Sunnu - A novel by Suman Kumar

'Sunnu' The Novel

What's your take? Click on the 'Chapters' come back tell me why you think Sunnu has to be published.

This is what readers had to say

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From the first school day till the first girl, i could identify myself with Sunnu. I could compare myself with the brat that was this small boy.
First trip on train, first experience of eating with fork, first trip in an elevator, first girl, first crush, first kiss, and a whole lot of firsts in lucid language helped me revist my experiences on all above.
Boy! This is some style of writing. Wish a lot of people could share their firsts too! All the best -- Nanda Kishore
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A fresh , uninfluenced style of writing. The innocence of the main character Sunnu comes across as a breath of fresh air...in today's stifling milieu.
You are almost transported to your own childhood days...sometimes you begin to wonder " Is it me or Sunnu?"
Now a word about the style...there is a perfect flow of thoughts and the subtle humour and asides are in sync with the narrative. -- -- Hema Viswanathan
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I guess this is a must read for people who think life is to be lived up... It was good fun reading the first few chapters. Thouroughly enjoyable.
Looking forward to see it published! --Sowmya
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Suman,
A book that is so simple it is a joy to read. Authors now-a-days, have forgotten what a reader wants.
I truly enjoyed reading this book, the language - simple and effective, the story line was great, something that everyone can identify themselves with. Did you know, that even my mother liked the book??
Congrats, I am certain that this will make great reading for readers of all age groups. --Vaidehi Krishnan
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A very refreshing read. The character sketch is wonderful, the language simple and lucid, the storyline real and almost tangible. The author has exhibited a wit which is inherent in all indians, all those small quirky which our mind keeps shooting as we silently observe our suroundings is, one may say, the hallmark of Indians. If this book is published it will succeed not because of all the above but because every Indian wil be able to relate to a large part of the plot and will wantingly or otherwise be taken on a nostalgia trip. --Renumathy
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What's your take? Click on the 'Chapters' come back tell me why you think Sunnu has to be published.
Write to the author: suman (at)sumankumar(dot)com

Chapter 10

We boarded the Charminar Express at Chennai Central that weekend. Mr Ramani, our family friend, bribed the ticket inspector and moved Sundar and me to his compartment. The compartment was poorly lit. The electric fans looked like as if they belonged to the museum; they were ancient and they made a lot of noise. The train left the big, noisy and overcrowded Chennai Central at six in the evening.

The train reached Hyderabad at six-thirty next morning. The air was unusually cold for a summer morning. Mr Ramani escorted us out of the railway station. We managed to give the slip to quite a few auto-rickshaw drivers. Those guys didn't solicit business; they demanded it!

We took a cab and checked into Hotel Asoka, a star hotel. We planned to freshen up first and then meet our uncle at his bank later. Our room was on the third floor. I enjoyed my first ride in a lift. It felt strange. It was like getting inside a room and closing the door, and when you opened the door again, you are in some other place! I was simply amazed. Sundar constantly poked me in my ribs with his elbow while we were in the lift. He wanted me to close my mouth, which was hanging open in sheer awe and amazement. 'Technology is a wonderful thing', I kept thinking. We took our baths and got into the lift again to go down to the restaurant. It got stuck between the second and the first floor. Technology is not always wonderful, you know. We were stuck in the lift until they had to pull open the doors manually. By then, we were sweating like pigs.

We had Idly for breakfast. Idlys in Hyderabad were no match for those served in Chennai. The sambar was sweet. The chutney was bitter. The idlies were rock hard. The coffee too, was not up to the mark. According to me, you get the best coffee only in Chennai. These guys are tea lovers. I never liked tea. Nothing can beat a cup of hot, strong and stimulating filter coffee.

I was busy checking out the so-called star hotel. I thought it was not as great as they all claimed it to be, and this was my first time in a star hotel. First of all, I have never eaten idly with fork, and knife. It was a laborious task. You had to cut the idly, pick the piece up with your fork and dunk it in the sambar or chutney... Forget it! I put the fork and spoon down; nothing like eating with your fingers.

"Sunnu! What the hell are you doing?" Mr Ramani shouted at me.

I was shocked and almost spilt my idly. I was wondering what had pissed this guy off.

"What?" I asked him.

"Manners, young man, manners... use your spoon."

I really didn't understand. Indian culture in its rulebook never prescribed forks or spoons. The white men who ruled us till 1947 had forks, spoons and knives in their culture. These people wanted to be like white men and I did not. But when it comes to women, the guys wanted her to be a cook cum baby producing machine. While the white girls were flying planes, Indian girls had restrictions even on flying kites I suppose. They were traded like livestock. Those days a woman, before getting married to a man, had to pay a dowry (money, property as a fee for the groom). It was illegal to take dowry, but neither the girl nor her parents dared to complain. The parents of the girl accepted it grudgingly. And here we are talking about manners.

"I hate spoons and I love eating with my fingers. And of course, it won't look nice if I licked a fork or spoon, would it?" I said.

Mr Ramani threw his hands in the air. "Suit yourself!" he said.

I winked at Sundar who was shaking his head, obviously to impress Mr Ramani.

We were about to leave the table when I noticed that Mr Ramani had left some money in a small plate. "Hey, your money is still here. You have left it here!"

I shouted at Mr Ramani who was already a few feet ahead.

He swivelled round. "Shut up and move it!" he shouted back.

The waiter collected the money from the plate. Sundar told me later that it was called tips. I learnt two new things that morning. Tips were a token of thanks, and Mr Ramani was a stingy idiot. He had left seventy-five paise and our bill had come up to a couple of hundred rupees.

We met our uncle at his bank. He thanked Mr Ramani for his help. Mr.Ramani left us soon after as he had some pressing engagements. Mr Rajan, our uncle was in his late forties. He had a huge smile and appeared to be nice. He took us to his home in an auto-rickshaw. It took twenty minutes to reach his home. It was an independent house. Two coconut trees stood tall in front of it. The iron gate needed some painting though. The house was surrounded with rose bushes and other plants. A Jasmine creeper climbed across the terrace wall. I opened the gate.

"Watch out for Bruno!" said my uncle who was paying the auto-rickshaw driver.

'Wow! They have a cat and he has a nice name', I thought. I was wrong. Bruno was a German shepherd. He came running out, but froze in his tracks the minute he saw me. I stood there, my feet glued to the ground. I was jinxed with dogs, I guess. Bruno was already letting out a fierce, deep-throated growl. My uncle was taking his own sweet time. I turned around to ask him for help. A mistake. Bruno pounced on me, pinning me to the ground. His nose was two inches away from mine and his tongue was dangling out, occasionally brushing my chin. I was too scared even to close my eyes as I thought that the movement might not appeal to the sensibilities of Mr Bruno. I was looking straight into his eyes and Bruno just stood on me. He was heavy. His forelegs were on my chest. Time took its own time to pass.

After what appeared like ages, "Get back to your room!" uncle barked. Bruno got off my chest and went into the house. "He'll get along, don't worry," uncle said as he helped me up. Sure, why not? I heard someone chuckling behind me. I didn't bother to find out who it was. I knew it was Sundar.

My aunt, Mrs Sarada Rajan and their son Venky greeted us. Sundar and Venky disappeared into a room immediately. They had been friends for sometime, I guess.

"Meet Sruthi, she's also in her sixth standard."

Whoa! No one told me aunt had a cute daughter. "Hellooooo!" I didn't make any attempt to hide my excitement.

