The Order of the Crutch

Get a life, seriously. Actually, give me back my life, rather my childhood, please. I sit here today like a lonely Michael Jackson on a tree in the middle of a nowhere forest singing “have you seen my childhood?” to myself. All of this because of you. Yes, you… prick!

Ongalukku ellam vera velaye kedayatha? Onga veettula appa amma enna pana maram valarthaangala? Wasn’t school just enough? Wasn’t it too much anyways? I mean, I saw you folks go to school at 6.30 in the bleady morning. Which loser does that? No, don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical one.

School starts at 09:00. Apparom enna special class at 7:00 ? Your teachers and all had no purushans to cook for and pasanga to kulupaatify and get ready for school’a? Enna velayaadareengala? Dei! Seri, pogattum.. athenna school mudinja apparum innoru special class? Your teachers have no house’a? They’re all homeless people who stay in school till dinner and go to shelters to sleep’a? Do you realize how many times when I had scored less than 80% in that physics test and my father and mother used to quote how much special classes you kids are attending and how special it makes you? I mean if you were an item in Saravana Bhavan hotel menu, you guys would definitely been named Special Dosa of sorts. Ethulayume neenga sadhaarnama irukka matteengala? paruppu!

Seri, athenna compulsory swimming class? Boy’skku oru time and Girls-kku innoru time? What’s the point? Thani thaniyaa swim panni enna kizhikka poreenga? Arive illaya onga swimming instructor’skku? For the money you guys paid for school fee’s nirosha must come in swimsuit like this and teach you guys everyday, everything apart from the curriculum.

Seri atha free vudunga. Athenna ellarum classical music kathukkanum? Cinema paattu paadina enna urugiyaa poyduveenga? Naangalellam Agni Natchatiram version kekkumbodhu neenga ellam Carnatic music version paduveenga. Atha kettutu enga appanum aathaalum kaari thuppi engala ellam moonji melaye methipaanga. Athu thane venum? Rascals!

Paadinaa pothatha? Aada vera aadanuma? Athuvum bharathanattiyam? Naanga ellam intha pattukku dance aduvom…

Neenga naduvula poonthu, intha madhiri aadittu poiduveenga…

Adhukku apparom paatti vandhu engala “en da ippadi avuthu pottutu adareenga?” nnu thittanum! Athu thane idea? Thiruttu kammunaateeengala. Nasama poga!

Seri etho adineenga, padineenga’nnu free vutta athu enna hindi class, hindi prachara sabha’la? Who the hell speaks sanskrit on an everyday basis? Evan ongala ellam poi second language atha edukka sonnan? How many of you are poojari’s in temple today? tell me I say! Apparom poi hindi exam ezhutha vendiyathu. Ongala pathuttu enga amma appavum get us into nonsensical Dakshina Bharat Hindi Prachar Sabha exams. Mavane! 12 mani veyyilla T. Nagar’kku bus puduchi andha ezhavu edathukku poi fee’s kattanum? Enna velayaatta irukka ongalukku ellam? dei!

Anyways all you did at the end of it is this only…

Seri etho hindi is our national language and all that shit vadakkathi veriyans claimed and your folks fell for that bullshit. But why French? Omlette venumna brilliant tutorial vassala poi “anna! oru aamulettu podunganna, vengaayam illaama” apdeennu ketta you will get one for 2 Rupees no? Adhenna “omelette au fromage” sonna than jeeranam agumaa? Alpom pudichavanungala! You went and studied french no? English padathula french kissing panna kooda amma will close your eyes and turn off TV. So you obviously did not learn how to french kiss as well but paid enough money that would fetch you a french wife today. Why? Lose’a? French class’kku poi french kiss panna pakkathula irukkara figure’oda practice pannalenna apparam entha mayirukku ponai? yabba… tension pannareenga da onga logic-oda. Anyways like all obedient boys US lendhu 12 days leave pottutu vandhu you got married at 31. Just in time for you to officially exit the meat market and then only you lost virginity. En indha scene, with all this french? I’m sure even your wife does not allow you to French kiss being the good Indian girl she is. En? Why this pain ya?

Karate Class. You eat thayir sadham. I also eat thayir sadham. Who are we going to fight with apart from the sister/brother? Athukku ethukku Karate kathukkanum? Anyways maths’la centum varalenna appa is gonna beat the crap out of your miserable existence. Its not like he will spare you if you know like some 10 kattas or something. Anyways all those kattas were for you demonstrating it in front of that nosey uncle and aunty or relatives whom you have never met in your life before. Anything you show them with haa hoo sound they will always say “enna azhaga pannaraan kozhandha, thrishti suththi podungo!” and place a big fat kiss on your cheek with with bad breath and ugly 1 rupee sized wart on their face which has hairs coming out of it and all.

