up. It was completely dark and the terrace light was not on. The bulb blew a fuse I guess. As sleep wore off, I realized to my utter delight that it was none other than the junior: my witness and savior!

I hugged him and almost cried. He got caught in Hyderabad because his train ticket was not confirmed. He was acting weird though. I ran down the steps and dashed into the bathroom to wash my face. My heart was racing. If I confronted her tonight and the showdown happens, I can have my witness to make a delayed entry and tell her that AH was lying. The plan was on track! But, as I was drying my face, for some strange reason, I heard the Pathan’s words again,
‘Lies and lack of faith!’
I felt as if a tiny steel hand caught my heart and gave it a mighty squeeze. The witness was staring at me when I said, ‘do you think I am doing the right thing? I mean all the lies and drama etc you know?’
‘It is too early to worry about all that, don’t you think so?’ He said. Sarcasm and Brahmins are inseparable I guess. I made a mental note to take care of the bugger after I was done with my love issues. I gave instructions.
‘I am going to meet her now. She must be playing badminton under the lights in the colony ground. I am sure of it. When she sees me, she is going to pounce on me and tear me apart. I am going to walk away, sad face and all that. I will walk away from the badminton court, out of earshot you know, when you will stop me and pretend talking to me. Say some nonsense. Count from 0 to 135 or something? I will shake my head. You have to be animated as well. Then you will walk up to her and ask her to step aside. And you will tell her that AH lied and that you were right next to me when I spoke to AH in the Cricket ground. You leave. She will run to me in slow motion. I will finally give her my love letter. We will live happily ever after. Okay?’
He nodded like a humping dog and we ran out.

I stopped near the slope that leads to the badminton court. It was lit up with those lights that they use in lawn parties. There was a sizeable crowd that had gathered that day. I saw her sitting in the shadows, with her best friend. They were watching four losers play Ring. I made another mental note to tell the colony secretary to ban playing ring in the colony. What kind of a loser game is that anyway? You throw a rubber ring across the net and your opponent catches it and throws it back. You score when your opponent drops the ring… god! Why do some boys thing it is a cool sport? Anyway, I asked my witness to stay in a place where no one could spot him. He chose to squat at the foot of the slope. The streetlights were on vacation anyway. I paused to take a deep breath. This was it!

I walked up the slope and after what seemed like ages, I entered the badminton court. Out of the corner of my eye I saw AH and his cronies. I thought he sniggered. I turned towards her and waved; an innocent wave, as if I was unaware of the controversy. She rose to her feet and came right at me. I closed my eyes for a moment and said a little prayer.

‘I am sorry that I have been troubling you with my silly greeting cards and my proposals!’ She hissed. She started walking down the slope. I tried to catch her best friend’s eye but she turned her face away.
I ran down after the girl, for I did not want her to find that moron witness of mine squatting on the road, in the middle of the night.
I overtook her and stopped her in her tracks.
‘What the hell was that!?’ I said.
‘You should know. You have been talking to your friends.’ She said. She looked hot when she had her hands on her hips.
‘What friends? What is this cards and proposal thing all about?’ I said.
‘Did you tell someone that I was after you?’
‘After me? What do you mean?’
‘After you as in after you.’
‘Oh that after you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Crazy! Why would I say something like that?’
‘So you did not?’
‘No. I did not. I swear.’
‘Swear on me?’
‘W-what?’
‘Swear on me that you did not mention it to anyone.’
‘I s-swear I d-didn’t…’

I couldn’t swear on her. For all the fantastic schemes that I hatched, I could not lie to her. I was disgusted with myself. The breeze whistled through the trees and the Crickets took a break. The silence had just settled down on us and the Crickets started their chorus again.
In the feeble light from the badminton court, I saw tears running down her face.
‘Lies and lack of faith.’ The Pathan’s words echoed in my head.
I took her hand and she threw my hand away. She looked away and she controlled her sobs. She wiped her face with her handkerchief and cleared her throat. ‘Here we go.’ I told myself.
‘I hate you.’ She said.
I knew that she meant it. Somehow I knew that my witness was not going to help me too much. I decided to end it right there. By telling her the truth. I walked up to where the witness was hiding and told him that we were aborting the plan.
‘What the hell? I practiced all night on the bus! How can you do this to me?’ He said.
I slapped him and asked him to buzz off. I walked back to her and said,
‘Can we go for a walk? I need to tell you something.’
She started walking. We walked towards her home.

‘Listen, I love you.’ I said and I felt a huge boulder fly off my chest.
She stopped in her tracks and stared at me.
‘All that happened was because of the fact that I love you.’ I said. I told her everything. From the love letters in blood to the grand plan with AH.
When I finished, we had reached her place. She sat on the steps below the gate. I sat next to her. Somewhere, screams of ‘Happy new year!’ erupted. A strand of hair fell across her face. She blew it off.

