“In
the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea... and he told us of
his life, in the land of submarines...tanana tanananna tananan tanana... fe fe
feeee feeee fee fee feee” pauses for
breath “... in the land of submarines”
“We
all live in the yellow submarine yellow submarine yell....” the steps in line
with the song; the hand twirling his lunch bag, the lad is making his way home.
This song somehow, was stuck to his head right from lunch. Finding no one else
in the vicinity, he sings with gay abandon, like he owns the road. “tan tan tan
tan”. The bag comes to a stop. Without missing a step, in one fluid motion, with
an expertise that comes out of practice, he crosses the road, lifting his hand
up nonchalantly, stopping vehicles and stamping his right of way... and it takes just a beat before his trained eye finds a break in the traffic
in the opposite direction. Done, just like that...
“What
a warm evening” the bag starts twirling again; he’s lost in thought. “Need to
ask ma for new shoes, this one’s almost dead, look at that guy walking... must
get white leather... ok resin shoes, poor animals... these canvas shoes are so
bad, they are not even shoes. Why do they make shoes from bag material? Mad
people. The rubber toe guard sucks. And the two holes on the sides; what is the
point? On top of all this, I have to wash this stupidity that is this shoe, every
Sunday. What a bore. I’ll ask amma for new ones today” He pauses, pulls out a
bottle from his bag, frowns at the water level and empties it. “There, 20 grams
less. We all live in the... cha such a boring song... fee fee fee feeee“ shuts
off his mind “useless”.
The
boy walks 1 2 3 *lunch bag twirl* 1 2 3 *lunch bag twirl*. “finally... we are
here..” he surveys the shoulder of the road, the walls of the foot path; blows
the dirt away and carefully sits down, resting his chin on his palm. “Astra,
Escort, Escort, Zen, 800, Esteem, 800, Contessa! Do these things still run?
Icon, Icon, Lancer - such a nice car, Zen, Xing, Xing, Xing, Peugeot,
man, how do they pronounce this?? Qualis... this is easy today, Uno, Sienna, Baleno.
Wow!! What was that? A Merc? Bmw? BMW OMG!! I'm blessed... hmm what's that car? Skoda... Skoda.. oh ya! Octavia... oops! bus vannu (arrived), what number is this now?” He draws up a conclusion
from his experience and the remnants of a board partly eaten, on the side.
His friends stay at a different part of the town, on the other side of the
school.This leaves him alone, without company while returning home. The lad gets a place
to sit if he plans his time right, which is starting half an hour after his school’s
final bell. So, he makes it a point to chat/loiter around after school. The early birds would have left by then and the next wave of
office commuters would start only at 5. This strategy wins him a window seat most of the time; a seat he values a lot. A seat behind the driver is even better. However, this
time, He manages to capture the ultimate prize- the side seat across the driver,with a full undisturbed view of the road, facing sideways.
“Ha
finally, some breeze...“ His mind
shuts off for a few minutes enjoying the breeze; He smiles. The bus that leaves Malar hospital, Adyar, has to take the Thiru-vi-ka
Bridge across the Adyar River to reach the other part of the town. “Appa will
want me to cut my hair next, useless. He should see Adi, such long hair. What’s
wrong with that?”Absentmindedly curls his hair. “Yay traffic jam!! Hey that was
a Corsa swing... ooh and a Sienna weekend. I’ll tell Bala tomorrow, I saw both of
them.I'm sure He wouldn't have. These are rare“
The
traffic clears. The driver looks across, smiles under his moustache. The kid
smiles back.
waaat
iss yovaar name?
Venkat
Ethanavadhu padikkara? (Which grade?)
6th
Veedu enga? (where’s your home?)
Mandaveli
Hmmm...
He
converses with his eyes on the road stealing glances at the boy as he checks
his side view mirror. The boy mimics him. Looking ahead, answering in the same
tone, co-driving the bus with his will. The brake pedal is worn, so is the
clutch, from one side. The driver shifts gears. “Ah, so this is why... why does
he use his clutch carelessly? Shouldn't his entire feet be on the pedal? The pedal
would have worn out uniformly. This looks ugly. I would have maintained it
well.”
A
dull horn sounds, like a bored cow stretching out and yawning.”Hehe, what a
stupid horn”. They had banned all the loud ones on the city buses. Some of the
Periyars and Thiruvalluvars (inter city services) still had them. It’s a pity,
really. The private buses had two of them. He had just returned from a trip - visiting temples in and around Kumbakonam.
Obviously, this had resulted in a lot of travelling, "specially bus journeys. He was shaken out of his wits the first time
he heard them, the loud horns, but slowly, with repetition, it had caught his
fancy. In fact, the creativity of certain drivers using those found him praying
for slow moving trucks, carts or tractors. “These buses should have two horns...
they can install a goats ‘meh’ and the driver can use it alternately, simultaneously
or in quick succession... fun”. Such possibilities,
much creativity, so wow.
The Tata
buses had a distinct sound; or maybe the Ashok Leyland buses had a distinct
sound, wait Eicher too... ok every engine had a distinct sound. He hated the Tata
buses. He had a curious affection for old, run-down, DATC buses. The buses
made much noise and did very little. But it promised value for money for the
small distance he travelled.
Tickets
tickets tickets
Pass,
pass, pass
Kami, kami, kami (show me).. hmmm ok.
Ok,
value for bus pass then. “Man! The time is almost 5;I should reach before cartoons
start”.
He
gets up, steps down the ladder and alights gracefully jogging to a stop while the
bus rolls a few meters more. The setting sun starts casting a yellow
ray or two as he walks away from it. He prays for a second as he crosses the
roadside ‘Pullayar’(Ganesha), more out of practice than reverence.
“I
want something to eat...” rummages through the bag maintaining his pace “pch,
no money, I’ll ask amma for 5 bucks tomorrow”, slings it back carelessly. “I’ll
buy one dairy milk”. He tames his hair, lets his shirt out with a sigh of
relief. One hand inside his pocket and the other one holding the lunch bag’s
strap, he becomes conscious of himself walking; stylish, no? He stops casually,
takes a step back, twirls his bag and moves ahead his head bobbing to imaginary
music, his mouth chewing on a nonexistent gum. A slow smile creeps across. “How
I wish I had a toothpick now”
“la
la la la lalala lalala heeeey judee jude jude judy judy... wait a nimit, what
was the other song? Hmmm lala... Hamm... yellow subjjmarine yellow submarine...
wait how does it start? Yellow sub... hmmm... ma open the door”
“va da (come in)... wash your hands and legs,
eat the bowl of flakes ... Ennada yosikara (what are you thinking
about)?”
“Yellow
submarine yellow... hmmm aaaargh screw it... onnum illa ma (nothing ma)... maa I’m watching duck tales, I’ll do
my homework later.”
“Ok only
this, not the next one” heading inside the kitchen ...“Don’t sit in front of TV
till 6:30 like yesterday”
“OK
OK... no”
