It
was always a confusion how to start a story.
Especially when it has taken place not so long ago, or well, may be a
decade-and-half ago.
It
was in the winter of 2001, when I was doing my graduation quite humbly and
simply in the down latitudes at the ‘almost” tip of the Indian peninsula at the
only Men’s College that existed in Kochi; St.Albert’s College. Now the college does’nt hold the status of
“Men’s” anymore, as the system became lenient and as a result around 10 years back it became a co-ed college. There’s a lot to say about being in the
company of boys. And we were all firm
believers that the camaraderie between boys are always a class apart, unlike
girls’ which hit the roadblock in every turn due to their huge egos! (Spare me
this time my women readers!)
My
college had a serious reputation when it came to creating strikes, breaking the
windshield of line buses, creating havoc etc.etc. A kind of proud, fearless and carefree creatures
existed in that institution at any point of time. Also
our forefathers and the subsequent prodigies stood apart in Talent festivals
competing neck to neck on the finishing podium with other co-ed colleges in the
city. I consider myself being lucky to
find my position within that radius.
Me
being a singer in the group song category, (nevertheless to say “Western”
genre) of my college team which eventually found its way into the university
team. Lucky for us, we found a billet among the team and got a ticket to
compete in National Youth Festival 2001 at The Banaras Hindu University,
Varanasi. The only connection we had
with Banaras was averaged to two specific reasons; (1) Amitabh Bachchan dancing
for the song “pan Banaraswallah…” (2) Banaras Silk Sarees (who cares??)
For
me as well as my fellows who never had much experience about the Northern part
of my country except through those national integration programmes which use to
air in the National channel “Doordarshan”.
Apart from this just a year back I had the privilege to attend the
Republic Day Camps in New Delhi as a NCC Cadet, which landed me a status of
“the man who has been there and done that”, where in reality I had none!
We
were thrilled to bits about the visible spectrum of North India and an
invisible gut feeling about the possible hospitalities and hostilities. That year was the auspicious time of “Kumbhmela”
which made millions to visit the Ghats in Varanasi for the holy dip in the
river Ganga (the ganges).
As I mentioned the spectrum of our own country, we had our first shocker
in the train itself; in the form of a mob!
Whether you had reserved your seats for your journey, and possesses a
seat, everything was gonna change. As we
were slowly approaching Varanasi the train became overcrowded with people.
People
were jam packed that with the heat and lack of space made us like a steamed
cake. And by the time we landed in the
railway station our energy was critically low.
But the surprise part was not over yet!! The entire town was still alive
that too early morning 3 am. It was like
some devotee clubs are competing each other with huge loud speakers playing
different bhajans. Imagine our psyche,
travelling 36 hours without food n water, got stuffed in the train compartment
like cake, sleepy and dirty, being ushered into such a situation!
But
we adapted, like any human being who are wired to adapt to any situation. Varanasi had a raw characteristics, vibrant,
colourfull and completely alive. And the
Banaras Hindu University was a class apart.
A huge campus almost in the shape of Cassata had the serenity of a monk
as each and every corner is full of nature and her freshness. The Youth festival progressed and it was more
of a political fight rather than a talent showdown. We left heartbroken from Varanasi after
around a week or so. Packed our bags and
reached railway station. While unloading one of our team member got a small
size black suit case and kept it with us thinking that it must be of one of
ours.
A
small panic started when we (the Western
gang) found out that it was not ours. We
were concerned that the “poor owner” must be upset somewhere searching for his
luggage and the clock is ticking for our departure . We opened it to find any clue of the
owner. It had two shirts and a pant,
completely wet, a bundle of currency notes, a few strips of tablets and a bill
of some society with a name on it “Kallubhai Ghostwalla” !!!
Our
lead guitarist Mr.B was the panic master in our gang and he reached the
bursting point of his fear by tossing
the possibilities which were completely ridiculous but at that real-time
situation freaked the s**t out of us!
The prophecies of Mr.B started
escalating, for example, What if this Kallubhai Ghostwalla was a gangster? He
might have been in a run from the law….then the police must be searching….the
sniffer dogs will follow the lead and reach railway station…the people would
say about a group of students (Madrasi type ..!!) Or his rival gang members might have killed
him….or this man might have committed suicide….etc etc.
Imagine
these possibilities came true??? Everything
was pardonable but one shrewd chance of this Kallubhai committing suicide and
becoming a ghost? Coincidentally this surname resonated already a
‘ghost’!! that vengefull ghost must be in the search of its
luggage. And it will reach down south
and start its revenge one by one! Since
the Ghosts (as per our perception, can speak any language) who was born and
brought up in Northern India with Hindi as his mothertongue can easily switch
to Malayalam. So the reader must not be
perplexed with regarding the cultural switching , except he will be wearing a
pure white Kurta Pyjama rather than a Dhoti and white shirt !
The
possibilities were reaching more heights as our Mr. B was demonically hungry
because the catering services/pantry car within the train was getting late in
distributing the food. Finally, we
decided to count the money, it was Rs. 7000 (only) . Mr A, the Cartoonist and Mr.V the Pianist
claimed their finder’s fee of 2000 bucks and agreed to the Zip-Lip on this
affair. The possibilities started to
dilute as the train was reaching our hometown.
It became more hilarious when the code word called “ghostwallah” became
the spark for our laughter.
Now
what must have happened to those belongings??? A pair of shirt and the pant was
perfectly fitting (or appeared to be) to Mr. S, our Lead singer of Eastern Group song . He
also won the bid for the nicely looking black suit case. The rest of the money became Chinese Chicken Fried rice, Chicken
Manchurian, Noodles, Pork chops, Beijing Beef roast and Cassata as we siphoned
Mr. Ghostwalla’s money into our music team’s treat for our gang of classmates
and wellwishers. Mr.B’s scary stories
became the real dessert of the feast as all of us laughed like hell.
Looking
back it feels so good, the craziness, the freedom, the friendship, the
foolishness, the fears and everything we had.
It feels like there was purpose for such comedies in life, to remember
and ponder it once in a while even when we are alone or with a group or with
the same team……we would still laugh out loud, going back in time to be those
stupid selves. Maybe it is good to make
mistakes …….and later we find the funniness hidden within that !
Imagine Kallubhai Ghostwalla
…….really dead, and he’s transformed into a real ghost, knowing the fate of his
black suit case and the items within it, he would have been doing an
everlasting ………………..facepalm!!!