The Bhel Pathan was right. I didn’t know what her answer was, for I didn’t ask her any questions in the first place. I didn’t want to too. I checked my pockets and found some beedis. They will see me through that tough night, I thought. I rose to my feet and stood facing her.

‘Happy new year and… good luck. I am sorry for being such a dick.’ I said. She just nodded.
‘And, I will miss you I guess.’ I said and choked on it. I looked away as a teardrop flew off on a tangent and found freedom in the womb of the night. ‘Girls don’t like men that cry!’ erupted in my head. That’s what Suri said all the time. He cried in all the movies invariably. I thrust my letter in her hand before I walked away. After nearly a year of writing it (in normal ink) the letter finally found its home. It was a simple letter, no blood or anything fancy. No perfumed paper and all.

She never spoke to me after that for six months. Six long, excruciating months. I tried moving on but I couldn’t. I tried dating other girls but found them really stupid. Some, under the pretext of having a meaningful conversation, asked me what I thought of Yendamuri Veerendranath. I told them ‘Yendamuri writes like a 70 year old guy that never got laid.’ So, there. I was on a destructive spree.

She insulted me at the tuitions by not talking to me, or responding to my earth shaking ‘Hi!’ She just looked away as if I never existed. When the Colony gang went for a movie, she made sure that she did not end up next to me. The whole world came to a tacit agreement I guess that no one would bring my topic when she was around or talk to me about her. When you cry, you cry alone. I prayed everyday that all those bastards failed in their exams and that their girl friends should dump them.

One of her cousins from Bangalore came down to Chittoor. My younger bro and I were returning from the provision store when we bumped into the girl and the cousin. She introduced the cousin to my bro and the three of them spoke like long lost friends, while I watched from the sidelines. I smiled at the cousin, who was quite hot herself, when she looked at me. She just nodded and winked at me. It was a message. I nodded back as if I understood. Before the cousin left for Bangalore she left a note for me. I got the note from the girl’s best friend. The note read ‘Patience pays.’

That day it rained quite heavy. The Gulmohar tree lost a branch. There was a power-cut. The evening was hazy and the cooking fires from the huts in Ed’s farm sent beautiful columns of smokes to the skies. The pungent fragrance of burning firewood permeated the place. Velan the milkman waved as he pedaled hard on his bicycle on his way home; the empty milk cans banged against the bicycle creating a Buddhist monastery feel. I stood in the Verandah and observed the mist clad hills far away, behind the Arts College. I was alone and had no smokes on me; no money either, as ever.

Our neighbor, who lived in a tile-roofed house behind us, started his blow-the-nose-to-hell routine. I never quite understood why he did it. I initially thought he was trying to blow his lungs out through his nostrils but later found that he suffered from OCD of the nose: he wanted them clean. As his nose blowing reached a tremulous crescendo, I heard the gate open.

There she was, shiny beads of rain adorned her long, curly hair. She took a step and asked coyly,
‘May I come in?’
‘You may. What took you so long?’
‘Convincing myself that you are not a dick?’

I laughed. It was one of those moments. One of those moments, that reveals life is going to be good. One of those moments, that announces that your ass is all right.

She stood next to me and joined me in my hill gazing. The neighbor stopped for the day after a mighty blow of the nose. Peace limped back into the evening. And I started thinking about how to convince the girl that making out is all right. I mean she thought French kiss meant kissing in Paris. That is a story for another day I guess.

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The Perfect Love Letter - 4

Apologies for the delay in bringing the concluding parts of this story to you. If you haven't read the earlier parts, please do so before you proceed further. I don't think it matters but I'll anyway warn you: this is a long ass post.

Continued from
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

It was 31 December and I was walking on Bazaar street in Greamspet. I was there not because I had any business there but because I didn’t know what else to do. I was roaming around like a zombie. My grand plan was about to backfire.

The garish, sweltering afternoon kept people indoors. The street was deserted. Well almost. I heard the Bhel-selling Pathan somewhere. He was a portly, old man with a shiny, white flowing beard and a Pathan cap that seemed as if it was stitched to his head. I never saw him without it. He sold Bhel (puffed rice) on his moped, a Suvega that moved at a lightning speed of 20 KMPH on a good day. And, good days were far and few between for his Suvega. He carried two large sacks of Bhel that burdened the 50CC moped. We would know that the Pathan was on his way, at least ten minutes before he actually graced our streets: the Suvega made up for its snail-pace with its cacophonous exhaust noise. New comers to the locality thought he was arriving in a truck! He would make a grand entry, always in the afternoon before teatime, crushing the Bhel and blowing it to the heavens. The Suvega would swerve perilously on the street before he tamed the wacky beast and put it on its stand. The crushed Bhel, in the meantime, would float all around him, creating some sort of an snowy, ethereal effect. Though hardly anyone bought the Bhel, most people popped out braving the merciless, Chittoor Sun, just to catch a glimpse of the gregarious Pathan.