"Hi!" she replied, rather abruptly.

"I..." She didn't let me use my PR skills.

"Mom, I'm going for my tennis practice." With that she was gone, with her nose way up in the air. Well, I have all of one month to bring it down to earth. I made myself at home. Aunt introduced me formally to Bruno. He shook hands with me. He was a cute pooch, actually. There were three cats too. The cats visited thrice a day - breakfast, lunch and dinner. Puppy was one of them. I was zapped to learn that she was Bruno's best friend. I thought that cats and dogs were enemies. The other two cats, though not friends of Bruno, were hardly scared of him. Bruno specialised in knocking down humans I guess. One of the two cats, a Mr Pepper, was Puppy's boyfriend. The way she purred when Pepper was around made the Bollywood heroines look like amateurs. Pepper was one hell of a lucky guy. After acquainting myself with the new territory and the inhabitants, I retired to the bedroom.

Grandpa, my dad's father, visited us that evening. Beyond the mandatory Hello and Hi, he didn't speak much to either Sundar or me. He was busy showering his affection on Sruthi. I had met Gramps only once before. Obviously it would take some time for us to get along. The old boy would make it up to me. They had a colour television at aunt's home. They also had a refrigerator and a VCR. They were rich. I wondered how long it would take our family to reach to this level. I was excited about all this. In Chennai, I had to sit along with ten other people in the owner's place and watch T.V. It is not a comfortable feeling, and moreover, the house owner would announce, "We are about to have dinner, please leave." I cursed myself every time that happened to me and I used to promise myself that I wouldn't watch T.V. in their house again. But then I couldn't help it. I kept going back there, telling myself, "This is the last time." We could not afford a T.V. at that point of time. It still remained a status symbol of the rich and also of people who wanted others to believe that they were rich. Well, at least for a month I need not compete for a place before the T.V. For a month I could eat mangoes chilled in the fridge. For a month I could pretend that I was rich.

Despite their affluence, uncle and aunt were very nice people. They were simple and down to earth; money didn't get to their heads. Aunt told me that they used to live in a single room house for years before uncle hit big time. Venky too was a nice chap, though he never spoke to me like a friend. He and Sundar still considered me a kid. My only peer in the house was Sruthi. She never spoke to me after our rather abrupt introduction. Her nose defied the law of gravity. But she was a rather pretty girl, and like all pretty girls she was a little hot-tempered. She wore expensive outfits compared to my shabby clothes, but though they were costly, they resembled the ones that the clowns wore at the circus.

After watching the state run program on how to make fuel from cow dung on T.V. that evening, I went to bed. Thank god we didn't have a T.V.

I woke up a bit early the next morning. Uncle had already left for work. Grandpa was reading the papers. Aunt was busy in the kitchen. It was only seven. Early for me since I was jobless these days as I didn't have to go to school. I took my toothbrush to the backyard. The cats were there. Pepper was ogling at Puppy, as usual. Bruno was resting under a swing, Sruthi's swing, that is. I finished brushing my teeth and sat down sipping coffee. Puppy was sitting next to me. She liked me right from the moment she saw me. I patted her head gently and whenever I stopped, she purred and I bet Pepper had goose bumps all over because of that.

Hyderabad was a calmer city than Chennai. I liked the city. Maybe I was deciding too fast.

"Wash your hands every time you touch those dirty cats!" Sruthi's voice boomed.

I wondered why God created beautiful girls and gave them hot heads. I looked at her indifferently. As usual, she was wearing one of her expensive, but funny outfits. "Well?" she demanded rolling her beautiful eyes.

"Well what?" I snapped.

"You didn't answer my question!" she snapped back.

"You didn't ask one. What you made, was an ultimatum and I am not interested in ultimatums."

"You Madarasi people have no manners!" She reminded me of a steam engine. She was fuming and fussing all over. I wasn't impressed by her comments about the people of Madras. "You had better wash your hands, I am warning you," she said, pointing a finger at my face.

Nobody warns me. "Hey! Sweety pie, why don't you leave me alone and get back to feeding your Barbie? I am not interested in arguing with people with lesser IQ. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to take my bath."

She was stunned. She wanted to say something. She opened her mouth but I was not there to listen to her. I thought that I had taken care of something that had the potential to ruin my holiday, but as always I was wrong. My adversary was much stronger than I thought she actually was.

Chapter 9

For the first eight months in Chennai, I did nothing. I just hung around and made friends. During this period, I realised how tough it was to run a family. We used to struggle to make ends meet as the funds that dad sent from Delhi were not sufficient.

I discovered during this period that four of my uncles were drunks. I hated them for it. My grandmother, whom we called Amma, was a strict no-nonsense lady. She hated kids who made noises or stole food from her kitchen. Amma is a good cook. Suresh and I used to steal the food that she had cooked. Mom was always puzzled why all the food that she cooked remained untouched. Amma would gladly part with a pot of gold, but she would never do the same with a single drop of water. Such was the scarcity of water in Chennai. I hated the city for this. The corporation taps supplied water between four and seven in the morning and from eleven to two in the night. This meant that we had to finish taking our baths before seven in the morning and that seemed like a truly idiotic proposition to me. All these things only aggravated my hatred for the city. I had come from a place where water problem was inconceivable; Chittoor was a place with a surplus of space. Here in this city, the people had no respect for the other guy’s privacy. They just buzzed about at break-neck speed, day in and day out, as if tomorrow was doomsday. No one had the time to stop by and say hello. They were always worried about the morning bus or the queue at the ration shop or the season ticket at the railway station. They ran all the time; from others, from themselves and from life. I longed to get back to Chittoor, where life was far simpler and uncomplicated, but I had to wait till I finish my sixth standard here, in this god forbidden city.

Yet, I had a few pleasant experiences in Chennai. I met some really wonderful people here. Most importantly, I started developing a relationship with my elder brother Sundar, who had been away from us all this while. He was in his ninth standard. His best friend was a guy called Prabhu, probably one of the funniest persons I have ever met. Sundar and Prabhu would take both Suresh and I to either to the movies, or the beach. They took us to the Snake Park too. It all depended on mom's instructions. I got along well with Prabhu. Although he came from a rich family and his father was a well-known lawyer in the city, Prabhu was a very down-to-earth guy. I once went along with Sundar and Prabhu to watch a horror movie called 'Visiting Hours.' Prabhu sat in the middle while Sundar and I flanked him. Everything seemed peaceful and perfect for a couple of hours of good fun, until the guy sitting next to me opened his big mouth.

"I have seen this movie in Bombay. The effects, the sound, the 70mm screen... Man! These cinema halls in Chennai are no match to those of Bombay."

I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I turned to look at Prabhu. He just brought his index finger to his lips and nodded. 'Ok', I told myself, 'I'll stay calm'. It was a Himalayan task.

"The air-conditioning is not working. In Bombay, you'd get a hundred percent refund for this," continued the guy on his eulogy on Bombay. I was on the edge of my sanity.

"Tell us more about Bombay, sir." That had come from Prabhu.

I was zapped. This was unbelievable. It sure looked like asking for trouble. 'Why is he doing this?' I wondered. That guy immediately took the cue and went on and on about how wonderful life is in Bombay and how the city helped his business grow by leaps and bounds. God knows what 'business' he was in. With that he claimed that he was well off, but I never understood why he was not in the balcony. The movie was soon over and I felt a sense of relief come over me, until I saw Prabhu slapping the Bombay guy's back, obviously laughing at a joke that he had just cracked. I thought he was as boring as history classes. I wondered why Prabhu was trying so hard to impress the guy.

