Two Sherlockhomes

Every Thursday morning begins with a cup of tea and reading "Malayala Manorama Weekly" in my room. Discussions on plots, twists and future course of the story follow. That day the hero of one of our favourite novels "Prabalan" by Josy vagamattam was sentenced to life imprisonment. This saddened us immensely and I said "Josy cannot keep him in jail for long".

"In Josy's previous novel 'Thadangalpalayam' the hero had escaped from jail and proved his innocence. This time Josy will go for a different treatment", Achachan pointed out.

"I think good conduct will reduce his term. He will not serve more than 5 years in jail" I concluded.

Bosh was listening to our conversation with great interest. He took a deep breath and started to talk in a faltering fashion, fumbling for words. "Would you people consider (pausing for a moment), just consider, solving my problem".

It was totally unlike the Bosh we all knew. I composed myself and replied "Why not"? I looked at Achachan and he nodded his head in agreement.

We met at Hobnob that evening and made ourselves comfortable on the seats. We both sat in silence for a few minutes, as we waited for Bosh to explain."Yesterday I received a package by courier", he said and handed over the package to me. I unwrapped it and found an attractive cover inside with the handwritten caption 'I Love U'.

Achachan snatched it from my hand and observed it carefully and commented "It is posted from Kottayam".

Bosch looked at him in astonishment."Just check the stamp man"! Achachan yelled.

I intervened: "you are quite famous among the girls in RIT.One of them must be playing a prank on you".

This forced bosh to make the stunning revelation that it is not the first time he is receiving the cover. This statement was followed by complete silence.

Finally after two long unbearable minutes achachan said."You cannot rule out the possibility of a male fan". Bosh looked angrily at achachan and he softened his words with a smile and continued. 'For the time being we will concentrate on RIT girls."

Bosh went into deep thought. Meanwhile I ordered for tea and cakes for all.

"Do you doubt anybody"? I asked.

That question brought him back to the present and his answer was "No". Hobnob uncle brought tea and cakes and Bosh told him "Today I will pay for all"

This gleeful announcement added fresh life to the discussion, and I said: "We can rule out juniors. They will not dare for such an act. Concentrate on girls from our batch. Civil, Electrical and Electronics."

In his enthusiasm to contribute to the search Bosh muttered "Mech Rani". She was the only girl in our batch. "No", Achachan screamed, "leave her. She knows you very well. It is impossible for her to do this". I could only move my head in agreement because my mouth was full of cake.

"Most of the electrical girls are out of Bosh's league and that leaves civil and electronics girls in the race for bosh's mystery girl" Achachan was resounding.

"Why can't we check the handwriting of all the girls?" it was Bosh's query.

"If the person really knows to keep the secret, he or she would have written on the cover with fake handwriting" Achachan was not ready to leave his 'he' theory and that further frustrated Bosch.

"Bosh is pretty close to civil girls. It must be one among them."I concluded.

With left eyebrow arched Bosh asked: "Are you sure?"

"Yes I am"! I winked my eyes.

By the time we finished the discussion everybody had their stomach full and Bosh paid the bill. Bosh was assigned to get the list of civil girls and he obliged.

Further discussions continued for 6 more days in Hobnob and Bosh was more than happy to pay the bills. Circumstantial evidences and logical conclusions led to one among the several names discussed. Bosch was calm and composed than I had seen him in a long time. The girl was a stunner and Bosh had a crush on her. As I announced her name I could hear his heart beating wildly against his chest.

"Actions we take in a rush will haunt us forever. As soon as we get anything concrete on this, you will be the first to be informed" I assured Bosch.

Next day was Thursday and as the streams of sunlight woke me up in the morning, I saw a 'Malayala manorama weekly' lying in my table. Achachan was snoring in next bed. I went on to read my favourite novel in which our hero decided to complete his reduced sentence of 5 years.

After sometime Bosh entered the room like a bolt of thunder and caught me by my neck and kicked Achachan on his ass, landing him on the floor. I was devastated and taken aback by such an act. It took couple of minutes for Bosh and us to regain normalcy and he told "This morning I bought Manorama and read the story. It went as you guys predicted. It motivated me to go forward and propose to my girl. It was a total disaster. You morons...she is not the one. Everybody is making fun of me because of you two sherlockhomes".

That girl or boy is still an enigma!

Priceless show for the LH inmates

Daru… Liquor.. !

