Diary'a'

Prologue
All the incidents, characters, monuments and time frame used in this short story are real. This is an extract from 'Jabal Kumar- An introspection'.

Diary'a'

It was some 20 years back, Rajiv gandhi was ruling the country aided with the consummate advice of sam petroda, who was later known to public as the man behind the telecommunication revolution in India. This preamble doesn't in any minutest way relate to our story or to our hero.
This happened in holy cross high school, which was then under Sr. Olivia. I was a small child, studying in the 1st standard. I know for sure, my parents had a terrible experience sending me to school. Early morning at 8.30 Gopi chettans van would come and I still remember how threatening that horn was. From the time when I woke up I used to pray for only one thing, a puncture to gopi chettans van. I wouldn't have complained if the god had listened to me at least once. Every day that piercing sound of his horn would startle me from my prayers.

ദാറ്റ് day also the same thing happened. My mother with utmost difficulty pushed me into the van, where one guy with a broad moustache was sitting at the door; he was Gopi chettans aid Vijayan Chettan. The van was filled with an air of joy. I found hardly two children who were weeping. One was Jose Zacharia and the other, a girl who was studying in the B class. All others were visibly happy. The door closed, the van gained speed and that fairly common song broke the silence. I don't know how many of you still remember those songs. Anyway read through എnd those lines will rekindle your memories.

"ചകോ മറിയ തല്ലുന്നീ നാട്ടാരെല്ലാം ഓടി വരുന്നേ തല്ലിക്കോ തല്ലിക്കോ ചക്കൊച്ച മരിയമ്മേ തല്ലിക്കോ ചച്കൊച്ച."

I kept aside my sadness and allowed myself to immerse in that electrifying environment. The van went past cheruvandoor and peroor and finally reached HCHS. I entered the school compound with the usual expectation "A heart attack to Sr. oliva and a holiday to the school". Disgusting, that day also it didn't happen. I walked past those dense canopies of mango trees, ran down the steps and entered the verandah. My hope then had shifted to Elsamma teacher being absent. Oh heck! Lot of noise from the class, teacher not there, but still there was time for the class to start. My face brightened and the probability of elsamma teacher being absent grew large. I entered the class, walked beside the front row. Surely, that wasn't my place. I liked the back rows and till now that strong affinity to the last rows hasn't changed. There will be a lot of fun in last rows unlike the front rows where the ones like Irin, Midhun, Nisha, Melgev, Renjini, Sunitha, Maria etc would sit. I took the aisle in the middle, shook hands with Dinu raj in the middle row, said hi to Manju and straightened the way to my destination, the penultimate row. There was always some strategic advantage in taking the penultimate row; the teacher in her usual stroll through the backside wouldn't be able to pluck your ears. 'Intelligent', one might think, but that was only the usual me.


I took my seat, the center position on the right hand side, second from the last bench, beside the window. I dismantled the sophisticated bag from my back and water bottle from my neck. I looked outside; it was going to rain in that morning itself. Kerala was a beautiful place at that time, with plenty of rain and the monsoons 'on time', never late. I thought of the water blockage in the six-foot wide front portion of the school directly after the verandah. I was fond of playing in the water, not only me but almost every boy child in that class liked to splash the muddy water around. I was planning a nice time during the interval.

An utterance 'EDA' from him woke me from my thoughts. He was absent, the day before. I was happy to find him that day because he was a regular backbencher and a good mate of mine. He was a naughty boy, probably the most troublesome in the class. Always chatter while the class goes on, he loves to sit on the desk rather than on the bench. He looked like a small rogue in navy blue and white uniform. Brownish in colour, round face, wide forehead, thick black hair, small sharp nose and broad wide lips were his countenance. He sat beside me to my left and he took out a box from his bag and showed some sticker labels he had got the previous day. One a mayavi label, a kottooosan label, a luttappi one and many more. He was kind enough to present me with one kottooosan label, which I preserved for quite a lot of time in his remembrance.

He took some previous days notes from me and started copying it. I asked him why he was absent the previous day. He replied in a sharp piercing tone "diarrhea". Till that date I had only heard about 'diary'. I wondered what the hell this relation between his absence and diary was. I knew the progress card in those days was in the form of a diary and we all used to refer it as diary. Had it a month earlier I could have suspected some doctoring on his diary by him which his parents might have caught. Then I thought that he had theft the diary from the class teacher. No, how can that happen, if happened how could that prevent him from being present. Thoughts widened but I couldn't get a clear picture of what was the reason for his absence. I asked again. That time he evaded from answering and I couldn't clarify it for the whole day.

Later in the evening I asked my mother, in what all ways could diary prevent one from attending the class? Ha ha ha ha…….. She clarified it and from that day onwards I started calling him ഡയറി'എ' മോന്‍ മണി.

By …………
Jabal Kumar……………