"Why don't you join us for a snack?" Prabhu asked him.

Sundar and I spun around at such a speed that you would have thought an artillery shell had landed on our heads. We had exactly two rupees, which were just about enough for our bus fare home. Prabhu, from the corner of his eye, caught our hard stares and winked at Sundar. God knows what that meant, but a beaming smile appeared on Sundar's face. I was confused, but had the sense to keep my mouth shut. I knew I was safe, for mom would beat the daylights out of these guys, if they put me through any nonsense.

We walked into an air-conditioned café. The guy was still talking to Prabhu. "I left my wallet in my room at the hotel, so I have very little dough on me. If you can give me a few minutes, I will go and get some." After all the talk about his cars and his deluxe apartment, that didn't really lift his image. He was a gas-pot. A hot-air balloon filled with lies. "Do you have a fiver on you? If you could loan it to me, I will go and get the cash," he said and he actually grinned after saying that.

I looked for some gold teeth but only found tobacco stained ones.

"Don't bother, sir. This treat is on me", Prabhu said, as if he were the Prince of Edinburgh.

"Tell us more about Bombay," he continued.

Now this was too much! Prabhu had gone nuts. Sundar was grinning the whole time and I was just confused. I ordered a sandwich and a coffee whereas the boys ate as if they were just out of some refugee camp. Coffee arrived.

"I have a test for you. I 'm sure you'll crack it. This test is designed by my uncle who is a psychoanalyst," Prabhu said.

This uncle was obviously non-existent. The guy was busy sipping his lassi, probably the first lassi of his entire life. He cocked his head up, shrugged and replied, "No problem!" He probably couldn't believe his stroke of luck.

"I'll hold my hands apart, with my palms facing each other. You will have to close your eyes and move your hands between them, up and down, and count till two hundred and fifty," explained Prabhu.

"Absolutely no problem!" came the guy's instant response. There was a brief period of silence between them. I could see that Prabhu was nervous during that time. "I'll give it a shot," said the guy and I saw a sense of relief come over Prabhu's face.

The circus began. The guy started moving his hands between Prabhu's outstretched palms, in a slow movement. He knotted his eyebrows, in what appeared to be an expression of concentration and determination. "Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two...” the guy kept counting and Sundar signalled me to get out. I was bewildered but still obeyed. I went out and stood near the cash counter.

"Ok, let's go," Prabhu said.

"What about that guy?" I asked.

"Take a look for yourself," said Sundar, winking at me. That guy was busy moving his hands up and down, still counting with his eyes tightly shut. I burst out laughing. Sundar urged me to get the hell out of there.

"Boss, who will pay the bill?" enquired the cashier.

"Our sir, sitting over there will pay. He is busy meditating. Please don't disturb him," Prabhu said. We walked out. Even before I could open my mouth and ask them anything, they both screamed in chorus "RUN!!" and we ran as if there was a pack of wolves after us. I was laughing all the way. I learnt that it was dangerous to mess with Prabhu. Sundar told me that he was very notorious for his practical jokes. He really was a wonderful person.

Apart from his sense of humour, he was also gifted with a big heart. He was very kind and he also taught me how to ride a bicycle. All of us loved him.

We received a letter from our aunt, dad's younger sister. She wanted Sundar and me to spend the summer with her in Hyderabad. I was excited about the whole thing and so was Sundar. Mom, on the other hand, was worried about how I would behave at my aunt's place. When Sundar's summer holidays began, I was more excited about it than he was. A friend of our family who was also on his way to Hyderabad offered to take care of us and drop us at our aunt's house. What was supposed to be just another summer trip for me, turned out to be an adventurous and eventful roller-coaster ride!

Chapter 8

Mom was the first child of my grandparents. Seven uncles and three aunts followed her. That was some work by my indefatigable grandparents. Can you imagine? Seven uncles and three aunts! I was only seven when my eldest uncle got married. My youngest uncle was married only a few years back. So you can imagine the number of weddings I had to attend, along with my family. Each wedding was special. All, but one, took place in Chennai. Raju mama's wedding took place in Tiruthani, one of the abodes of Lord Muruga. We are iyengars and our weddings stretch over a period of three days. For us kids, the longer the weddings lasted, the better, as it meant more days away from school. The weddings comprise some important rituals. The Janvasam was one that I thoroughly enjoyed. The groom would be seated in a car, a decorated one, and it would go round the streets around the wedding hall. The groom would be clad in a veshtee - a white dhoti, and a garland around his neck. The kids would be all over him throughout the whole procession. The groom had a smile stuck on his face and it seldom masked the obvious irritation caused by the brats who kept screaming right into his ears. Suresh and I were a little mature for our age, so we usually just sat next to him, watching the circus. The procession would end at the entrance of the wedding hall and the groom would be escorted in. Everyone stays at the wedding hall for the night. That night would be an eventful one for the kids as well as the grown-ups. While we played through the night, the grown-ups came up with their own arrangements such as booze and cards. Prasad mama is an expert gambler. He made a lot of money in these weddings by washing the wallets of the other players clean clean. These get-together acts provided a nice opportunity for us to socialise with the other party - the bride's folks. The grown-ups had no problem with getting along until Prasad mama’s brilliant cards did them. We kids, a huge gang from 'my' side, were notorious for our mischief. Suresh once caught a frog and somehow managed to slip it inside the pants of an unsuspecting kid. The kid's screams, I thought, could have been heard in Uranus. I, on the other hand, had a way with the girls from the bride's side. My quick, witty tongue and my good manners impressed them, I guess. I never bothered about the boys. They can wait, you see. The guys thought that I was a girl-crazy nut. I never disputed their claim. Everyone is entitled for their point of view and sometimes impossible statements are made by envious minds. I always chose to ignore these statements.

The muhurtam is the climax of the wedding. The pundit would chant slokas and mantras, with the homam, the sacred fire raging in front of him. The bride and the groom would be seated in front of the pundit and they had to repeat all the tongue-twisting Sanskrit slokas that he chanted. After the couple endure the heat and the smoke of the homam for a few hours, the pundit would then announce that the groom could tie the 'mangalyam', the sacred thread, around the bride's neck. The bride would be seated on her dad's lap and the groom is supposed to tie it in that rather clumsy position. I found this boring, as it offered no entertainment for me. Nevertheless, the ritual is very sacred and I firmly believe that there is a reason why it's all done in such a manner. Our forefathers are very wise and there's always a reason behind all the traditions and rituals. While all this is taking place, music is played in the background. The musicians just position themselves in a corner and play on and on. The pundit would wave at them whenever an important phase of the ritual is reached and the musicians will increase the tempo and go all out. There was the thavil- the percussion, and the nadaswaram- the wind instrument. Nowadays, the saxophone is also used. I was drawn to these instruments from the minute they started playing. Sometimes the musicians allowed me to touch the musical instruments. I even tried my hand at the thavil once while the band was having lunch. The leader of the band thought that I had a good ear for music. I was on cloud nine. I asked my dad why they didn't play the guitar or the drums, and he explained that those were only used in Christian weddings. I strongly doubted it.