It was one of our unforgettable companions during our stay in hostel. As our juniors were not that rich and was not as generous (as we were to our seniors) the amount of our drinking was limited to 1 beer or 2 pegs per person (that too low cost RUM, ‘Island’ priced at 12 rs /peg in early 2001).

As this small quantity could not help us in any way and to maintain / manifest the royalty of what we had, we indulge in artificial pranks which others has to willfully abject and endure.

Same thing happened that day too but the persons who had to humbly suffer were the security staff and there was a group who got a priceless benefit out of the same. Story goes like this.

It was around 8 pm in the evening. Bosch looked dull and uninterested in the song played by Poocha’s self made audio player. I was lying there in Poocha’s bed reading something which I don’t remember, not by any chance a textbook. Poocha was busy with a ‘Theraja’. With his expressions it was sure that he could not comprehend anything written in it; for he was not used to such stuffs till then.

Kuttachan came into our room and lured us for a drink. All four set out to the nearest juniors’ hostel to collect money for the drink. Within 10 minutes we had enough money for 4 beers or few pegs of Rum and after much deliberation in selecting the drink, we finally settled for 4 beers. 9pm we were back in campus with 4 beers in our hand and sat on the main road inside campus to savor the drink. As to our depression, after consuming the entire beer with us, we felt nothing.

“If spirits don’t get ignited by beer, we have to ignite it ourselves”. Based on this golden rule, Poocha started climbing the street light post and everyone monkeyed the same. Kuttachan roared as he reached half the distance. Security staffs from admin block hearing the noise came towards us to see who these scoundrels are. Identifying us from a distance and Bosch - a prominent and much adored guy in campus, being with us in the group, they tried to evade from the scene and drew back to admin block. But we were in a mood to enter the next level of pranks.

Upon Boschs’ direction we all took our lungi’s from our waist and tied to our forehead. We followed the securities to admin block singing and shouting at what all we saw in our way including the electric post, sign boards and even grass. When we reached admin block, security from LH also joined the admin security gang which made us also move, towards the LH side. We sang, danced and did what all things to provoke the security guards. May be they knew that we had only 1 beer and all these are nothing but result of the frustration, they sat silent without paying any attention to us. After few minutes we also retired to our hostels.

Next morning Poocha went to LH steps for the routine sitting with his ‘friends’ and found her face red with anger. Only at that time he realized that all those we did last night could be seen from hostel and we were stamped as awful drunkards by LH inmates. While the same was narrated to us, I wondered where our lungi was at that time; coz underwear was always a luxury for us

Sunny morning, lazy minds, a catalyst and a parker pen

We the 8 semester students and inmates of top floor of RIT mens hostel were still in bed, lazy n cozy when we heard someone shouting at a sight which was never seen there before.

A well dressed man, could be a Bank manager or an Officer in Govt service (as inferred from his appearance) was coming towards the hostel with his ward, a boy of 17+ years old, neatly dressed in tucked in shirts, full sleeve an expensive leather belt and black formal shoes and a parker pen on his pocket.

Let me first say that no juniors were permitted to enter the premises of men’s hostel. Rather, they didn’t have the courage, even to look to the side of MH while they were in the first years of college life. Now a boy ushered by his father (that too just after filing an application) was coming to evaluate the hostel and its facilities (which could be a part of the evaluation program that included labs, classrooms, library, quality and make of machines / instruments installed in labs etc) so as to decide whether the college equipped to fetch him a BTech degree and fit for him to live his next 4 years.

For us this sight was really enterprising. It turned out as a catalyst which triggered our ‘seniorist’ instincts and we jumped from our bed and darted towards the lounge. There, we found them asking our juniors, 4th semester students, about mess timings, mess workers, cleaning schedules and quality of food etc. The much annoyed interviewees were rejoiced to see us marching towards to them to take control of the situation. They retired and peacefully settled in the big news paper reading table which served as their gallery for the forthcoming events.

We got split into two groups. While one group stayed with the father and answered his questions, other group took the boy to a corner. The group with the boy, made guesses on the brand of the shirt and in order to confirm he had to remove his shirt and show it to all. To make guesses on the length of his belt, the same was also taken out. While removing his shoes, the fathers’ eyes fell on his ward and came for his rescue. Bit tensed on this sight, he advised us to consider him as our younger brother and reminded us of our duty to protect, guide and help him realize his dream of becoming a ‘strong’ and ‘powerful’ engineer.

