Friday, November 03, 2006

Chapter-2: The Journey Reaches Its Moment of Truth

“Hello?” the familiar low pitched croaky voice which gave us so much confidence and courage in an age of fear and the longing to be treated as men came rushing back.
“Zebra Calling Cobra, Zebra Calling Cobra, do you read me,” Jeevan responded.
A loud laughter which the Old Man used to liken to a 60Watt bulb lighting up came rolling back, “Where the hell are you guys?”
“Aliya, Manu we are calling from Athens.”
“Poday, Poday, Or is it from Pangapaara Lodge?”
When the boys began to travel and head for foreign shores for study, work or holiday, we used to joke that it was all a big lie and we could be found at Pangapara Lodge.
“What are you doing?”
“Tonight is Barrack-khana. We officers are having dinner with the Jawans.”
“When do you get leave to come home?”
“I am leaving on a mission. Cant reveal more. Will be home in December.”
“Dai, they sending you to cooking school or to Kashmir?”
We all broke out into laughter, but the mood soured immediately.
“As I said, this is the posting I always wanted. So what’s the agenda for you guys?”
“You be careful. Da, we have taken a decision and thought you should also be part of it. We have each set ourselves a goal and try to achieve it by December and then meet at the Old Man’s grave.”
And then Jeevan proceeded to tell Manu what each of us were about to do as Manu listened.
“Machans, I am really proud that I got to study with you all. If I am alive, I too will be there to meet Him.”
The phone went dead. Manu had never before talked of life or death either. For him it was all a game…or so we liked to believe.

Manu was the soul as well as devil of our class. At an age when we were content trying hard to be good boys in the eyes of teachers, parents and seniors he decided there was more to life than being a good student, an excellent sportsman, a talented singer, or playing Mr. Nice Guy, all of which he was. He revelled in mischief, creating trouble out of nothing, making fun of anyone who appeared scared to join in one of his enterprises. But most of us in the course of time discovered his heart of gold hidden behind that rough, at times menacing, at times boyish exterior. It was like he had a halo around his head, juniors feared him, teachers wouldn’t mess with him…well all except for the Old Man, and even boys in other schools knew all about him. All of us earnestly wondered to what career Manu would gravitate, and that was one card he held close to his chest. He disappointed us all with taking up engineering but soon realizing his mistake, switched, and today served the nation and its people, a most distinguished career had taken-off and we were immensely proud of him.

By now it was eight at night. The Acropolis was closing down for the night. We looked at each other, the night couldn’t take away the glow emanating from our faces. The four of had a kept a promise with destiny. Now it was time to pull our acts together, wipe out all traces of self-doubt and push ahead with gusto. I don’t know why, but we hugged each other before making the descent. We decided to meet at night again for drinks. From there, Jeevan and Rafi would leave for the US, while Koshy and I for India. I had wanted to club a back-packing trip though Europe but money was a short commodity for me and time for the others.

The pub was crowded but we managed to find a table without having to wait too long. The music was good but not too loud which would let us talk without having to shout.
“Drinks are on me,” Jeevan proclaimed.
“Are you sure you won’t regret this?” I asked.
“Watch your tongue, you are speaking to a millionaire,” came Jeevan’s quick reply.
He was right. I knew I made a big fuss about my self-esteem at times.
We were losing count of how many drinks had passed by. Rafi as usual wasn’t satisfied with the music and kept walking over to the DJ with song requests scribbled on a paper napkin. Jeevan and I smiled. How many times had we seen this from him!
“I have an announcement to make. I will be marrying in June,” the usually secretive Koshy’s spirits had risen to the occasion.
“That’s great machu. Who’s the lucky gal?”
“We have been seeing each other for a few years now. Our parents gave their permission just now. Hope nothing else comes in the way.”
“Guys, this round is for Koshy and Lena. May you guys live to old age with love and lust never to ebb away,” Rafi as usual had his way with words.
“And may your offspring never take after your nerdish ways,” this time it was Jeevan.