Anyways, being the gundu payyan you are, all that you can do is put scene to impress that sumaar ethirtha veettu figure by breaking already rain’la oori poi nanji ponna, paasi pudicha sengal. I mean, anyone can do that. Even the pakkathu aththu thaththa who had no teeth and walked with a crutch could have pulled that one off. Its not like impressing that figure is gonna get you married to her right away. Ava enna caste’o, appa amma wont othufy for that and all..

Because of you, we were forced to join some karate class or tae kwon do and that instructor would semma adi adichify us everyday under the pretext of teaching us and disciplining us. Adi vaangi vaangi, soranaye illaama pochu odambula. The only good thing out of that was in school when teacher asked you to show back of the hand and beat with scale it never pained and all. All that othai karate instructor gave previous day in class made our odambu marathu pogify completely.

We cant able to put maanja and fly kite also. All the folks at home will say is, <insert cousin name studying in PSBB> paaru, samuththa free time’la rangoli class porathu. neeyum irukkiye, porukki kaathadi uda pora!”. Seriously, how many of you people get up in the morning at 5 am and vaasal’a thanni thelichify and put 36 pulli kolam? En indha vetti bandha and all going for rangoli class?

I want compensation. Either invent a time machine and send me back to my childhood. I will murder you all before hand. Pull something off like John Conor in terminator padams so that you don’t exist in the first place. Adhu mudiyalenna pay me! I want all your money! The ladies, I want all you pretty girl friends numbers except the ones that studied in MOP vaishnav college. Andha gang’a ennala sathyamaa tolerate panna mudiyaathu. I cant able to buy Gucci tissues to wipe the cold coffee that spills of her lips while she needs to have that at trident everyday and I have to ferry her by a A segment car only and drop her back.

So when you are done reading this, text me and I will send you my bank account number. ICICI or HDFC is better since I can get money faster on these accounts. Yes, and one more thing. I know you got married at 32 and you are relieved you are getting laid and not dying a virgin and all but putting your wifes photo as your Display Picture on gmail chat, facebook, twitter and all is completely unacceptable. Unless you want people like me to hit on her, that is.

P.S. this is one comedy piece only. romba tension aagina drink the ice more amma makes at home or adichify some filter kaapi and listen to some indholam on your iPod or something instead of calling my onnu vitta chithappa or vayasukku varaatha paatti a brammaharthi and all. also amits and neha’s who did not understand the tamil, maaf keejiye!

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Parthasarathy lived in a lowly neighbourhood. He attended a local school. Back in the 80′s English medium Anglo-Indian schools were like the equivalent of breast implants and Liposuction craze of today. Gentlemen please take no offense, let me say its also the equivalent of Penis Enlargement claims that come in spam emails that read on the subject line “make her cum and moan with pleasure with ur megadik!”. Parents would just have an orgasm that read “Holy”, “Mary”, “Anglo”, “Christ” and any of the aforesaid old and new testament biblical terms in the name of the school. At least, the ones around partha did or he assumed.

Nevertheless, the difference between partha and other kids was quite simple. He was physically challenged. He had cerebral palsy and his lower limbs were affected. Having CP is fun, really. Why? Cuz partha couldn’t stand for long in the sun and the boring school assembly ran for about 35 min – 1 hour everyday in the morning. Whilst every other loser kid in class stood in the scorching sun to listen to the usual gyan that the principal of the school blah’ed over the mic, partha sat in class and he enjoyed the sadistic pleasure of seeing his class mates go through the same boring bullshit everyday in the morning.

The scout boys and the NSS guys would come everyday to check the empty classrooms to see if some kid was hiding under the bench to avoid going to the assembly. They would bully the one or two kids who lied down on the desk because they were sick or had a headache or injury that prevented them from going to the assembly. Mostly, it was the smart ass ones who pretended to fall sick and bunked assembly only to rush with the unfinished homework or dig into a little of what they had brought for lunch or from someone else’s tiffin box.

Partha had fun watching the silly interrogation methodologies of the Scout boys and NSS folks, repeatedly examining the resting (assembly bunking smart ass kid) for genuine temperature, sickness etc., Then they would come to him and ask “hey! why the heck aren’t you attending the assembly” to which partha would irritatingly answer “because i can’t stand in the sun for that long and i give you the same answer, everyday!”. The Scout kids would bah at his answer in sheer jealousy and leave. It was their ritual. They had to ask the same dumb question everyday even though they knew the answer already and they have been doing it for years. Apparently, it was their 60 seconds of fame by trying to enforce authority and show how big daddy they were cuz they were “Scout”.

