Drenched

A rainy day in Shillong is not just about the downpour. It creates stories and anecdotes that wouldn’t happen if it was not for the rain.

In school, the rain would slam onto the courtyard and the corridors would be splashed in no time. With my kind of luck, it rained especially when I was in my track-suit [on the days we had aerobics], and much to my mom’s horror I’ll go back home literally brown with mud and water.

The rain brought about interesting games, like the one where we pull each other along the corridors like a sledge. The gymnasium used to be open at times and it was a hall of noise literally. There were these stacks of desks at the end where kids used to literally climb up and down and everyone is having his lunch everywhere.

Rain meant the building was cramped for space and with students running around and emerging from every nook and cranny, there was bound to be the usual bumping, which would evolve into a full-fledged fight. I was one of those guys who saw a lot of fights but was never involved in most. These fights would more or less happen when it rained, and a lot of times, the proposal of postponing them till 3 O’clock was usually made.

As I got older, a rainy day usually meant comics, movies, hot alu-chops and endless waiting for the showers to thin out a little so I can venture out. There were the times when we’d get caught in the rain and get totally drenched.

I remember it was in my tenth grade that the guys got invited for this party by some PM girls. It was a Saturday and we were all decked up and met up in Down-Shop. As we started off to our destination, which was a rented hall in a pretty posh hotel in Police Bazaar, the rain suddenly came down on us and we literally dissolved in it. There we were, almost the whole of 10B, in the middle of Ward’s Lake [short-cut], in our best clothes and gelled hairstyles, drenched and caught unaware like sitting ducks.

By the time we’d reached the place, we were ushered in by our lovely hostesses, and shown the bathrooms straightaway where we all ended up trying to wring our T Shirts dry. That Figueroa [forgive me if I spelt it wrong] wine didn’t last more than a few minutes as everyone warmed himself up and I’ll tell you, the dim setting and the expanding dimensions of that hall, the preceding downpour and the general excitement and nervousness in the air still remains fresh in my memory.

I met a lot of new people that day, and over the years some of them have become my very good friends and part of that wonderful Shillong gang that constitutes my world back home.

So now as I type this while listening to a melancholic Korean song by some anonymous singer,window shades pulled behind me and the sun shining brightly outside, you can only guess what the weather is in my thoughts.

The Road Home

In highland spirits I trust, and a dreary three day trip across a dust bowl plateau is worth it when the first glimpses of Umiam Lake are seen. Come June or July hopefully, I’ll see the clouds descend and feel the mist that I dream of everyday.

When you travel for three days in a train, it sucks the life out of you. The Bangalore-Guwahati Express has been a third home to me, considering the amount of time I’ve spent on that train. It meanders along an illogical route and real progress is only made once you head north from Chennai and from then it’s just counting down the hours over the next couple of days.

Predatory eunuchs and the likes will be aplenty, so if you’re a young lad like me, it is always safe to be armed with some change. But that’s not what we want to talk about for now; it’s more about the journey uphill from Guwahati to Shillong.

As the mercury dips, the winding roads make you feel at home straight-away. I never wait impatiently for Shillong once I’m on my way; instead I absorb the sites around me as if it were the first time. Whether it is a small hamlet on the side of a green hill or a truck on its side, an inviting line of liquor shops or incoming bezerkers in their sumos, these are the attributes of a trip to Shillong.

I always thought that the “chaos” of Shillong traffic was more “organized” than the rest of India. And I’m still waiting to be proven otherwise. No angry chants here, no stupid over-taking maneuvers and not too many blaring impatient horns, that’s how I sum up the traffic when I compare it to the madness that is Bangalore. We enter Mawlai first, and the first butcher’s shop that I see makes me smile and think about the syrwa I’ll be having for dinner. Besides the best beef and pork in town, Mawlai has a pretty fierce reputation, and not too many want to hang around out there for too long. I have a few friends there, from school. None of them were “fierce”, one was exceptionally clever, one was real fun and the third was John. I hope I run into these guys soon, it’s been ages since I caught up with them.

As we pass Mawlai and enter the central part of Shillong, the sumo stops near the Civil Hospital. Now I would be a little impatient and I board a taxi and check out the changes they’ve made to the place since my last trip. The last walk is down the steps opposite Mildora’s off the main road, past the lower level of the Parking Lot, left I go past that Naga food joint ( One day, P Shome and I will finally go there ) and up to that little red gate with LD on it.

A hot bath is what I need.

I’m thinking about it now.