The food served at our weddings is a gourmet’s delight. It has a wide variety. I used to steal the laddus while Suresh stole the fruit. We used to carry the bounty back to Chittoor. It was pretty simple. Before the guests are invited to the dining hall, the cook and his assistants would arrange the banana leaves, on which the guests ate. They would then place a laddu, a pappadam and a glass of kheer on the leaves. My task was very simple. Armed with a plastic bag, I would walk along the tables, on which the leaves were placed, pick the laddus up and drop them into the bag. The most important element in this task is to look very casual - as if you were only there because of your curiosity and nothing else. And always smile at the cook's assistants, who rush about like scientists about to launch a spaceship. I suppose I had lady luck on my side, for, I was never caught. Once in Giri mama's wedding, Suresh was caught stealing fruit from the storeroom. That idiot, instead of finishing his task and escaping from the scene, was blissfully munching away on an apple. One of the assistants caught him with a huge bag that contained half of the fruits in the storeroom. Mom and dad were so embarrassed and incensed by Suresh's atrocity. Dad slapped him in front of all the guests. Suresh started to wail. I made a mistake of smiling at his miserable fate; almost sure that he hadn't noticed it. Unfortunately, he did. The expression on his face changed from agony to that of anger.

He pointed an accusing finger at me. "He was stealing laddus from the dining hall. Why don't you look into that!" he shouted.

I prayed that the ground would open up and suck me in. My dad looked at me, with his eyebrows knotted.

"N-no!" I blurted out.

There was a cynical smile on Suresh's face. "Check the pink plastic bag in our room, beside your suitcase mom, and you will know," he said. I had a murderous look on my face. My blood was boiling. There wasn't any reason for him to two-time. He didn't want to be a lone thief, I guess. We were ordered by our dad to stick by him till the wedding ended. No play. No fun. My pocket money was stopped for a month and that was that.

But when I moved to Chennai, I never imagined that those eighteen months there would teach me a lot about the strange ways of life. I had to sit at home and wait for the new academic year to begin while Suresh was in his second standard. We found a home just next to my grandmother's house. For the first time in my life, I was faced with the prospect of living among ten other families.

38, Seethammal Road was an old building, probably not white washed for years; the ground floor that was divided into ten portions. The owners of the house lived on the first floor. The tenants, ten families in total, had to share two bathrooms. I found this rather unhygienic, but was forced to come to terms with this practice.

Chapter 7

My grandpa's last wish was that Sundar, my elder brother had to live with my grandma in Chennai. So, Sundar was away from us since he was eleven months old. After Sundar, mom gave birth to Seetha, my late sister. Mom has told us, Suresh and I, so much about Seetha that I have a picture of her sculpted on my mind. Mom used to tell us about her every day - about how beautiful she was. She would tell us how Seetha could brighten up a room, a home, or a whole town. Seetha was also very intelligent and she obtained very good grades in her school. Mom keeps saying that sometimes God is so fond of certain wonderful people he creates that he takes them back within a short time after giving them to us. Seetha died from drug poisoning. Mom says a whole bunch of kids died because the medicine manufactured by this particular company had an ingredient that was slightly higher in content than the required proportions. We never got bored of listening to mom talk about Seetha. In spite of being a strong and a stubborn woman, she would have tears welling up in her eyes every time she walked through that memory lane. I used to fantasise about how I would get along with Seetha if she were alive. From what I heard from mom, I thought sisters were good fun. I longed to have a sister, but that was not to be. My mom had a serious health problem when I was in my third standard. She was hospitalised and we were told that they were going to operate on her. We were too young to realise the gravity of the situation, but we knew something was going on. The evening before mom's operation, dad called both of us, Suresh and I. He kneeled down in front of us. He stared at us for a while.

"Let's pray for mummy," he said.

That shocked me because I had never seen this man pray for anything in his life. He never participated in any pooja. The three of us went into the prayer room. We sat in front of framed pictures of gods. I always wondered why we had so many gods- they say god is one. Dad lit a prayer lamp.

"Ask God not to take your Mom away," he said.

His voice was shaky. We closed our eyes. I argued with God. "Boss! We need mom to get us a sister, to give us food, tell us stories and to polish my boots."

We were also told that Sundar would come down from Chennai the next day. The operation was a success, but I was shocked to learn from grandma that Mom wouldn't be able to have any more babies. So, I could not have a sister now or ever. Dad looked at me.

"As God is busy doing a lot of things, he wanted mom to take care of you, so he forgot about your baby sister. But thank him for allowing mom to be with us."

I could not sleep that night, but dad was damn right. If not for mom, life would have been tough for me. I keep thanking God for leaving her alone, but I longed for a sister, an elder sister who would chide me when I made mistakes- someone who would walk me to school, someone who would not compete with me for everything like Suresh does; someone who would stay with me and be around, unlike my elder brother, Sundar. I wanted a sister for all these reasons and more, but then, it was not to be.

Chapter 6

I expected some verbal assault from him first, before he started bashing me up. But no, Raghu Ram didn't waste precious time. He landed an upper cut on my chin, which threw me off balance and also re-orientated the bones in my jaw. I lay sprawled on the ground. "Get up, you spineless idiot!" he hissed. I was up on my feet. He charged at me like a rogue elephant and landed a punch on my nose. I felt sharp pain shoot up my head and I screamed. At the same time I felt something warm on my chest. I looked down and almost fainted. The front of my cream coloured shirt had turned crimson. My nose was bleeding like an open tap. I covered my face with my hands and slumped to the ground. Not even a single onlooker bothered to help me out. In fact, I thought I heard some idiot counting "One, two, three..." before I was finally knocked out by Raghu. I was sitting there alone with my face buried in my palms. The school ayah saw my miserable plight. She cleaned me up and washed the blood from my shirt. I was sitting outside the chapel, on the steps. She hung my wet shirt on the lines to dry.

"It will dry in ten minutes," she said, smiling at me.

"Thank you, ayah," I said, trying to sound normal.

"What exactly happened there?" she asked me after sitting in front of me and stuffing some pan leaves into her mouth.

"Raghu Ram hit me." My voice was shaky, and I had tears in my eyes again.

She nodded, grinding the pan with her aging teeth. "Why didn't you hit him back?" she asked me as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

I paused, pondered over it for a while, and managed a brilliant answer. "I don't know."

She gave me a thoughtful look. "It is all right to hit back sometimes. You can't help it, you know. See what you got yourself into... anyway keep away from those who trouble you, and from those who you are scared of," she advised.

I felt like a piece of dirt. She was right. I was scared of Raghu Ram. But most of all, I was scared of hitting someone. I have never really tried to retaliate; violence always made me sick in my stomach. But then if I am like this, like a saint, there will be more who would make hitting me, their favourite pastime. Probably at this rate I might win the 'Punch Bag of the Year' award too.

I walked back home with these nagging thoughts. I also needed to cook up a nice story about my bruised nose. I told my mom that I accidentally collided with a friend while playing.

Mom shook her head. "Why don't you grow up for a change?" I agreed with her.

I needed to grow out of this fear psychosis but I didn't know how. I couldn't sleep peacefully that night. I had a bad dream that night. The school was filled with Raghu Rams. I was tied to a chair and was punched in the face by all the Raghu Rams- one after the other. The school ayah, dressed in a fairy costume, complete with a halo over her head, was screaming, "Get them, and hit them!" which I thought was very uncharacteristic of a fairy.