Partha’s life was simple. Go to school, no assembly, no doing stupid exercises during P.T class and sit and day dream alone in class or practice his marksmanship skills with compass or divider on wooden benches. He had been doing this since kindergarten and he was now in 7th grade. Cerebral Palsy was a blessing in every form that he knew. Little did he know that life would have confusing surprises that he would experience and come to understand of it only after 2 or 3 years into the future.

Partha was glad as usual, practicing his compass art skills on his wooden bench. A gentleman in white pants and white shirt came to the class and started a conversation with him. Duds like this one were usually parents of other kids who came to school to meet the principal or teacher for their kids. They were often unbelievably boring and had standard template questions like

“How did this happen to you?”
“What do you want to become in life when you grow up?”
“Does it hurt when you walk?”.

If it weren’t the questions, it would be emotional and over sentimental blessings aka statements like…

“Your wife will be the most prettiest woman in the entire world!”
“God is loves you the most of all kids and wants to constantly watch over you. You are special, which is why he made you so”
“You will certainly go to heaven!”
“You are handicapped? oh poor sod! How pretty the face but how sad you are crippled.. sob, sob!”

Partha had by now heard all sorts of irritatingly boring statements. Partha would just wait for it to get over and these losers to leave so that he can go back to day dreaming and think about the things that moved him like Michael Jackson, Bill Gates, Rangoli designs for the competition that is closing in…

Nevertheless, this white and white fellow came and he asked partha the same old questions. He then said something extremely different that no one else had said before.

“I’m a doctor and i can cure you in 2 weeks”.

Partha’s curiosity was kindled. He was not convinced but he was impressed by the statement. Partha knows best how many doctors his parents had taken him to. The English doctor, the homeopathy, the sidhdha doctors, the unani, the saint who heals via prayers, the church father who sprinkles holy water to cure people, the bad breathed muslim grandpa who blows air into your face and brushes you with peacock feather and blesses you. He knew them all and none of them could fix them. Partha was a natural skeptic, he never trusted anyone but nevertheless he was curious as a cat when claims de extraordinaire were made.

The gentleman in white now shined in different light. He said “Let me see you walk”, which was a standard thing everyone asked of partha. Even most of these parents had the pleasure of making partha get up and show them how he walked. It somehow satisfied them in ways partha could never understand. Partha got up and walked for the gentleman. He followed partha and keenly observed his walk. Often the doctor would comment on how fast partha walked and how me must learn to be patient. Partha was tired of hearing such things again. This doctor gentleman would frequently show up at his classroom once or twice a week, randomly.

Days passed and during the conversation partha informed the doctor that he had been operated the famous “Dr. Soundarapandiyan” in his thighs and he walks better now than how he used to when he was studying in 1st grade. The doctor in white suddenly had more interest in the surgery. He said “Let me see where the surgery was done”. Partha was not sure if this was right. Possibly instinct took over and he asked “Where is your stethoscope?” and the doctor paused for a moment frozen and quickly recovered and said something to the sort of it not being necessary since partha was not sick. He proceeded to unbutton partha’s trousers and examine his scars in the thigh. Something was different with this doctor though. His touch was different. His whole way of rushing into the examination was different.

Suddenly the 7th graders mind raced with a million questions. Why wasn’t this doctor in the P.T room in the ground floor? Why does he not have that hammer that doctors usually have that they hit on the knees that give you electric shock? Why does he come to the class to talk to me everyday when even the very sick kids were carried to the doc room in the ground floor? Most importantly, the school did not have a resident doctor at all?! After all the school was on strike for half of the year cuz the teachers were not paid salaries, why would they get a doctor?

Partha excused himself from the doctor and lied to him that he had to go the the toilet immediately and went and hid inside the toilet that was seldom used by any of the kids for their cleanliness issues. This doctor would come once every often and examine partha. Partha would use the same excuse and go to the toilet. Partha had a friend in his adjacent class named bala, who was also physically challenged, his blessing was polio. He too stayed back from assembly grounds. Everytime partha left for the restroom, he would find the doctor in his friend bala’s class. Possibly several months since this had been going on partha and bala happened to catch up at bala’s house accidentally. Bala discussed the doctor who came to examine everyday and talked about the doctor and the irritating examination which was so weird. Both of them decided the next time this doctor would come to examine them, they would say no.

Bala was the first victim of that irritating doctor check-up, that Monday morning. Partha stayed with bala for the first time, in his class. Partha waited for bala to say no but the doc stayed in bala’s  class for long, did some physiotherapy finally and came to partha’s class. Bala followed the doc to partha’s class. While the doctor unbuttoned partha’s trouser for his routine examination partha shot a question?

