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Pen Hospital
Growing up in the sleepy city of Trivandrum in the 90s, early school days were prime "Only 90s kids will know" material. This time, I was nine, and fourth standard marked that coming of age in junior school where you transitioned from scruffy Nataraj Gold or Camlin Flora pencils to writing with a pen. Just two years ago, we had been little urchins, our black shorts just shy of our knees struggling to copy down Ms. Murray's beautiful cursive writing into our four-line notebooks. Silently, almost subconsciously sounding the words we wrote, to ourselves. The silent Rs. ("Goodness, Sriram! Cahtuh, not Kaartar"). Making sure we never stopped to cross our Ts or dot the Is in the midst of a word, but letting the lines flow undisturbed till we completed the word, and then rushing back to complete the little formalities. The grand, flowery tops of the Is and the bottoms of capital Ds. (Many years later - "I love the way you write that D. Here, write my name".) • • •
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Gaadi Baraabar
Night train journeys have always been special, despite a large portion of my train journeys having been overnight. The earth smells different when you stand at the door facing the dark countryside rushing by outside while the wheels belt out a steady 110kmph rhythm under your feet, and the feeling gets almost surreal. It's a deeply personal, quiet and contemplative moment I relish in a life where most of one's waking hours are spent in a chattering, chaotic and sometimes utterly lunatic world. • • •
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Gentlemen's hanky guide to etiquette
Alright fellas - We're men, and We make Fire and all that, but this is about those few times you felt powerless and pitiably at the mercy of that micro-organism going by the name Common Cold Virus. As irritating a day as it might seem to you, it is even more irritating for the ones that inhabit office space, college desks or government land beside you. For there have been times I had a tough time convincing the big boss (on leave, as big bosses generally are) over the phone that I was indeed at work and not volunteering at the steam locomotive shed in Coonoor (Coonoor is near Ooty, which is sufficient grounds for the big.b. to raise an eyebrow) owing to the sniffling, snorting, hissing and hachooo-ing presence of a co-worker whose WBC decided to take a day off to get their rental agreements renewed. • • •
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Stalin-gradschool
"That beard of yours.." • • •