The next morning I entered the classroom with a whole lot of confusion in my head. Raghu Ram had a victorious smile on his face. I hated that. I put my bag down and sat next to him, and immediately sensed that something was wrong. The whole class, which included the silly girls, was giggling. I tried standing up, and realised why these clowns were laughing. I had chewing gum stuck to the back of my trousers.

"A nice way to eat gum!" Raghu sniggered and had the class roaring with laughter.

These guys definitely needed some sense of humour. "Don't try these stupid jokes on me," I roared at Raghu.

He froze and stared into my eyes. I didn't know what to say. "You are a bag of dirt Ram. That's exactly what you are and I don't enjoy talking to idiots like you," I retorted in one stretch, plucked out whatever gum I could from my trousers and sat down again.

My sudden outburst must have incensed Raghu, he suddenly kicked me on my sides so hard that I was lifted off the chair and went crashing to the ground. I don't know what happened next, but I still can't believe that I did it that day. I was up on my feet somehow. I kicked him on his legs and he fell on his knees. I wasted no time. I punched him straight in the nose. It started bleeding. Raghu started howling in pain.

I grabbed his hair in my hands rather roughly and shook it vigorously.

At that moment, the prayer bell rang. Raghu's friends escorted him to the headmistress's office for first aid. I was sure that I would be suspended from school. During prayer, I was not worrying about what would be in store for me in the headmistress's office. In fact, I was feeling light and happy. I guess what the ayah said had worked on me. To my utter surprise, I never got the call from the headmistress's office. Raghu Ram did not want to break the rule of the school fights I guess. We found ourselves sitting next to each other in the class after the prayer. I could feel the eyes of the whole class on us. I thought he would jump on me the moment the teacher left the room. He did not. I turned to look at him. He looked pale and his nose was still red. He knew I was looking at him and he kept staring into oblivion.

"I am sorry," I said.

"It is ok," he said, after pausing for a while.

"I don't think we need to fight like this," I opined.

I knew he agreed with me. After that we spoke very little to each other. He avoided me. I too, didn’t try to over emphasise my spirit of camaraderie. I left Little Flower halfway through my fifth standard as dad was deputed to Delhi for some training. I moved to Chennai along with my younger brother Suresh and mom. I was supposed to continue my fifth standard in Chennai, but no school was ready to admit me, as it was already halfway through the academic year.

Before I start telling you how I fared in the big city of Chennai, I have to tell you about my life in Chittoor, apart from Little Flower Convent.

Babu was my best friend all through those years. He was a brilliant chap. By the time we reached third standard, he was pedalling away on his dad's bicycle. I only managed to pedal one when I was in my sixth. He was the first boy on the block to buy a cork ball and also get his dad to make a wooden cricket bat for him. When all the other kids in Pagadamanu Street, Greamspet, Chittoor were playing cops and robbers, we were playing cricket. I decided that I will become a bowler and Babu felt he was an all rounder. But our plans never really took off as I left for Chennai. Babu also taught Suresh and me how to steal mangoes from our neighbour's tree. Initially we were very apprehensive, but later relished the idea, as it was adventurous. Babu's mom, Kalyaniamma, was a practical woman. My mom used to entrust her the responsibility of removing lice from my head. It was a torturous experience. I had to sit with my head hung low and she used to pick on the lice and crush them with her fingers dexterously. It hurts when someone keeps on crunching your head with their fingers. I used to run away whenever I could, from her lice killer assignments. Babu had three sisters. Prema was the eldest. Next was Gowri, Janaki was the youngest. They were elder to us, and from time to time, shared their wisdom with us over a whole range of things. For example, when the rocket sky lab crashed, they forecasted that it would fall in the Arts College grounds. But then, there was a small error in their calculations. The rocket crashed to Earth, somewhere in the Indian Ocean. Whatever it was, they missed it by only a few thousand miles. They took us to the movies too. While Babu, Suresh and I invariably slept through the movie, they got themselves seriously involved in the movie. Sometimes I used to wake up to the harmonic sobs of these girls- caused by the pathetic situation of the heroine (mostly after falling into the trap of the sixty-year old lecherous villain). It was too much for us. Normally we rated a movie based on the number of fight scenes it had. We loved watching the hero clobbering some three hundred guys single-handedly. The bad guys in the movies had a terrible sense of dressing and the hero's wasn't any better. Most of the time, he wore a leather jacket and tight fitting leather pants along with a ridiculous looking hat. He wore this costume even in the scorching heat of a desert. I always used to wonder why they sang duets. The heroine only had to look into the hero's eyes and he would wink, supposedly suggesting something very naughty, and they would instantly be transported to Kashmir where they ran around trees, threw snowballs at each other, and in-between, dance too. Now, it would not be fair, if I don't mention something about the dancing here. Most of the time, the dances resembled a kung-fu fight and sometimes it appeared like an inferior version of aerobics. The best thing about Telugu movies in those days was that they firmly believed that the hero could never age, even if he looked perfectly shapeless like popcorn. The heroines, on the other hand, became mothers to the heroes against who they were cast as heroines only a few years back. It never made sense to me, and I thought the moviemakers were male chauvinists.

We lived in a tile-roofed house, one of the many in a row that Lakshmiamma the landlady owned. The walls were built of mud and bricks. The roofs were high and they were constructed using tiles that were set on a pyramidal structure of bamboo sticks. Babu's family occupied the house on our right whereas Lalitha-akka's family owned the one on the left. Vani's family occupied the house next to Babu's. Thilaga-akka was the youngest in her family. I have never seen her dad. She had two brothers, Seenu and Jayakumar and three sisters, Paddu, Santhi and Banu. They were a Tamilian family (like us), so we got along with them very well. They loved me. Seenu and Jayakumar were priests in two different temples. They brought back loads of prasad every evening. Babu and I would prowl around their home everyday at that particular time. Thilaga-akka seldom disappointed us, although her brothers were not too impressed by her show of affection. Renu-akka was different. She was very fond of me. She displayed a rare maturity, which the other akkas lacked. She was married when I was in my third standard. She could not stay away from me for long. So, she took me to Pondy after convincing my parents. I stayed in Pondy for a few days. I don't remember what I did there, but I will never forget her unfathomable affection and love.

I had to leave all this behind when I left for Chennai. Somehow, I knew it would never be the same again. Watching movies on weekends. Flying kites. Hunting for non-existent wild creatures in the backyard. Dancing to Kishore Kumar's songs on the radio. The row of huge tamarind trees filled with sweet-sour tamarind just behind our backyard. The garden lizards, the winter morning fog, the breath-taking mist clad hills and the woods. I knew it. Knew that it was never going to be the same again.

Chapter 5

The first activity of the day in Little Flower was prayer. We recited hymns like 'Praise Him in the Morning', 'Rejoice in the Lord Always'. It was a wonderful experience. More than two hundred students would sing in chorus, the sun would slowly climb up the sky, the hymns will ring in our ears long after we’d stopped singing. I think the most important thing religion teaches a person is discipline. But we have to live with the fact that even such great religions could do very little to get someone like me to realise the importance of discipline. Somehow I have stayed away from religion and went to the temple only for the Prasad.