Soon our colleague, an intellect who scores 80+ in all university exams but 50- in all internals and to whom calculator was a luxury, rose up and told them that, to master engineering one should unlearn all what he learnt earlier. The pride earned when he got selected to a premier college has to be shed out. Praise which fell on his ears while he ejaculated his CEE rank to his family members / friends has to be forgotten. Competitive spirits which helped him secure a good rank has to be buried and capability to gel with his colleagues shall be practiced.

Father and son thought that, what happened was “the unlearning activity” and left the hostel in peace. But to us the real fight started as we were to find out who became the new master for that parker pen.

Eating my words, in the true sense

Nakki always had a false sense of superiority. He had made quite a name for himself by fighting for the safety of inmates in hostel bathrooms. He hit his head against the bathroom tap and lost two of his front teeth to showcase the need of safety measure to avoid wet floors in bathrooms. He brought first computer of hostel, with unending supply of movies, B-grade and lower. His room was an unofficial relieving ground for horny men and many believed that he was not sneaking around spying. He was regarded as one among the best, who is an artistic pleasure to look at an intellectual repose to talk to.

Everything was about to change on that fateful day. I found him with his head between Karumadi's legs, literally! Apparently, he was trying to read something from the reverse side of a magazine Karumadi was reading, but one cannot blame anyone who saw the posture getting a different idea. This inspired me to write a short story in which Nakki explains his current antic and prior such experiences to a writer in his own words.

As is my normal practice, the first thing I did was to inform him my wonderful idea to defame him. This usually proves to be a good marketing tactics while effectively ensuring that the innocent acts of humor do not end up in ill-desired consequences, But when he heard about my plan, in a trembling and barely audible voice he requested me not to go ahead with the plan as it will harm his reputation. This is the normal response I get from anyone whom I inform about my plan and, as usual, I declined. For all the talks of avoiding ill-desired consequences, I have always been a fierce advocate of freedom of creativity as well.

One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is to be able to look beyond the thorns and find the roses that are hidden within others. I was doing the reverse and this was something I was immensely skilled at (One of the meanest gifts a person can posses?). I immensely enjoyed the moment and was laughing my heart out imagining the frowns he would encounter, explanations he has to provide to restore his reputation and countless times he would have to recount that unfortunate incident to clarify himself, once I publish this story in hostel.

In no time I finished the story, kept it in my drawer and left for snacks. Back in those times, we did not have the luxury of writing stories in Microsoft Word or online blogs: we would write them on paper with ink and circulate the story to the readers. After snacks on my way to my room, I could see Nakki in a lighter mood taking to Pocha and Oolan. Poocha asked me if I had finished the story and that they were all coming over to read it. I said yes and passed a glance at Nakki who ignored me but still got that intriguing smile on his face.

I reached room and opened the drawer. The story was not there. I smelled trouble. With slight manipulation the story can be made into one in which Nakki's character will be replaced by me as nobody knows what really happened. I could see frowns and public explanations waiting for me.... Then I started to get nervous and carried out a series of useless, illogical actions. I smoked a cigarette, sat down, stood up, took a few steps, drank a glass of water, etc. etc. Put in his shoes I could feel the same tension as Nakki. I searched frantically for the story. I was sure that they will keep it somewhere in my drawer and retrieve later in the presence of all.

There it is'...By luck I managed to find it...The story was modified as I doubted. I could hear Poocha's voice from the corridor and I had no time to change the story. What NEXT? In no time, in came Poocha followed by Oolan, Nakki and five others. This was the gang who wanted to unearth the story written by me defaming myself from my own drawer and publish it wherever they could. They searched the room for half an hour but couldn't find the story. I had taken an extreme measure to make sure that they will not find it. How would they find?

I SWALLOWED IT.....

M*d*r*ch*d Tera Baap

Handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs. --Pearl Strachan

Goa: renowned for its beaches, places of worship, serene beaches and most importantly for cheap liquor and feni. Our trip to Goa is a fond memory for all of us except KD. KD was known to all of us as a pacifist who might lose his temper sometimes, but rarely. What we never knew was that his temper could spark like damp firewood until we witnessed it firsthand when he was subjected to a totally new situation in Goa.

