The Last of the Martyrs

I come from a Land of Lotus-eaters,
where Blind men rule
over One-eyed fools.

I walk among Harlots and Theives
adorned in Silks and Laurels,
a Race of Paper Tigers.

I see hope in the Eyes of the Damned,
Life in the sun-scorched earth,
I see Light in the Asylums of Sin.

I bow to neither the Burning Bush
nor the Golden Calf,
I tread upon the graves of fallen tyrants.

I am the Lord of my soul, the Architect of fates
I will be the Last of the Martyrs
And the First among my Nation.

- Anup Asokan
Leicester, 2008

(Psst.. Since its too complicated, I have put an explanation in the comments section)

Sunday

Just today I came across my old diary. I went for a small stroll through time, and suddenly I was seven years younger. I was reliving the insecurities and immaturity of a college freshman. It just brought back memories – good, bad, ugly and the sweet ones. If any of you guys wanted to keep a time capsule for yourselves, please start writing a diary. These things work wonders.
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14 January 2001 Sunday
1176 മകരം 1 ഞായര്‍

Diaries always bring sweet memories. They do, also bad ones, painful ones. But the best ones are the ones you forget about and then rush upon you like a happy dog, the ones you wouldn’t believe if you weren’t there, the ones that leave you wondering what if...

I woke up at 7.00 am. Those days, Bangalore at 7 looked very different. It was cold and so foggy that you could see only a few feet ahead of you. You could see the occasional ‘bush’ speeding away on the road. (These bushes are people who carry pudina and coriander leaves to the maximum on their mopeds so that nothing else is visible; startled me the first I saw.) I was down from the room upstairs, in the hall rummaging for something in the newspapers.

A huge stomachache had hit me the other night, and i had skipped the dinner of rice and diluted dal. That left me sleepless in the morning craving for something good for my tummy. The only good thing that they made in the Hostel was the Tea. Farooq, our cook or the ‘magician’ could make only one thing to the perfection: the morning tea. Laced with cardamom and rich milk, and generously sweetened with sugar, the mallu gang often waited with the larger tumblers for their rations.

As I sipped mine, I saw the news on the bottom column of the front page of the paper. Raveena Tandon to dance in Bangalore. ‘Are you going?’ Arun was there, scratching his stomach. Still uneasy with my stomach, I said without a second thought, ‘Why not?’

I had only met Arun the previous year, at the beginning of the semester. But I still distinctly remember the encounter. I had the best room in the Hostel, the one on the terrace. It eventually became the Mallu headquarters, where we Malayali chauvinists play cards and listen to music on the tape recorders. I remember Arun barging into my room and off to the terrace (I’m not complaining here. They could access the terrace only through our room.) No introduction or even acknowledging my presence, he walked over to the edge, and shouted, ‘You’ve got an awesome view, dude!’ I don’t remember when we had a conversation.

Arun was a popular figure, sometimes for the wrong reasons. He was a non-stop talker and very impulsive. He could talk about almost anything under the sun. Whether he knew about what he was talking was totally another thing. He bragged too much. He could drive his car at a constant speed of 140 kmph, and at the same time measure the width of the highway to its last centimetre. Some things were true, like one time, Arun claimed there was a war fought between Argentina and Britain. Taking into consideration the geography, we laughed at him.. until somebody told us about the Falklands war. But some claims, like the soldiers of Rajasthan flew IAF planes low enough to hit deer so that the propellers chop up the deer into steaks they could cook, had no takers. In short, anything he talked about had to be taken with more than a pinch of salt.

‘Its in Palace grounds,’ Arun said.

‘That’s near right?’ I asked. Arun was the equivalent of Google Earth, whereas I needed a map and a compass to go to the nearest supermarket.

‘Yes it is, the show starts in the evening.’

I looked at the paper. It was a Kannada movie awards function. There will be plenty of celebrities whom we don’t even know.

‘Here it says that the show starts at 6.00. The dance will be kept at the end. So we can reach there at 9.00.’

‘Cool.’ Arun went away to brush his teeth.

The rest of the day went on as usual. As the inmates woke up, the hall became noisier and I retired to my room. At noon, I had my lunch at Kabab Corner, a small eatery near the Peekay’s supermarket in Frazer town (now called Pulikesi Nagar). I had a lassi in the hope it would soothe my stomach. And in the evening me and Arun went to check our mails in Cyber Kaytis. (I know these are unnecessary details for most of you, but it might bring out some nostalgic moments for my friends who stayed there.)

At 8.00 pm, we finished our ‘dinners’ and were ready to go.

To be continued...

(Actually I am desperate to see some comments: post and i will mail you guys when its complete.. ha ha)