Abdul Razack K T

Some are destined to walk the same path for 12 years; to the extent of being at the same place at the same time. The only difference was Razack decided to run all along and I walked. I have a small medal at home, which says "Winner - running race - LKG". This was my second prize ever and have preserved it; and for those same reasons I remember remnants of the event in itself. All I know is I came first in the race. But in hindsight, am sure there was another boy who ran the race - Razack. I faint when I think that I actually beat him in a running race. But that was to be the very last time. He won every other race that I participated or witnessed for the next 12 years I was to see him in action.
Then there was a new event once in sports day; "cricket ball throw". I enrolled as I assumed I was the junior star of State Bank Officers Colony and new how to bowl the cricket ball with full action and all that. How many kids of age 7 would know that? So we all stood on the D-day, in the lower ground; right side; immediately after you climb down the stairs from the ground where all the kinder garten kids used to play. We had the entire length of the ground to throw at. "Aaraa first eriyaan varunnadu?", the sister who was in charge asked around. The hero from State Bank Colony put his hand up; to display his bowling abilities and proceeded to the run-up, after taking 10 steps and all. He threw the best full toss he could; with complete action and all; (it is a cricket ball throw remember? - not any random ball) and the ball landed after about 10 meters. Then came Razack. No run up, no action, one wild swish of the arm and the red object flew miles and probably landed at the other end of the ground. "This is cheating, you are supposed to be bowling it, and not throwing it", a young boy rebelled silently in mind.

Then came the sports days in Presentation. No bags, only packed lunch and shoes if you are a runner. After usually getting defeated in the qualifiers in the 100 metres, I would wait for the long jump or lemon and spoon (when it was an Olympics event). An entire school wearing anti-aids-like ribbons in the colours of pink, white and red (picturising Joy, Peace and Love). I was never in the Love squad (heh heh.. and happy about it). Was in Joy house many times and Peace house a couple of times. By noon there would be a few people whom the fortunes of each of the houses depended on - Razack, Biju, Sumeesh, Lumina's brother (was his name Vinu?), Ajay Alex, Bijoy Alex, Lumina, another girl whose name began with an "S"; and as they turned the blind corner around the convent and crossed the headmistress' room into the last lap, the crowd roared; and said "up-up" [Such noble souls we were then.. hmmmmm] and some among us would race along with these folks outside the tracks as they ran; so that they could be with their racing heros at the finish line and listen in and empathise with their moments of fame. ["I was leading till the convent, till he changed tracks and blocked me.. else I would have been first"]. But I have never seen Razack complain. He would sit and look at his soles, drink some water and go do his next race. what strength and energy!
The strength and energy came every day packed in steel lunch boxes at 1220 in a Jeep. Hot and straight from the Sagar kitchen - for Razack and his brothers and sisters, who studied there. Chicken Biriyani - with a compulsory leg piece or Poratta and Meen fry - on alternate days. Immediately he was offered with open lunch boxes for an exchange. What he liked he picked for an exchange of stuff from his box. If he really LOVED it, Razack's lunch box was yours. At the end of the day, there was a little bit of Razack (or should it be strength and energy?) in each of us.

I told you about the destiny of walking the same path. When Amma and I went to Silver Hills for an application form; the only two applicants waiting for forms were Razack and I. Then post the "entrance exam" to Silver Hills, first day at new school, the attendance register had the familair ring. The attendance still started with Abdul Razack K T; as it always had - ever since I started school, it would remain so till 10 standard. Till that day when we exchanged autographs and set off in different directions.
For the first time in my life, I would not be sharing a classroom with Abdul Razack.

3 years later, I met him at a gym; during summer vacations. His physique said that he has been a regular. He drove me around in what was the best model of car available in Calicut in 1994. Then again, a chance meeting said he was in Bangalore and then again back in Sagar - when I was searching for a table for 5; on a busy Saturday afternoon. Nammalu ethra kaalayeda kandittu... he mentioned when he instructed his staff to take care of me and my lunch companions.

That evening, I dusted up my standard tenth autograph book. The entry signed by Abdul Razack said "we are the only people who have spent 12 years of school together. Forget me not".

Biju MV

Every kindergarten goers' diary has some essential details of parents, address, blood group etc; and it usually has some space for "Best friends". I know what my younger brother had written; as we found his diary in the attic few years ago. I don't have printed proof for an act I put down in paper in 1980, but am sure Biju MV was one of them.
My mother recollects an instance when two 7 year old's ran and thumped their chests into one another (like how tennis doubles partners do nowadays to express solidarity) at S M Street one holiday evening; at sheer sight of each other. Biju MV...Bijuyembee.. Bijumbee... my mother figured out the connect when his son said he had a great friend named Bijumbee at school. The chest-bumping act just proved the relationship.
Skipping a year or two in between Biju and I had stints in same schools in same years and have travelled similar paths. Here is one such path. One day the school got over early and after long conversations in the school playground, about the girls in class we hated and giving them secret pseudo-names; Biju and I walked all the way from Presentation School to my house 1.5 kilometers away; played cricket for a while; hit two huge sixes; lost all the tennis balls we had at my home; and then we went down the hill 2 kilometers away to Biju's house. After playing cricket in his veranda and answering some questions his father asked two eight year old's; it was time for me to leave. "You know there is another secret way to your house?"; it was 6 pm, there was still light enough to last 30 minutes more; but I was late by more than 1 hour of my scheduled arrival from school and had not left a word at home; so disciplinary action was a given. But the opportunity to walk through a secret way (where no man had walked before, as I was told) was too good to resist for an eight year old, even if it takes a little longer. I was home at 6:45 pm I think that day, after Biju duly showed me through the secret passage - it was the latest I was out without letting anyone know. Amma believed in nipping deviant behavior in the bud. On rare occasions when she did that; the hibiscus plant's stick also is nipped off leaves and buds. I remember this to-date; meaning; it was a good lesson learnt. Neither of us told each other what happened at our respective houses on that day.