There he was, admiring the Goan beaches and babes, in the company of Vegudu. So was I, fully engrossed and involved in feni that all my efforts to reach hotel failed. I found myself sleeping in the beach only disturbed by occasional puking. Leaving me to come to terms with my stomach, KD and Vegudu continued their babe watching, eagerly expecting some hot scenes that could be of use later. They spotted a Maruti Omni van that went past them and parked at about 50 feet away from them. Two-three guys came out of the van sipping beers. Both Vegudu and KD were very sure, aided by the feni-induced hallucination, that they saw a couple of hot babes in the back-seat and the gang was really up to (or already doing) something worth watching. All they needed was an excuse to go up to the Omni and they were sure to be in for a visual treat. Feni can bring in some ingenious ideas, and out came one from Vegudu’s magic brain: "Let’s play Kallan and Police"!

It might have been a decade since either of them played that game but that did not matter for the ever-ever-child Vegudu. KD was the future sports-secretary of the collage and of course he can play any game. So the game started without a whistle, and Vegudu ran off away from KD playing the part of "Kallan". KD ran behind him playing the part of Policeman. The kallan was running with head turned to his left, so as to make sure that he gets as much of the hot-scenes as possible. So did the police. On running past the van, they both thought they could only see some well-built men inside. Never the fellows to give up, they ran back playing the next round of the game that ended some 5 feet away from the Van. Then they started the third round, running past the van again. Alas! They still could not get a glimpse of the hot babes the feni-gods had shown to them in the same van it went past them. Nobody knows how the events turned out after this. Legend has it that Vegudu opened the sliding door of the van just to confirm there weren’t any babes inside, but he denies this steadfastly. All I can tell for sure is, when I got up for another round of puking, I heard one of those well-built men (all of whom were presumably locals) shouting " M*d*r*ch*d". There was a complete silence after this, and I realized that the expression on KD's face was changing. It turned red with anger. He clenched his fist and bursted out " M*d*r*ch*d Baap", in perfectly accented hindi and a voice that had a tellingly clear pitch and tone.

As I puked again I heard a sickening noise. I looked up and saw KD on ground, fiercely holding his balls and screaming. What puzzled me was the posture of Vegudu, who was standing with his hands covering his balls, as if he was one of those football defenders standing against a free-kick just outside the penalty box. I can remember the foot of one of the heftiest men heading towards KD, aiming his middle stump. KD was clean bowled. Vegudu’s Posture? Of course, he was preparing to save himself from a free-kick that could come his way.

Needless to say, KD was admitted to a hospital, but he bravely put that off until we all reached back Kerala. After he was back in the hostel, everyone asked KD why he had to use Hindi; Malayalam would have saved the situation and KD could be happy that he gave the "theri" back. KD was calm, and did not reply; just repented about choosing Hindi as the second language in pre-degree. Somebody commented:

"Uska baap ko galli deke, KD ko baap banna mushkil ho gaya".

An eventful encounter with Joe de Franc

“Da nakki, enthdutteda m***** ithu. Purathottokke irangi nadanoodeda m****. Ethu neravum murikakathu computeril irunolum. Nee enth’da athinu garpham undakkan nokunno”. I was in front of my computer when Werel, came to my room and told this.

It was a lazy afternoon, about 3 pm and wirel came to my room wearing jeans and shirt. In hostel werel’s dresscode was just a lungee, worn half mast, whose top edge lie 12 cms below his navel and bottom edge was always 20 cms above kneecaps, just like the skirts worn by Deepika. Seeing him in his shirt and jeans, I guessed, that he is back from Kottayam, but was surprised to see him come to my room straight from Kottayam.

After a few seconds of chit-chat, to my second surprise, weral invited me for a drink. Thinking of weral two things that come to our mind are his miserly nature and ability to obtain money from others by fooling them. Knowing weral for past 2 years, I humbly declined his invitation. Knowing what was in my mind, weral took out a pint bottle from his jeans pocket and said “Nee cash kodukendada m****, ithu ente treat aa”. It was ‘Joe de Franc’, which was categorized as “expensive” by us at that time. I should say it was my third surprise in a short span of two minutes. Weral has become very unpredictable, I thought. But later towards the end of this story, I understood that weral could never change; he is all what he is.

Weral was a celebrated drinker who could simply take 6 to 8 pegs in a stretch and I, a novice who got contented with 2 or 3 pegs maximum. After lot of assurance from weral that I need not pay even a single penny from my pocket, I accepted the invitation and we moved to our RIT canteen to savor the drink. Though cautious of some concealed, puckish and hideous plan under this treat, I was deeply moved by werals hospitality and his genial gesture to offer me a drink. We talked about RIT, our hostel life, teachers etc enjoying the Joe de frank. It turned out to be a nice evening and we were at our third peg.