In the same year in Little Flower, I learnt the importance of being a man. One of my classmates was Raghu Ram Reddy. He sat next to me in the class. He was a skinny chap who had a toothy grin. He was particularly fond of using me as a punch bag. He used to tug the hair on the back of my head, punch me on my back and pinch me when the class was going on. Complaining to the teachers was out of the question as the guys felt that it was not 'manly'. I was not confident that I could better him in hand-to-hand combat. I have never hit anyone in my life except my younger brother, Suresh. That too I hit him when he was asleep. One day it went too far. Raghu Ram started entertaining his sadistic self that day in the moral science class- Miss Isabel's class that is- by periodically punching me on my sides. I couldn't suppress my grunts of agony and I had tears welling up in my eyes halfway through the class. Miss Isabel is an intelligent woman and she sensed that I had a problem, after taking a couple of glances at me.

"What is troubling you, Sunnu?" she sang.

I could feel the warmth in her voice, the care in her eyes and the compassion in her words. "Nothing", I wanted to say, but all I could manage was a strange gargling sound. I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. One teardrop even managed to roll down my neck and lodge itself on my chest. I looked absolutely stupid. Raghu Ram was smiling and that aggravated my hurt. The whole class knew why I was crying.

"What happened?" Miss Isabel snapped at me.

"He has been punching me for the last twenty minutes," I blurted out. There was a hush in the classroom. The girls were watching in amusement and the guys were looking at me the way Caesar would have looked at Brutus. Miss Isabel turned around and picked up her cane. She seldom used it. I heard a strange noise. It was coming from Raghu Ram’s knees - they were shaking at an amazing speed and he had a dumb 'what will I do now,' look on his face.

Miss Isabel walked up to our desk. "Say sorry to him," she said calmly to Raghu Ram.

"Miss... I didn't..." he didn't even complete his sentence and 'WHACK!' her cane came slashing down on his arm.

The whole class was quiet. You could hear a pin drop. I was happy. I wanted to scream with joy.

"Sorry," Raghu Ram said, without even looking at me. Miss Isabel paused and gave me a sympathetic look. "Sit down, Sunnu," she said. I thought my troubles with that pest Raghu Ram were over. His face was pale and the tears had left marks on his face. Miss Isabel turned around and he turned sideways and stared at me. What I saw in his eyes curdled my blood. A chill ran down my spine. "Murder!" I wanted to scream. I knew the issue was far from over. I knew what was in store for me when the last bell strikes in the school. I started to pray to Lord Muruga, to Jesus Christ and to every other God I knew. I knew only they could help me now because none of my classmates would come to my rescue. I had violated the cardinal rule of the school fights - never complain to the teachers. It was five minutes to the last bell when Raghu Ram whispered in my ear, "You are history." Or something like that.

I had my intestines in a knot. A beehive of thoughts was raging in my head. 'What if I asked for protection from the teacher?' 'What if I stayed back in the classroom itself?' I glanced at the wall clock. Three more minutes left. Time flies when you are in trouble, you know. Two minutes. Raghu Ram had already packed his school bag and was waiting like a tiger. I started putting my notebook into my haversack. One more minute left. The whole class was blissfully ignorant of the slaughter that was about to take place any moment. I cursed myself for being such a weak guy. My palms were wet as usual because of the perspiration. This is it. "Clang, clang!" the bell started ringing. The whole class stood up to thank the teacher and started to leave. I was glued to my seat. Raghu Ram was not there beside me. He was gone. I picked up my bag and started towards the door. My legs felt weak. I spotted him while climbing down the stairs. He was waiting near the gulmohar tree. He had a huge smile on his face, as if he was James Bond and he had just saved the world. I stepped onto the ground and he started walking towards me. I knew I was doomed.

Chapter 4

By the time I was in the fourth standard, I had, to some extent understood the complexities of human life. Never get into fights with boys taller than you. You can't build a beach. If one of dad's friends offers you a candy, say 'No thanks' and look at dad, and hope that he'll nod, giving his approval. Garden lizards are not supposed to be housed in the cupboard. The list goes on and on. What I never understood was why adults made their lives complicated. Why should Mohan, our neighbour talk to Vani in the backyard at seven in the evening? Why can't he just talk to her in the living room where there was so much light? Anyway, life was turning out to be interesting for me in fourth standard. There was a new rule in school. If you are late, even by five minutes, you will not be allowed to sit in class. Instead you will be made to sit under the huge gulmohar tree in the playground.

When I was given this 'punishment', I was terrified. And Trishanker started telling us stories. From then on, we were late at least twice a week. The stories were born out of cutting-edge imagination and creativity. They ranged from the 'war between the red ants and the black ants' to 'Super bike'. The Super bike story was fantastic. The hero has a bike that raises an alarm when the bad guys try to harm him or his kin (for example trying to kidnap his pet tiger). The bike also flew and competed with rockets. One of the adventures of the Super bike was the touching story of the bad guys killing the hero's mom and dad (the bike raises an alarm which resembles the music they play on radio when they mourn someone's death) and how the hero takes revenge. Trishanker was godsend for the latecomers, a group that strangely grew in size every day. The tree gave us ample shade and whenever there was a break during the story time we used to play book cricket, probably the only kind of cricket where I scored three centuries in a day.

That day I was late, as planned and was sitting with the gang listening to Trishanker's story. That's when I saw Priya. She was breathtakingly beautiful. She was the school beauty and there were a lot of guys longing for her friendship. I forgot about her in the course of the day, but then, as they say, man proposes, God disposes. My tuition teacher Susheela-akka was also Priya's teacher. I was not aware of this fact until Susheela akka told me two days later.

"Sunnu, you will be writing your math test with one of my other students."

I just shrugged and said "Ok".

It was not ok. While we all went to Susheela-akka's place for tuition, she went to Priya's place and took tuition for her. I was not aware that Priya was that special student. I learnt it the hard way. I went along. We reached a huge house. Opulence was written all over it. Susheela akka rang the doorbell, and after a few moments the door opened and Priya stood there! She was wearing a maroon-coloured nightdress. I froze in my tracks. 'Excuse me, is this some kind of a joke?' I wanted to ask Susheela akka. My knees were shaking badly and my mouth went dry. My tongue was stuck. I didn't even respond to her 'hello', probably the sweetest in the world. It would have done Edison proud. I drowned myself in a huge couch. Priya had two kid sisters and they were very shy. Susheela-akka was very busy talking to Priya's mom and I was busy investigating the opulence of the place. They had a strange box with a glass screen that had some knobs under it. I came to know later that it was called a T.V- television. Well, we had a Philips radio at home and I was amazed by this T.V. The carpets on the floor must be worth a few lakhs. I heard that her dad was a doctor. They had a car too. My father didn't even have a bicycle. God knows why!

"Shall we start?" Susheela akka's booming voice disturbed my thoughts of the gross economic inequity in this socialistic, democratic republic. I was too shaken-up to take the test. I was staring at Priya all the time. Her smile was special and illuminating. I was lost. I felt hollow. I was in love! I decided that she was the one, the minute I took a look at her handwriting. It was impeccable and there was this rare touch of elegance too. She spoke very little. Well, we took the test. Math is not my favourite subject, but I learnt that it was Priya's first love. I failed miserably in the test. Susheela-akka was furious because I was her pet student. I couldn't care less. I lost the test, no problem, but I lost my heart too. Now that, is a real problem. I didn't have the guts to initiate a conversation with Priya at school and she acted as if she had never met me. I experienced the strange psyche of women, for the first time in my life. Big deal! I didn't bother, but I knew one thing for sure, she’d retain a permanent place in my memory.

