there are few moments when you realize that a childhood memory still resided in your brain. very very vividly. its almost like you can picture it. they seem to come to you when you are down, or atleast i thought so. but now i know its not. but they do come along when there is kinda sharp feel of pain. low level. but its just so beautiful. its so subtle that you dont know when it was there, but you just know it was there. a clear sign is there. you see it for a moment and its that django line. machi you have my curocity.. now you have my savudhaan.. now you see this word has killed many a young gentlemen in the making.. like me.. you think scount and guides.. army school.. ncc.. army.. kill you fucaackers and shoot your own aapicers.. then disappear into the himalayas..live.. die without anything.. anyways in my case it was my tamizh teacher who put me away from my dream..real hitler.. in tenth standard.. he will teach you 1 mark grammer questions.. three types they came in.. then 3 mark short questions about 5 mark answers.. then you have the essay types.. you have 8 lessons.. and you had just 2 choices given to you.. he used to spend first 5 mins asking people 1 mark questions.. in line.. the whole class.. and if you dint answer.. the guy who finally answers gets to give the kottu on your ucchai thalai.. a knuckle on your head.. man.. you had some real kolaveri pudhicha idiots.. animals.. if its a guy its a hard type.. you had the rajni style where it is sound and pain.. then the kamal type when there is just pain but no noice.. people think that nothing happened.. only those who sat through know the pain.. then there is vijay style.. where its just sound but no pain.. of course ajith style for the girls.. no sound.. no pain.. only routing .. anyways the tamizh sir, yeah hitler.. i started to finally run a bit and have some fun.. i started the long runs.. first time i ran 1500 for the school, i finished second last. this guy came to me and said.. dei iyer.. why dont you eat curd rice and sit in your home and study.. then i went for high jump too the next day.. hitler there.. it was a small confined place.. into sand pit of course.. i surprisingly got through few rounds.. then i found out that they had put the sand on top of a cricket pitch's end. i had my hand literally twisted.. and again he was like thaiyar sadham go sit at home and study.. and he was the ncc sir as well.. and i went the first day morning with the form signed by my appa.. and i heard him shouting.. saavudhaan.. savudhaan.. i let go of my pride and went back home.
so you the subtle sharp pain.. now i kind of understand what one girl once wrote on a blog about cutting herself.. in my case it was quarter cutting.. there it was the red volcano. ready to burst and skew out hot lava. and there i was .. trying to save my ring... my precious.. and as the lava broke through the white mountains.. i dipped my hand into white hot ash.. searching for my ring.. my precious..and as the lava washed through my hand.. and my whole body.. i dint let go of the precious.. i pulled out the ring out from my hot pepper rasam rice.. i threw the fucking ring aside and devoured the sathumudhu rice like an ant eating onr whole particle of rice.. and i remember when we used to sit in mylapore..and amma would serve the vegetable first. then rice.. then ghee.. then a bit of dal.. home made appalams when you are lucky.. and then switches off the stove and brings the boiling rasam to the hall and i pour it into the carefully constructed pit of white mashed rice, shimmering with that thin coating of ghee.. and as it threatens to break the dam.. i mix it together.. and that subtle sharp moment of pain..
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so you the subtle sharp pain.. now i kind of understand what one girl once wrote on a blog about cutting herself.. in my case it was quarter cutting.. there it was the red volcano. ready to burst and skew out hot lava. and there i was .. trying to save my ring... my precious.. and as the lava broke through the white mountains.. i dipped my hand into white hot ash.. searching for my ring.. my precious..and as the lava washed through my hand.. and my whole body.. i dint let go of the precious.. i pulled out the ring out from my hot pepper rasam rice.. i threw the fucking ring aside and devoured the sathumudhu rice like an ant eating onr whole particle of rice.. and i remember when we used to sit in mylapore..and amma would serve the vegetable first. then rice.. then ghee.. then a bit of dal.. home made appalams when you are lucky.. and then switches off the stove and brings the boiling rasam to the hall and i pour it into the carefully constructed pit of white mashed rice, shimmering with that thin coating of ghee.. and as it threatens to break the dam.. i mix it together.. and that subtle sharp moment of pain..
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