“My father would like to have an appointment with you, doctor.”

The doctor in white stopped. He smiled, he left without saying a word. He was never seen again…

None of them spoke of the doctor or recollected the incident after that. Parthasarathy would go on and blog about this incident 12 years down the line. He does not know where Bala lives now. He does not care.

There is a different agenda however and the need for some awareness is long pending…

To be Cont. in Part #2…

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No, we are not swearing at somebody here. Not certainly me. This post is merely an inspiration from this post. I was tempted to write. Immanuel was our School math teacher during 9th and 10th grade. Immanuel master was special. Why? Because the kids knew how to pass a math exam. He taught tuition classes that costs you Rs. 80 per month and if you went for those classes it means you get a guaranteed 40% and pass the math exam. Not just that, he was sight adchifying the cute 18 year old french teacher, whom most of the kids in the class were sight adchifying too.

Nevertheless the point of this post is not about Mr. Immanuel our math teacher or his sex somersaults but its about toilets. Yes, toilets in the school. Wait, i know you wan’t to know what it has to do with the title. Allow me to explain.

"Immanuel is a Pundai" was the most scribbled text in all toilet wall’s in the school. Of course, other teachers having sex with weird unexplainable things and being castrated or crucified in horrendous ways were also a vital part of the loo art that you would find in these toilets but Immanuel master topped the hate list followed by our biology teacher susan rajan who was precariously described as slime. Why? Because she was the only person on earth who would eat with her right hand and dissect a cockroach off the left, peel things off it and explain things to students will she munched food in her mouth. Brilliant! Yes, she was!

Of course, we had Miss Sheela Christopher who was our Chemistry teacher. I’m not sure how good her chemistry was but her language was pathetic. She always used to point out to our unruly class leader and yell "munnadi pora yeruma maadu ozhunga ner kodula pona than, pinnadi vara yeruma maadu ellam ozhunga ner kottula nadakkum" and she added "munnala pora yeruma maede seri illa, pinnala vara erumaigalellam enna pannum?". Of course, she was promptly rewarded with fantastic  pictures of her riding yeruma maadu’s in the nude and also giving birth to a yeruma kannu kutti. Utter genius in artistic expression. I remember winning 4 rangoli competitions in school successively from 7th – 10th grade during the childrens day festival and project days/exhibition. If only the judges visited the toilets to see the art on the wall, i swear i would not have had a chance in the remote possibilities of planet earth.

I studied in a "All Boys" school till 10th grade. The world famous in perambur "St. Mary’s Matriculation Boys Higher Secondary School" and all of our school toilets were famous and had so much culture and history as much as our school did. Everyday we failed to do homework and we had to kneel down outside class and the cute french miss walked by laughing at us we would rush to the toilet to draw such weird things of the oppressing teacher of that particular period, what awesome a way it was to take it out on them. It was a fantastic channel because the staff toilet which was close to the staff room was cleaned on an hourly basis and kept well compared to the students toilet which was cleaned only when there was a cholera break out amongst school kids, housed in the classes close to the toilet.

To start with, none of the toilets had doors. Yes, no kidding! Im not talking about urinals where you stand and take a piss, im talking about toilets where you squat. No doors, the school management believed doors were too much of an expense and we were "just kids" and deserved no privacy even while taking a shit. Nevertheless, no sane person in their realistic senses would ever go shit there and most of us never did with one or two of those weirdo kids who found these places habitable. We stayed away from those folks all the time, we knew they were of an elite kind. In fact when a kid goes to the toilet we know of what hard bound stuff they are made of and finally they get elected to be School Pupil Leader (SPL) and Assistant SPL. That was our test, the ultimate one that makes you SPL.

To conclude, i would kindly request we relocate all teaching activity in toilets because i think that is the only place where young boys have the utmost concentration and intense dedication when it comes to doing some work. Look at those drawings, breathtaking! I mean, sometimes i used to see women with so many tits, i could not even count them with my poor math skills. Some sex positions were so impossible, if not innovative, they would beat the crap out of kama sutra. I think what we should have is a public addressable system with isolated toilets with walls to separate each kid. This teacher can speak over the mic and deliver the lecture material via the speakers installed in each kuckoose and you will see the artistic potential of each and every kid revealed to the best possible extent.

I also suggest we fire all these useless old blokes and hire chick 18 year olds as teachers (like our french teacher) and ensure that in this way the students behave themselves and look their best and the teacher has the complete attention and control of the class. I think this is the best formula for any boys school. I hope St. Mary’s school is listening.

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