It wasn’t just adultery that roamed the dark corners of the Art Class. At times when Roy was around in session, even medieval torture and eerie natural forces made their presence felt too. It also had its surprising after-effects. Art Class gave me one of my staunchest allies in my gleeful journey to depravity, my thicker-than-blood-brother, dear Mukkulam aka Roy V Mathew.
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On the first day of my art class, I was given a huge white sheet of art paper, which, admittedly, I didn’t feel like spoiling by drawing on it ! Instead, I strongly felt that it would have been better put to use had it been issued to the students for wrapping up their books for safe upkeep. But there it was, spread in front of me, helplessly pinned down on the drawing board, waiting to be ravished and I never had even an iota of willingness to violate its purity.
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It is a moonlit night around two decades ago, when CT, strongly supported by ones like me swoops in on a poor rooster caged in the campus bus driver’s residential quarters ( the C-type quarters). With required stealth and swiftness, its neck is grabbed before it could send out its signature sound ‘KOK’ and the same is surgically removed with the accompanying gush of blood . Like any good commando operation, things are pretty much planned in advance and hence the cooking site is catered with utensils, articles required for lighting fire and condiments – except the unavoidable aqua.
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I have often wondered, if there was to be one song that captured the essence of friendship, and the deep sense of fondness, affection and respect, what would it sound like? And my mind would always play back Simon & Garfunkel’s ” Old Friends/ Bookends Theme ” from their BOOKENDS album. It becomes all the more poignant with the musicians themselves, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, sharing a rare, fulfilling and unique relationship that started way back in 1957, and been around ever since.
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It has not been an easy journey so far, and as much as I have put up with my disability, I have been nurtured and protected by a circle of love that is a direct offshoot of the relationships that were cast in iron during my years at Sainik School. My classmates rallied around me, taking their time out from their own busy lives to support me as I tried to live my life on my own terms. They have contributed, not in small measure, for my expensive treatments and funding an electric wheelchair which would help me at work and make my task easier. Considering my penchant for travel and being mobile as much possible, their sensitive gesture has gone a great way in enabling me to remain productive and relevant.
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That intimation from the school in the capital, must have come on a day, as ordinary and yet filled with the excitement of the growing years. It must have been brought to your attention by your father or mother, as you came in, muddy and disheveled after an evening’s worth of game in your neighborhood playground. He would have probably called you to the living room, and with equal parts of pride and paternal seriousness in his voice, would have matter-of-factly told you that you have got through the Nation wide entrance test to Sainik Schools, and that you should be joining there.
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Unni Sir was a damn good coach. He dressed only in white shorts and white T-shirts. He coached us in shorts, came to the mess hall in shorts and I bet he even bathed and slept in those same old shorts. When he did not wear shorts, he wore a white pant and a white full sleeved shirt. He really knew how to motivate us, and that made us give him our 110%.
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