Of Timers, Morning Blues and Laughs....

I glanced at my watch and immediately quickened my pace. 15 minutes. I punched imaginary buttons mentally. Thats 900 seconds to go. Damn! Why do these coaching institutes give you a feeling that there is timer-bomb ticking away somewhere.

I took a deep breath and decided to sprint the remaining distance to the bus station. My friends have often told me that I look like a clown while running. They said, 'When you run we get the feeling that your pants are going to fall off any moment'.

It never did make sense to me. They were plain jealous. I had thought so then.

But today, I felt there was a grain of truth in their observations; because, the two feet something toddler, a little devil who terrorised the entire neighbourhood, who usually made faces at me as a form of greeting, smiled like a cherubic angel. But I wasn't in a particularly forgiving mood. Especially not today. So, as I turned the corner, I bared my teeth and growled savagely at him. As I looked over my shoulders, I saw the angel toddle furiously towards his mamma. I don't know, dear reader, if you have noticed this before but there is an element of mystery while you are turning a corner.

Crash! For one brief second, I saw bright stars in broad daylight. I had collided against .... Wow!
She flashed a smile that could clear the weather. 'Are you hurt?' she asked sweetly. Thats brave, I thought, she was asking me if I was well after I had knocked her off her bicycle. 'Am fine ... Thanks', I managed weakly. Pangs of guilt tugged at my heart strings as I watched her extricate herself from underneath her bicylcle. I picked myself up slowly and resumed my running.

I then passed an old gentleman who smiled serenely and said,'You must be running late. I can see that'. I was about to retort with something clever when I recalled a wise man's saying : Politeness is the art of choosing from among your various thoughts. I wished him a 'Good Morning'. 'Hurry Up!', he urged.

I responded by lengthening my strides. A quick glance at my wrist watch showed me that the timer-bomb had only 600 seconds more. My feet now pounded the asphalt. As I powered ahead, I heard someone shout out my name. I ignored the voice. A moment later, a biker pulled up alongside me, and smiling mischieviously, told me ' You can have mine'. I noticed that he was pointing at his belt.

'Thanks', I said wearily before jumping into the bus. The conductor examined my pass mechanically. 'Running late again', he boomed as he handed back the pass. Everybody in the bus now turned to look at me. Strange, I could swear that a couple of women averted their eyes hurriedly as soon as they saw me. Now what could have made them do that? The conductor patted my shoulder and told me, 'The traffic is thin today. You will make it to your institute on time'. He spoke with the authority of the Fuhrer. Hope spread its wings in my heart once again. The rest of the passengers nodded their heads and gave me encouraging smiles. But a nice girl in the seat ahead of me turned around suddenly and looked daggers at me. Now what could have made her do that, I wondered. The bus screeched to a halt. I flew off the bus and aimed myself towards the institute's gate. The wind rushed through my hair as the institute's gate came into view. Home Stretch!

When I was ten yards away from the gate, I signalled furiously to the watch-man to open the gate. I did not intend to stop until I reached my class-room. The watch-man was either blind or plain impertinent. He did not open the gate but instead held his lathi in front of the gate. I screeched to a halt. 'You cannot go in today', he informed me curtly. 'But I am well on time', I told him brightly, pointing at my wrist-watch. He looked at me in a strange manner. There was a question in his eyes.

And, it was then, dear reader, that I felt it. I sensed the temperature around me drop at an alarming rate. 'Odd! Very odd!', I thought absently. An icy draught of air clamped itself around my legs. I shuddered involuntarily. The chilling reality struck me with extreme force. The world swam before my eyes. I looked down hopefully. My pants were missing!

First published in print media on Oct 18, 2000. Written by Avinash Menon.

Notes from the Sly Fan Club...

I had been at the wheel of my buick for nearly an hour now. Waiting. The low hum of the engine as it idled did not assault my senses as much as Toni Braxton crooning her ’Unbreak my heart’ number did. ‘On this cold winter night, this song is for all the broken hearts in the world’. That is what the Radio Jockey had solemnly announced before playing the track. Abruptly, I turned off the radio. The clock on the dashboard flashed 03:10. I glanced swiftly at the window of her second floor apartment once again. The television was now switched on in the apartment. I could hear the voices clearly. Especially his. A sense of weariness engulfed me as I slumped back in my car seat. I now knew that I had lost her forever. Thirty years after I first met her.