The next day was spent sightseeing. Athens was a wonderful mix of the old and new. This was the first foreign city I had laid eyes on and the others were amused and envious of my excitement. Meanwhile Jeevan’s roving eye had caught the attention of a fellow-tourist in the chartered bus and we waited with bated breath as he wasted no time hitting on her. A few seconds back he returned, a little embarrassed, a little disappointed.
“Tough Luck! She speaks only French!”
“Sheh! We thought we’d be hearing of another wedding announcement when you returned!”
“It must be something about you guys. Right from school I was never lucky with girls with you louts around me.”
Jeevan loved to be in love, if there was ever a better phrase we could use to describe his love life. I wondered if I could even count on my fingers all the gals he tried to win over from school through college. A few he ditched, and a few ditched him, but the majority never responded to his charms, like this girl in the bus. But we had to owe this much to him, he never stopped trying.
“How much longer to the Olympic Stadium?” the girl asked the Guide in English as he approached.
We looked at each other in surprised silence for a moment, before breaking into a paroxysm of giggles. The girl turned back and gave us a coy smile. The sheepish grin on Jeevan’s face was a treat to watch.
“Don’t worry, Aliya. There must be some hot mallu chick in paavaada and dhaavani just waiting for you to sweep her off the ground,” this time it was Koshy’s turn. The geek really had opened up like never before.
“You kidding or what? The last thing I intend to do is marry, and that too to a homebred babe. Either way, even my mom says I take after Sreekrishnan.”
“Yeah, at this rate you sure can hit 16000 in no time!” I butted in.
It had been non-stop fun and laughter since we met. And now we had to part again. It really sucked to be a grown-up. Days like this were far and few between all the monotony and boredom of routine life. But when we bid farewell the mood became sombre. The thought of the promises to be kept weighed on our minds. We gave each other a final round of encouragement, enveloped each other in bear-hugs and without even looking back to see each others faces one last time, walked away.

The plane had begun to taxi. The smile on my face kept getting broader as I thought back to the anecdotes of the previous two days.
“Your seatbelt, sir,” the airhostess shook me up from my reverie.
I looked at her dreamily for a second before hurriedly snapping it shut. She was plain and looking old. Were all that expectations of pretty, young girls bounding about in the plane attending to my needs just pure fiction, I wondered.

My thoughts shifted back to my resolution. Me writing a novel! Why the hell didn’t I say something else. I was trapped. What was there left to write. Had not every novelist worth his salt written everything there was on Earth, good to be put on paper? What do I write about? I have never lived in any place beyond Trivandrum though I always wanted to see new places and meet new people. Had the closed world choked the last vestiges of creative thought, or should I believe that constant refrain within me, goading me all the time to give writing a shot. The lack of confidence had succeeded in holding back that urge, but now it was out in the open. It was now a promise, and was beginning to give me a splitting headache. I closed my eyes, a figure in white, old but sturdy, a face that radiated a blinding nobility and boundless energy, wielding a stick and the next moment he flashed it. Ouch! I opened my eyes all startled and started to rub my buttocks where the stick had hit. It seemed to hurt. It was all coming to me. It was The Old Man!

Fr.Thurumbikkal alias Thurumbe(Iron) alias The Old Man was for all purpose the Iron Man of Loyola. Though just the vice-principal we used to joke that not even a leaf at school would fall to the ground without his knowing. Feared, respected and loved by the boys he inspired the kind of legend that would go on to make him an unforgettable figure for all the boys who passed under his shade. To summarize what happened between him and us in the four years we came to closely know him would be impossible, the novel I am about to begin would be over even before it takes off. Let it suffice to say if people know us as good men, or as rogues, or as men who dream big, it all happened in the sub-conscious imitation of a man who lived like a king, and through his life opened up a roadmap that we schoolboys always dreamed of following, yet diverted too many times when tempting falsehoods or lecherous pleasures seemed the most convenient path to follow. And yet despite all those mistakes the roads we took had led us to Athens.

And I had my story too. It was enlightenment. He was the lamp that lit up everything it passed by. And we were the flies which hovered about its warmth and showed us a way out of the darkness. Every child has a guardian angel who shows them a way. Some don’t realize it, some prefer not to see it, and others unluckily are born to a life that takes them far away from finding that angel. I was fortunate. I had done a few things in life to be proud of. That wasn’t enough. That just wasn’t enough.

“Could I borrow a pen and some paper?” my earnest request surprised the airhostess.
Within a few hours I asked for more paper and later again for more.
“That’s all we carried sir. I am sorry,” finally the harried airhostess curtly said what I had dreaded all along.
“Whatever you are doing must be very important. Here, take this notebook.” That was the first time I looked the lady who had sat besides me for so many hours. I thanked her profusely glad that my spell of inspiration wasn’t going to be interrupted.

The beautiful coastline of the Arabian Sea was finally coming into view. The beach was like a narrow No Man's Land where a mass of blue ended and an unending stretch of green began. I had reached my land again, the land which from the skies looked like the land of a million coconut trees. The airplane taxied into the Trivandrum airport and I readied to leave. The notebook and the wad of papers on which I had scribbled were safely stashed away. My novel was coming to life. I had my characters; I had a faint outline of the plot in mind. All that remained was to listen to my heart and pen down all it told me.