The school administration realised that sitting under the tree as 'punishment' did very little to make us realise the importance of punctuality. Therefore it was called off, and sitting under the tree became sitting in the headmistress's room. Now, that was horrible. So all the latecomers started coming to school on time. Trishanker's storytelling shifted to lunch hour. I always finished my lunch quickly and wait for the gang. We never had ample time, as lunch lasted only for about an hour, so the stories were serialised. Slowly even that ceased. One fine day Trishanker left school. And I missed him.

Chapter 3

Little Flower Convent was a very tough school. If your boots were untidy, you would be given a 'kneel-down' in the playground under the merciless sun as punishment. If you didn't take down notes for the individual subjects, the teacher would pin a note on your back, and the caption on the note almost always had this message, 'I am an idiot. I didn't write my social studies notes.' I hated the idea because I was a victim of that silly practice. The worst part was, you had to go around the school, to each and every classroom, displaying the note on your back. One more thing that I dreaded was the vaccination camp the health department organised in our school. All, I repeat, all students were supposed to take those injections. The nurses who stabbed those injections on your back were not so gentle, probably because they had to do it to at least a couple of hundreds of kids in a day. Believe me, it is tough. Very few kids kept their calm, while most of them raised alarms that could be heard at least a hundred miles away. I never explored the potential of my vocal cords, but I sure was scared to death.

Just outside the school gates, there were at least five or six shops that sold the goodies. The merchandise ranged from sliced and salted mango pieces to slingshots. My favourite was hardboiled jaggery chunks coated with flour. We call it 'kamar kutt.' It is sweet, chewy and it is out of this world. My pocket money was one rupee per day and I spent half of it on 'kamar kutt.' On the first day of every month I used to get five rupees from dad, a fortune for a kid in those days, and I usually blew it on slingshots. A slingshot is a powerful weapon. It has a 'Y' shaped handle made of wood. And two pieces of extremely elastic rubber were tied to the two prongs. The loose ends of the rubber pieces were united by a piece of leather, which held your ammo, a pebble. The trick is to get your target right in the centre of the 'V' in the 'Y' and go bang. I was an expert shot and not many people know it, even to this day.

A notorious dog lived in our neighbourhood. He got his kicks by chasing and scaring the kids in our locality. When he was around no kid dared to trespass. Ramu, the vicious dog. I always had my slingshot in my sack that carried my books, and in a secret compartment of the sack, I stored a few pebbles. On that fateful evening when I was on my way back home from school, I ran into Ramu. I love animals and I knew that if I minded my own business and walked away calmly, they left you alone. Well, I was wrong. Ramu had other exciting plans for me. He squatted there, not even bothering to raise his eyebrows. I thought everything would go fine. It did, until I was about five feet away from him, when he suddenly sprang to his feet and let out a fierce growl, baring his teeth, and came flying towards me. I was stunned, but only for a second. I spun around and started running. He was too fast for me and I could sense that he was gaining on me. A chill ran down my spine. My mind was racing to figure out a solution. He would be all over me in another few seconds. I ran to a huge haystack on the side of the road. A bullock cart was parked next to it and the poor bull was munching on the hay. I swiftly climbed into the cart. Ramu stopped his race. He was scared of the bull, but I was not. He was standing there, growling and panting, and eyeing me fiercely. My fear subsided and anger took over. What the heck does he think he was doing? A thought crossed my mind. I opened my haversack and fished out my slingshot along with a pebble. I knew that at this range I could hit him ten out of ten. I inserted the pebble into the leather strap, held it firmly and stretched the rubber strip beyond my ears.

I aimed at Ramu's chest. I looked into his eyes. He had a curious look on his face. He was blissfully unaware that I was about to knock the daylights out of him as he just stood there, like a stupid jerk. Suddenly, I felt sorry for him. After all, he was only a dog and he can’t think like we can. I put my slingshot back into the sack. I fished around in my sack and found the cookie that Leela had given me along with lunch. I had saved it for the long walk home. I slid down the cart. I was still out of his reach. I threw the cookie at him. At first he thought I was hurling a stone at him. He ducked and ran a few yards back, but the minute he knew it was a cookie, he pounced on it, and the cookie vanished in seconds. And the wonder of it all was that he was wagging his tail furiously. I still didn't trust him. You never know with dogs. I took a cautious step towards him. He was still wagging his tail. There was a glint in his eyes too. I took a couple of steps forward. He was still standing there.

Well, this is it. If I move another step, he might do to me what he did to the cookie. My heart was banging against my chest. My palms were wet with sweat. I held my breath and stepped forward. He yelped. This is it, I thought, I am finished! I am about to become the dog's supper. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes. Ramu was not there. I looked around and there he was, back in his usual position, squatting like an innocent pooch, waiting for another victim, or maybe... just maybe he won't trouble anyone again. He was hit, not by a slingshot, but by love. That incident seemed so trivial to me that day, but when I look back now, I think it holds within itself an unshakeable and an eternal fact of life. Love wins... always, and it hits you when you least expect it. Ramu never troubled me again. I don't know whether he troubled others. We respected each other and I shared my cookies with him almost every day, till the summer holidays. When I was back to school after the vacation, I searched for him, but he was missing. I bought him a collar too with the money dad gave me when I was promoted to the third standard. But I never saw him again. I made enquiries. Some said that he was run over by a truck. Some said the dogcatchers caught him. Whatever it was, I missed him terribly. It was a strange friendship, but it was sweet. I hope what they say is true - all dogs go to heaven.

Third standard in the school passed without much happening. It was a boring routine. School, home and homework and eat, play and sleep. I had no trouble at all with my promotion to the fourth standard. And life began.

Chapter 2

It is easy to spot a Little Flower kid. They wore maroon trousers, cream coloured shirts and maroon ties and you can bet your wealth that their shoes were always waxed and shining. We were well aware of our reputation and sometimes we stretched it too far. For instance, we would speak in English whenever we bumped into a bunch of municipal school kids. They used to hate us from the bottom of their hearts. We were called the 'English medium kids'. I was blissfully ignorant about all this at first and on my first day on foot to school, I had the misfortune of running into four municipal school kids.

"Hey! Look who we have here!" one of them hooted.

He was short, dark and looked absolutely sadistic. I was not scared. I was confused. I felt someone thump me on my head and found myself staring into the eyes of three guys. They looked like a pack of wolves that had captured an unsuspecting gazelle. They took my school bag and threw it down on the ground. Then they started roughing me up. I felt outraged. I was ashamed. I cried. They left me alone after some time and I picked up my bag and started ambling on towards school.

I told Trishanker about the incident. "Next time stand up to them. Don't come back like a coward," he said. Come back like a coward? Hello! I am not the type who picks up street fights and above all else, how the hell do you expect me to fight three goons? Well, Babu, my neighbour and my pal answered my question. My dad hated my getting along with Babu because he studied in the municipal school and his father was a peon in some government office. My dad, on the other hand, was an official in the veterinary department. Despite all these hurdles we got along well and were thickest of friends. Now, coming back to my troubles with those goons. I had a talk with Babu that evening. He was horrified.

"Why the hell didn't you come to my school and tell me?"

What? Come to your school? My school guys would have disowned me right away if I had done that. But then, I decided to do it Babu's way. So I went along with him that evening to Gaja's house.

I have to tell you about Gaja here. He was the uncrowned king of the municipal high school. No one messed with him. Simply put, there is God and there is Gaja. He lived in a stuffy house opposite the post office. He looked at me the way a lion would look at mongrel.