I retraced my steps in memory's labyrinthine lane. Things were perfectly fine between the lady and me. We did the usual things that every young couple did. Dating. Long drives. Movies. The future with all the infinite promises never looked rosier. But, have not the wise men always said ‘the good times don’t last forever’? I winced involuntarily as I recalled how things turned thorny between us when Sly entered her life.

The one moment, which I now define, as ‘the beginning of the end’ remains frozen in my memory. It replayed itself now. It was the winter of 1976. We were at the movies. I noticed my companion, the only love of my life, looking closely at me and then looking over my shoulder at someone behind me. She did this more than once and I felt that each time she looked beyond me her gaze lingered longer on whoever it was she was looking at. I turned around sharply to confront my adversary. That was when I saw Sly first at close quarters. He wore a icy smile but wore no shirt. To me, Sly looked like one of those guys who thinks hitting the gym is as essential an activity as breathing is to you and me.

Biceps like those ? Impossible!

I ignored him.

A couple of hours later when the lady and I were leaving the theatre, she turned around and asked me sharply ‘Why cannot you be more like him?’

‘Like whom?’, I asked weakly.

‘Like him’, she retorted, pointing at an image of Sly.

That was the moment, dear reader, that I was referring to earlier. The beginning of the end. For the next couple of years I saw him everywhere. I saw him on giant hoardings. I saw him on the telly. Heard him on the radio. I saw him endorsing products on gigantic billboards. The guy was omnipresent’. Like God. In those dark hour’s years ago, I often asked myself: Could I have been hallucinating then?

Thirty years hence, I was asking myself again: Am I hallucinating now? The question was a pointless one because, I could hear him now on the telly in the lady’s apartment.

Tonight, I was woken up in the middle of the night by a frantic call from the lady. I hadnt heard from her for fifteen years now. We had drifted apart two years after Sly entered her life. Strangely, both of us were still single. Was that about to change tonight?

‘I need to see you right now’. Her voice sounded strained. ‘At Bird’s’.

Bird’s was the café where we had first met. A new world was still possible, I thought, she hadnt forgotten our favourite venue.

‘Okay. I will see you in fifteen minutes’. I noticed that my hands were shaking when I put the receiver down.

I reached the venue within ten minutes. While we exchanged awkward and hurried greetings, I noticed that she looked extraordinarily calm. Had she already reached a decision?

Her face was devoid of any emotion when she delivered her verdict.

‘Since you cannot be like Sly, I don’t think we can be together’.

Her words hit me like a sledge-hammer. It was a knock-out punch that would have made her idol proud. I did not say anything. I could not say anything. Just sat there, stunned, as the ground disappeared from beneath my feet. Paralyzed, I watched her as she got up, pirouetted on her heels and walked out of the restaurant. The greatest love-story since Romeo met Juliet had come to a heart-wrenching finish!

A couple of minutes after she left, I got into my Buick and drove over to her apartment and that is where, dear reader, we met when I began narrating you this story.

Why did I drive back to the apartment of the girl who had just dumped me?

I don’t know. Maybe it was because I wanted to see if she would switch on the telly and watch the movie that she has been watching every week for the last thirty years.

As the movie sound track filtered through the windows of my buick, I knew it was him again.

I may then have dozed off because the next thing I remember is a sharp knock on the window and seeing a bright-eyed cop with a very polite smile standing outside my car.

‘Looks like you need some help, mate. Is there anything I could do for you?’, he asked cheerfully.

I rolled down the window, and smiling sheepishly, told him. ‘Officer, I would give you anything .... anything in this world, if you could change that fateful day in December 1976 when ‘Rocky’ was released in theatres worldwide’

(This feature is my tribute to Sylvester Stallone for giving 'Rocky' to the world. A little known fact about Rocky is that the Story and Screenplay for the movie was written by Stallone himself. MGM liked the script, but felt only a seasoned actor should be cast in the lead role. Robert Redford and Burt Reynolds were some of the high-profile names that did the rounds intitially. Convinced that only he could breathe life into his creation - a little known boxer who gets his million dollar shot at fame, Stallone pushed MGM to cast him in the lead role. Rocky, released on Dec 3, 1976, beat 'All the President's Men', 'Bound for Glory', 'Network' and 'Taxi Driver' to win the Academy Award for the Best Picture)

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