I ran into him near the temple. He stopped and greeted me in Tamil. I never understood how a Pathan could speak all South Indian languages, but he did speak all of them. I don’t know why he was called a Pathan in the first place but he played to his title very well.

‘Mora moraaalu!’ he roared and grinned baring his yellow teeth. That was his trade-call, his ‘branding’ if you will. He claimed that you can hear the sound ‘mora mora’ if you crushed his Bhel. I responded with a feeble smile.
‘What happened bhai? All well at home?’ he enquired.
‘All fine. All fine.’ I said but I guess my voice gave it all away.

He brought the Suvega on its legs, the stand, and slapped the sagging Bhel sacks into position before he came by my side and put his arm around me and said,
‘What’s troubling you beta? Your father caught you smoking?’

Though I had stopped buying Bhel from him years back, when we moved from Greamspet, I used to talk to him when I bumped into him anywhere in the town and sort of became friends with him. He lived some where near our Chemistry tutor’s place and he saw me with the girl quite often. And he always beamed his trademark smile at me and a nod of respect to her. I figured he understood what was going on.

I did not answer his question, for I knew he was going to arrive at the issue.
‘How is that lovely, young lady? Your friend?’ He finally asked.
‘Oh she is great. She is great yeah.’ I sighed and he nodded ferociously before uttering the simple yet moving words.
‘Talk to her if she is angry. Women like to hear the same thing many times. I have two wives and I know from experience that nothing like an honest, heart-to-heart talk to fix any issue. Anything at all!’
‘What makes you think that she and I are not on good terms?’ I said.
‘You have not denied it yet and your face tells a million stories. After all, I have known you since the time you started crawling, eh?’
‘I don’t know Pathan, I played some games on her to impress her and to gain some sympathy…’ I said and observed that my voiced quivered.
‘Sympathy is for losers, bhai, winners do it by tackling the demon by its horns. But then again, the trouble is you need to find what your demons are. I guess they are lies and lack of faith. Kill them, but for now, eat my mora-moraalu!’ The Pathan said handing me a fistful of Bhel. We sat down on the stone bench outside the temple. A couple of kids were riding Nandi the bull. I don’t know why but I told him my story. He listened to me as he blew his crushed Bhel and by the time I finished, there was a crunchy carpet of Bhel all around me.

‘Like I said, go tell her the facts before it is too late. I don’t see any other way out. Even if your plan works, do you think you will be happy? I don’t think so. From what I have seen I think she likes you. The way she looks at you when you two are walking together?’
I was excited. ‘You really think so Pathan? I mean you are the expert, do you really think she’s got feelings for me?’
He paused to cough. He cleared his throat, pulled out a beedi from behind his ear, and lit the beedi despite the strong breeze that had started a few moments back.
I asked him for a beedi but he refused to part with one.
‘She is a beautiful girl so how many boys are after her?’ He asked.
‘Around ten? Maybe more?’ I said.
‘Yet, she sticks around only with you?’
‘We are friends Pathan… were friends.’
‘A man and a woman can’t be so close and not fall in love. So, don’t give up. Actually why don't you write a letter and give it to her if you are scared that you will mess it up when you are talking to her? Now, I will have to take care of my business. Do tell me what happened.’ He said.
He patted me on the back of my head before he started his Suvega and went away.

I stood there watching him disappear around the bend. Sweat trickled down my face and I wiped it off with the back of my hand. Back to square one. Letter again! But, I really thought about what he said. Why is it that the obvious always evades us until it is too late? All I had to do was to get the message across and that was it, but I wasted time chasing Garden lizards and staging dramas to get her attention and sympathy.

People say that when your time has arrived nothing can go wrong. But, mostly the opposite of it occurs: when you are destined to be screwed, not even Chiranjeevi can save you.

My junior, who was supposed to be my witness, was in Hyderabad. He had promised to return the previous day but he was nowhere to be seen. Junior’s ultra conservative, brahmin dad refused to talk to me because he claimed that he saw me in Jyothi talkies, watching one of those Malayalam movies. I wanted to ask him what he was doing there, but I had better things to do. I never was at the Jyothi talkies. I always watched my share of ‘those’ Malayalam movies in Ananda movie hall. They showed dubbed versions. The dialogues were in Telugu but the content remained the same. Junior’s dad also threatened to kill his son if I ever met him. I wanted to reassure him that if his son did not turn up, before it was too late, I would do the honors myself.

So, AH executed part one of my grand plan. He went and sang to her. He told her how I had bragged about the girl irritating me by stalking me and giving me 'I miss you' cards. About how I would throw her out of my life if she had any grand ideas like 'love.' He played his part well. So the original plan of proving that the AH was lying and there by creating a trough of sympathy backfired. My witness was inaccessible. And all hell broke loose that night. The new year’s eve.

[Concluding part to be posted tomorrow. Promise!]

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