Fried mustard leaves, beef and soft rice. I guess I’ll have the syrwa the next day.

Sunnier Days

A broken heart signals the end of immaturity, that’s what I’d like to believe. No one comes out of it the same and when we pass the “blame-game” stage we realize that in the end it just prepared us for bigger shit that’s going to happen.

You might call me pessimistic but in reality this is an optimistic approach to a struggle of a life.

The weather eased out a little this morning. Finally, some reprieve from the weather gods, but now it looks like it is getting back to normal. At least I’m indoors penning (?) this journal and not outside in the sun.

How I used to love the sun when I was a kid, and the sunniest day of all, Annual Sports Day. Even if it rained the whole week, it never rained on Sports Day until the final March-past was completed. A couple of weeks, even more, of practicing our class drills, and the ensuing after-school sports practice all culminated in this great “social” event. For me I don’t have too many memories of the latter, sports practice. I was involved in it 3 times and the last was in class 10, after a gap of 5 years. I can’t fight it anymore now; I just never was that good in sports. Add to that a family concerned more about grades than how I felt about other things, then I guess you can call it fucked-up to an extent.

Yeah, bring it on guys, I accept it. (Although I had a few memorable cricket moments)

Back to sunnier topics, how I would never mind the sun back then. No one did, as we all frolicked to our tents in our drill costumes, looking forward to the goodies offered in the stalls around the quadrangle by our very own wonderful teachers. It was a small world for me back then, spread over 24 acres and a bit of Canada.

Then after the brief sun came the rainy season, a real dampener on those cricketing aspirants, while for the footballers it only meant a slushier football [Pit]ch. Back then there wasn’t much any of us saw in the rain.

Now I’m looking forward to it.

Laitumkhrah Evenings

An evening in “my” Shillong would be typically described as the easiest way to watch time fly. Especially if, like me, you are a fan of strolls through the centre of town.

These walks are just a way of meeting up with people, and when you start off alone, by the time you’ve taken a couple of rounds, there’ll be a couple of friends with you as you decide where to have that first cup of tea. Now of course, with the mobile age dawning (?) upon us, this form of socializing is endangered, but for the adventurous (??), you can go ahead and step out of the gate without making a single call or sending a single text message.

Many a conversation have risen in the midst of these walks, some forgotten and some memorable, interrupted by stops at the cigarette shop. It would be safe to say that by five it’s all dark, and as Laitumkhrah buzzes with evening shoppers, it’s time for the guys to start planning.

A pissed off Debu, signals his rage at not getting a puff of the last ciggy rather constructively by buying a packet, and distributing a stick each to everyone. And as everyone tries to keep a straight face for a while, it is but a matter of a few minutes before he lets out his trademark wail and everybody bursts into laughter. This was the norm, and those were the days when we never had enough money for cigarettes.

An evening in Laitumkhrah is a rather unique experience in itself, as the main road looks refreshingly cosmopolitan compared to other parts in the city. It is a correct representation of the mood of the city, where nothing is perfect, yet things move on. The hotspots are the various cyber-cafes and pool joints on the main street. Then the various restaurants offering what is unofficially the most common snack in Shillong- puri sabji, line up the main road while the inhabitants of various hostels around go for their evening walks keeping in mind their curfews.

After a few rounds, it’s Ribok for everyone. Tarkari does not appreciate the samosa, as he peers into it after a couple of surgical dissections. He then decides that the sugar in his tea is inadequate. Sometimes it’s the puri that horrifies him, and this time everyone agrees. They have served us a bowl of oil rather than a puri.

We still eat it though.

When I get back home the first thing I check is what movie they have to offer on the local movie channel. There are certain times though when I get home later than usual, and then the first thing I check is whether that last minute rum-gobble did not condemn me to an evening of sermons from my very concerned mother.I shouldn't smile too much, at the same time I shouldn't be too quiet.

She's too clever for me though.

UFO, the Space between the Two Logs.

The space between the logs, UFO owes its name to a certain issue of Fantastic Four [April 1998] which featured those incredible Moloids.

The Moloids now live below the earth on the slopes towards the “Dark Woods” of Risa, their underground civilization marked on the surface by 2 mundane logs. If it wasn’t for the man himself, Slyman, Overlord of the Seekers, this would have been a secret that could have lasted ….. well….. forever.

But that fateful night when I deduced the secret behind [below?] my favorite drinking hang-out, they came to me and made me promise that it is all the information that I can divulge.