This was the time when Biju was not yet the sports day celebrity he was to later become, in Presentation and Silver Hills. And when he did realise and believe that he had wings in his feet; he was the star of the "Joy" house ["Peace" and "Love" being the other houses students were divided into]. At the end of the day when the prizes were given away, a sense of pride travelled within me as he came back and stood with ME or sat with ME , before he went on to receive another one.

In class 8, Biju joined Silver Hills. we were school mates again. I had moved in two years ago. This was a new Biju. The induction into teenage had changed both me and him. The legs still had the wings; the cheeky smile was still there; but a spirit of brazen adventure has set in. There was a 4pm bus that would just refuse to stop by the bus stop, just to avoid a sea of blue and white uniforms crowding in on subsidised student concessions. One day Biju took it head-on by standing on the middle of the road as the bus turned the corner ans sped towards the bus stop. 50 odd students watched the big green vehicle advance towards a spunky 13-year old exuding attitude. The bus honked in an effort to intimidate the boy; who stood still. The students had their eyes closed and the some of us had hands in our heads and eyes popping out. It was too late to even attempt a rescue; to risk getting crushed under a multi-tonner zooming in at 60kmph. The bus screeched to a halt. May be there was a 6 inch gap between the front fender and the boy. Passengers jolted by the brake looked out to see what was happening and hoped not to see the worst. A minute later, thirty odd students led by their new hero was already in the bus.
Another instance: the same bus slowed down to an almost halt to let off a passenger and sped out again. The sports hero in the boy took over; he ran to catch up with the bus enough to get a hand on to the ladder behind. And as students and passers-by looked on with their mouths open; the bus sped away with a student taking a free ride hanging onto a ladder behind.

After stints at tuition classes (Ouseph sir and Nambisan Uncle); I met Biju may be midway through college. we both may have been 20 or 21 then. Biju was trading pups I heard; and had a motorbike of his own. We connected again at a level we had not; for more than 10 years may be. We talked about college, women in college we had crushes at, plans into the future; and other random things men (ahem, yes men of 20 or 21) generally tend to talk.

And as we had had done many many years ago, at the end of it all; he dropped me home; in his bike, donning sun-glasses and all. No secret passages as before, but through the main road in front of school. We were grown-up people; and there were no hibiscus treatment this time :). Yes, we had come back the proverbial full circle.

Then in 2007 may be after 10 years, a Minnesotta bridge collapse got us connected again. Nisha chechi, who is in the US, called up to check on Biju who resides not far away from the bridge; and as luck would have it; she passed on my e-mail to Biju. We are in touch; through internet - a medium that feels strange to connect through English, to a child hood friend - but at least we are; and am happy for that.

Anil P

We, the boys of Kannur have an attitude. An attitude to have an accent that can be deciphered only from Ponnani and north of it. Valluvanad will do ok, but Travancore will suffer to make sense. So sometime in 1980 or 81 when a four year old, with tears in his eyes asked around "n'dammene-kkandinaa"; "n'dammene-kkandinaa"; not many of the mothers who came to pick up their young brats and beauties got what the kid was really after. Till my grandma came into scene to pick me up from school. "n'dammene-kkandinaa"; "n'dammene-kkandinaa"; the kid went again. "Illalo mone, ndamma aediyaa poyineee?". "Nee ende koodey vanno" She had left Kannur in 1970 and had been in Kochi and in Calicut (at the time of this event), seamlessly integrating the nuances of the Malayali accent. But she wasn't to leave an opportunity to connect with a little boy who spoke her native accent or the boy stranded in school. That day Anil P came home till his mother came back from work. That was my first initiation with Anil P, whom I would be with till standard 5. From that day till we moved to another rented house 1 kilometer away, Anil would stop by in the morning to check if I was ready to go to school.
I moved schools in standard 5; Anil moved school and his house to the other side of Chevayoor. But we still met; at the Bazaar or the Post Office occasionally till Ouseph Sir decided to put us in the same tuition batch in 10th standard (or was in 9th?). " Anil, marks parayoo, Malayathinu ethra kitteee? Englishino?" [Ouseph sir was part Malayalam Vidwaan and part Economist. Economist for the reason that he would ask for your overall performance in school after every term examination and would make a reasonably good estimate of what we would end up getting in the Final examination]. He was going around the table and it was Anil's turn now to communicate his marks in all the 12 papers one wrote for SSLC. Anil would do it and write it down at the back of his tuition class copy immediately. He had to, as his exam scores always had 3 versions to it - The version he told his mother; the version he told Ouseph sir and then, the reality.

Even after he moved to central kerala to do his Bachelors and Master in Occupational Therapy, we would still meet at the same places near Chevayoor, when on end year breaks.
Talked to him over phone, a year ago, when he was going through a situation of personal distress. Even then his "Nee Ippo aediyaa?", made me switch to the best malabarese I wait for to talk to someone to.

Last month my brother showed me a familiar face in orkut and asked me "Is this your friend Anil?".. There was a moustache and the expanded version of the initial "P"; but the man still remains, the classmate who came home clutching my grandma's finger the other day.