"What?" he barked. "Some of our guys are troubling Sunnu, He studies in Little Flower", Babu told him and looked at me sympathetically, as if studying in Little Flower was the biggest sin in the world.

That brought a huge grin on Gaja's face. "English medium kid, huh?" he asked me, sounding very interested, like the devil is in the sinner. I nodded. Gaja paused and pondered over for sometime before he decided.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he said. Babu's face lit up with a big smile. I was relieved, but somehow I was not entirely comfortable about the whole thing. I sensed that my troubles were far from over.

"But that will cost you a little," Gaja dropped his nuke on me. I raised my eyebrows and looked at Babu and he just shrugged. "Ten bucks," Gaja quipped with a sarcastic smile.

Ten bucks! That was a fortune for me and there was no way I could arrange for such a large amount of money.

"OK," said Babu. OK? I was mad! Even before I could open my mouth, Babu lifted his hand, asking me to shut up.

"Fine, get lost now." Gaja said, and we scooted.

On our way back home, I was all over Babu.

"Somehow get the dough, or else these guys will have you for breakfast." Fantastic! This is what I needed now.

"But how?" I cried in despair.

"I don’t know, steal maybe?"

Babu answered and he even winked after saying that. I didn't quite get it at first, but then when it dawned on me what exactly he wanted me to do, I was dumb struck. He wanted me to steal the money from dad! No way was I going to steal from my dad. It was not a question of ethics, but it was of the certain doom once my dad finds out that his pet son is a thief.

"I would rather get mobbed by those guys, but I am not going to steal," I said.

Babu looked at me. "Hey! I am not asking you to rob a bank. Just pick up ten bucks from your dad's wallet. Besides you are doing it to save your life. Well, I would kill to save mine," he said. The logic was sound, but I was not ready to incur my dad's wrath.

"No!" I growled.

"Ok then, suit yourself," Babu said and he ran home.

That night I was seriously weighing my options. One thing was very clear. I was in a bad fix and I needed to wriggle out of it. Somehow, I was not convinced about stealing from dad, but at the same time, the very thought of those guys using me as a punch bag sent shivers down my spine. I drifted into a disturbed sleep. That night, I dreamt of the goons chasing me down a dark alley. Gaja was standing in a corner laughing at me. Dad was there with his favourite weapon, his belt, dangling from his hand.

The next morning I stepped out of my home, hoping that I won't get mobbed again on my way to school. But all my prayers were in vain. This time there were five of them. This time the level of violence was markedly higher. One of them threw a punch on my face and I ducked, just in time. Then someone from behind kicked me on my back and I was sent reeling to the ground on all fours. I stood up, incensed by the barbarism and frustrated by my own meekness. I held one of the kids by his shirt and dragged him to the ground, but then I was outnumbered. I was one against five. This time defeat didn't leave a sour taste in my mouth. I knew I went down fighting. I socked the daylights off to guys. When I stood up, they were watching me. Something told me that they respected me now.

"What??" I was fuming like a bull. I shook my head and continued. "How about one-to-one from tomorrow?" I glanced around. Those guys were embarrassed about god knows what. They walked away. I discovered something that day. Courage is not only about bravery; it's also about 'pretending' that you are brave.

Chapter 1

I still remember my first day at the Little Flower Convent in Chittoor. I was about seven years old. I had heard a lot from my friends about how dreadful that place was. The auto-rickshaw pulled over to a jerky stop, and mom and dad gave me that 'Here you go!' expression. I got down, trying to keep my jittery nerves under control.

The school had a huge, imposing iron-gate, which had a small door within it. And there was this old man - a watchman - standing by the small door. He had a bushy moustache and a long, unkempt beard. He had deep-set eyes, but the funny thing about him was his conspicuous indifference to the things around him. He stood there, calm and composed, but his body language more than suggested that he did not give a damn about my entering the school compound. As for my family and I, it was a big day. Little Flower Convent, in those days was not just a school; it was a status symbol. But for the kids, it was an entirely different ball game altogether.

When I entered the school, the first thing that hit me was the noise. Kids were running all over the place, screaming and howling, and there were these nuns, clad in white robes, with a cross dangling from their necks. Dad nudged me to move forward and I walked into the headmistress' office. The headmistress was a lady in her late fifties. She had a pair of oval-shaped spectacles perched on her nose, and she had a very cold look. A look of someone so stuck to a routine of a life. She snapped, "What is your name, boy?"

"S-sunnu," I Stuttered.

"What is your father?" she shot back.

"He works as a superintendent" I said, somehow pronouncing the word right. Dad trained me a million hours on ‘superintendent’ alone.

She gestured to me to come over to her desk. I obliged. I could sense the proud smiles on my parents' faces as she touched my head.

"Are you a good boy or a bad boy?" she asked me.

Back then I really didn’t care, but hey that was ‘no-question’. Try asking, say, Carlos the assassin the same question. Anyway, as we are forced to co-exist among people with lesser IQ, I answered her silly question.

"Yes I am a good boy."

"Do you like chocolates?" she asked me.

What else do kids like? Bricks? So I blurted out, "Yes" and so it went on for about five minutes. And then suddenly, the expression on her face changed. She banged the bell on her table. I was startled and turned around and my parents had vanished; yet another victim of that dirty trick.

"Rajam!" the headmistress shouted and as if she was waiting for that call all her life, Sister Rajam appeared from out of nowhere.

I hated my folks. How could they do this to me? Leaving without telling me? Before I realised what was happening, I was whisked away by an ayah and was put in a classroom with an assortment of kids, some crying and some staring into empty spaces with a forlorn look in their eyes. Some kids were already in action, tugging at ponytails and making faces at unsuspecting victims. My life as a student thus began in Little Flower Convent, in second standard, section B.

If not for Ms Isabel, our moral science teacher I would have run away from school the very next day. She floated into our classroom like an angel, and attended to all the sissies who were still crying for their mom and dad and hey presto, they stopped crying. I still remember Ms. Isabel talking to me for the first time in her husky voice.

"So, Sunnu, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I want to be a dragonfly", I told her with all the conviction in my voice.

She let out a throaty chuckle, held my baby face and gave me a peck. Now, I never allow any ladies, other than my mom to touch me. But Ms Isabel was different. I wanted to complain about this behaviour to my mom, but then I didn't want to discuss my personal life with her. So I left it at that.

The guy who was sat next to me in the class was Trishanker, a tall, lean kid. He had a big nose and his nostrils were always looking skywards. We became good friends. We even shared my candy that came along with the lunch- delivered by Leela, our maid. Trishanker had an extraordinary talent for story telling as he had a wonderful imagination. That talent of his was going to help us in a big way in the days to come.

I used to go to school in a bullock cart, as there were no buses. We had to travel for about two kilometres to get to school and it used to take thirty minutes by this cart. I hated the idea, simply because I could not stand the sight of the bull dragging a load of thirty kids. Apart from the weight, the kids made a racket and the poor bull was jittery all the time. He used to puff and pant and whenever he paused to rest Venkatesh would crack his whip. I would cry and refuse to commute in the cart.

After a few days, my dad said, "It's the cart or you walk, every day."

That was so compassionate of my dad. "Fine!" I said, and regretted it the very first day.

To get to Little Flower Convent, I had to pass the municipal school. The municipal school was run by the town's administration and it was not an ‘English-medium’ school. The school was a free school. The students of this school had a nasty reputation of ragging our school kids whenever they got a chance and I was ignorant of this crucial detail.