The Moloids are the soul behind the drinking experience in UFO. They make you look beyond what you see; find hats where skulls are supposed to be, and make trucks braking on the highway sound like other-worldly banshees screaming for your skin. Never doubt the Moloids for then you are toying with eternity.

Dhruba is one of the many examples of the people who were touched by the UFO experience. That fateful afternoon, when the demon called ISCE had “passed” us, was when D learned that there was nothing that bettered nature itself. A few minutes later, Steven was being pulled up from a certain fall, [As mentioned earlier, this is an event that will never stop being talked about]. Saved, was Steven by the grace of UFO, and straight shots of McDowell’s Rum [Something Irish yet again, if only just the name]

Christmas 2002, when the Muffler was almost lost. I shudder to think so, but gladly I am able to tell you that it was retrieved. UFO never loses your things; you only have to go back before it rains.

UFO, “the space between the two logs”, where we all liked to go and chase our demons and angels. I wonder if it were signs of things to come.

An Introduction.

Its 11:09 AM, and about 33 degrees outside. The AC is not central, and I’m feeling the humidity weighing on me. Then there’s work too.

As I trudge along the day, my mind goes back to Shillong, and the idyllic examples of my existence back there.

The smell of pine hurts your chest in a sweet way, something that is unique with the mountain air of my “Queen of the Hill Stations”. I remember sitting on those giant steps in front of my school’s main field, and even then I used to sit with nostalgia heaving within thinking about my school days, and those optimistic nineties. Little changed about those steps, except that instead of having lunch there, we had grown into obnoxious teenagers trying to sneak a beer in and searching for a quiet place.

We were not trouble-makers at all. We just wanted to be left alone. A motley crue of characters, our group was. Be it the insanity of Debu’s humor or Tarkari’s brooding paranoia. Bahduh was “brotherly” in outlook at times while J was armed with a cattle prod at all times, making sure we were not wasting our precious “youth” by doing “nothing”. Vicky was another one armed with a sense of humor that could be lethal, but it always involved context, so you can’t really say he was Stand-Up material.

We never knew how we ended up spending so much time in Down-Shop, and during those drunken expeditions into the Risa Colony forest. With the self-confessed jungle expert Steven with us, exploring the forest took National Geographic proportions. Each creaky wood that made up the “first bridge” had adventure etched on it and the story of how I saved Steven’s bones near that stream by pulling him up after he almost went crashing down will never stop being a topic. Yes folks, we’re talking about 80 kg Steven and indeed the alcohol blurred the gravity of the situation. The alcohol and the fact that ICSE was over.

It was easily a 15 feet drop.

Well let’s get back to describing my Shillong. The winter afternoons were heavenly indeed, especially if there were oranges involved. It was on one of these winter afternoons that I skate-boarded my neighbour’s blue home-made board into the wall of the rubbish dump near Speedway Motors. In the process, I went crashing too, but I still felt cool. I felt like I was in an Offspring video.

Debu’s house was another place that offered us solace during those bitter cold days. An ashtray which could have just had P Shome's name [The only “confirmed” smoker in our group back then] labeled on it was where we stubbed our troubles of life. And of course a host whose hatred of clothes is well-known, forever trying to learn GnR lyrics and maintaining his look of a SOAD discard, his snarling vocals forever being the background music as Tarkari held a stuffed gorilla in a deadly headlock. [Sorry for the very contextual description of things but on the good side it’ll be like a brain exercise for all you strangers out there]

Then there was UFO, the place between the 2 logs, christened by yours truly. They still call it UFO now, 8 years later. This place is located in the entrance to the “Dark Woods” of Risa, near the dwellings of some Nepalese who Steven claimed to be after his life. [The ever dramatic soft-spoken fat-ass he is]

It’s basically 2 fallen logs and some space in between, on a gentle slope. Gentle enough for Bodo to go crashing down as he went chasing “ghosts”. The surrounding pines were so tall, and their charred trunks made interesting photos. It was there when we laid on the dry leaves and stared at the sprinkled blue beyond the pines. That scene stills stays with me as I type this journal in an office a couple of hundred meters off Bangalore’s M.G. Road.

I can never let it go. Those memories are long gone but it’s something which I will not forfeit forever. Maybe I’m older now, and I don’t know if UFO will still cater to my expectations now, but I wish I can go back and sit down, rest my head on the light brown grass and let the sweet smell of pine soak up this cynicism that the city has bestowed upon me. Maybe then I’ll see the difference in the life that I want and the life I am living. Maybe I’ll realize whether the past really exists or is it just a sugared-up representation of our lives like everybody says.