While making the third and last peg, weral asked me about my DOM (Dynamics of Machines) exams. I graciously told him that I expect a decent 75+ for the university. “So you could get more than 70% with your 28 for internals, right?” I was astonished by werals’ strong analytics and his knowledge on my internal marks. He was a mark savvy and keeps an eye on everyones’ percentage but I never thought he knew everyone’s internals. Could be that he guessed, as all of us got somewhere between 25 to 35, yet 28 was six out of six. “Are you going for an improvement?” I was wakened from my thoughts as weral asked it. “No” I said promptly.

He offered me the last peg and said “In that case it shouldn’t be a problem”. I started smelling a rat. All those fears I had in deep in my mind surfaced. After all weral could not treat someone from his own pocket. Werals’ face had that very old, very same, wicked smile. The two pegs I had didn’t allow my cheek muscles to frown. I slowly learnt that the Joe de frank was nothing but my DOM textbook.

I could do nothing but relish the last peg peacefully and silently. With the gratitude towards weral for sharing his fortune with me, we walked towards hostel in each other’s arm.

The Underdog

The table was dealt for 4 people. Achachan, Weral,Machu and I.Players took their cards and 'keech' started.

Folklore is that the Keech,the most famous card game in RIT hostel, was originated in Weral’s village. He used to watch and (as he later claimed), became a legendary player in Keech. When he joined RIT, financial shortcomings due to his extravagant lifestyle forced him to find other sources of income. After successful stint with seasonal activites of income like ragging and selling old books at exorbitant prices, he was in search for a permanent source of income. So keech was introduced in RIT hostel and it enjoyed immense success and popularity due to its simplicity and huge money involved (as per RIT standards then).Weral's winning keech strategy was to mark the back of the cards with his long nails and identify them during the distribution for getting a fair idea of opponents cards.

Achachan mastered the art of Keech and was a regular player with an untarnished reputation in Keech circles. Being an ardent fan of Keech, he was too keen to popularise the game and used to explain things that happened during the games to friends, bringing his strong analytical skills and the probability theory with skillful narration.

What to say about me!. The story goes like this.The keech is played in pothan's room and my room was at the other end.The games end only after midnight and by the time I reach my room all the people in that floor used to wake up by the sound of coins I carry after winning the games.It was only a matter of observing the playing styles of opponents for me.

Machu was a late entry into college as he came 3 months late after getting a transfer form calicut university.First year proved to be difficult for him and resulted in 'supples' which followed him for two more years.By the time he got away from supples, others had gained considerable expertise in keech.That day marked his entry into keech.

3 cards were dealt for each player.Initial betting amount was 50 Ps. After viewing his cards the player can either place an additional bet or fold and leave the game.Triple 'A's are the highest hand followed by triple 'K's,'Q's and 'J's.Then comes 'TIN',in which A,K,Q will be of different types.Then 'COLOUR',i.e the cards of same types followed by double A's & K, double A's & Q and so on.Player holding the highest hand wins all the money.

I was happy for getting triple 'J' and observed others reactions.Achachan was deep in thought, presumably a less hand.Weral had his trademark smile,a high hand for sure but not the best.Machu was worried,sweat dripped down his face and seemed disappointed.I felt sorry for him, he is going to loss a lot of money today. First round went with everybody placing additional bets.It went for one more round.

Third round; weral doubled the betting amount.Achachan followed,so did machu and I.It went for 5 more rounds.Well, I began to get a little concerned about it.As per the rules of the game the play continues till two players remain and either of them asking for a showdown.I went on to loss Rs.10 and finally I backed off.After folding my hand I went to achachan who was holding triple 'Q's .Achachan was in full spirit as his probability theory predicted very less chance for either Machu or weral holding 3A or 3K. After losing 10 more rupees he folded his probability theory. Together we went to weral. Weral was holding triple 'K's.

Weral was very confident because he had noted that the 'A'' s marked by him were not distributed and chances of 3'A' was impossible.After couple of rounds and betting on Rs25 Weral asked for a showdown, and to his shock, three aces emerged from Machu's hand.Weral was heartbroken as he failed to identify the right markings on the back of the cards. I asked Machu about his reaction on seeing the hand and he told "I WAS STUNNED". I got it all wrong, neither achachan's theory nor weral's tricks worked .What a way to lose money!. I was only happy for the fact that both Weral and Achachan lost more money than me and the story remained underground.

Reputation does matter!