Friends.

Dedicated to my friend Satya, a.k.a. Sataract, who's going to leave Bangalore soon. Miss you man.

I remember so, so many things about what I used to do as a kid that it becomes impossible for me to narrate them all. I often just burst out laughing when I think of what I used to do as a kid.

Well, this is one of those which I wouldn’t mind sharing with all. (The others which I would mind sharing include me going out on my first date with this sweet older girl, all of five years. I was four then. And there are so many others which I wouldn’t even mention).

Well, after I joined school, I was pretty much of an introvert. I would hardly ever speak to anyone at school, except my immediate partner who always ended up becoming my best friend for the year. Now this seclusion from the rest of the world made me a very creative bloke then. I did everything I could at home. I would throw down stuff from the fourth floor at people walking down the road. I was obsessed with cutting paper, in pieces so tiny the nanotech scientist folks at MIT would roll their eyes in astonishment.

I would celebrate my “birth time” every single day, and force my parents to call me up to wish me then too. I never insisted on gifts and so they were more than obliging to wish me a “Happy Birth Time” every single day. I made imaginary tents with chairs and bed sheets and go camping in the living room.

But the best part of it all was that I had an imaginary friend. I have often included hidden references to the friend all over my blog in the past. He was like no other. I will not reveal his name because it’s too personal. I totally believed he lived. (I think I still do, which is pretty much freaky).

I would get pissed with my classmates if they would sit next to me because they were taking up my friend’s place. I asked my mom to pack extra for him, and she played along pretty well. I soon realized my friend had a pretty bad appetite and ended up gobbling all the food.

I even used to play for my friend as Luigi in Super Mario Bros. And he was quite unlike me, the little friend of mine. He used to talk, and a lot. It’s was like a strange voice giving a running commentary about everything. And I thoroughly enjoyed it all.

I realized much later on that we were so much like Calvin and Hobbes.

CA

I cleared my CA PE 1 exam.

Muhahaha.

Not bad.

Shot Down Dead

I hate getting myself shot with a camera, especially for those dumb passport size photographs. Realizing I couldn’t go on using my photograph shot when I was a cheeky 12 year old forever, I drove myself to the photographer’s studio this week to get myself a new set of photographs.

“60 photographs in 60 rupees”, the banner in his studio screamed. With a portrait of a lady smiling sheepishly at the camera. Heck, I thought, cheap! Well, apparently no. He tried to convince me to go in for 4 “instant” photographs that would cost me 40 bucks. I said no. And I pointed to the banner.

He then put forth the option of me having my portfolio shot for 2000 bucks because, apparently, “I was so cute”(which has loosely been translated from kannada) and was a potential super-model. Nice marketing, I thought, but I said no again. And I pointed to the banner again.

Unrelenting, he gave me another option. This time, he said he would deliver 20 photographs by this evening and throw in a CD of my photographs all for 100 bucks. I sighed. And pointed to the banner.

Peeved, and having failed at all attempts to convince me to go in for anything but that offer, his hitherto smooth, silky voice suddenly became gruffy. He told me that I wouldn’t get the photographs until a whole day later. I wouldn’t mind that, I told him.

He then invited me to a dimly lit room, with a camera on his rather plump figure. He pointed to what apparently looked like a ruler. It was a comb, I later found out, with most of its tooth missing and shards of hair sticking obnoxiously. Some gel too was offered. I declined to both. The cheeky brat that the fellow was, he simply refused to shoot a photograph of mine before I combed my hair.

I hate combing my hair, it just pisses me off. I disobeyed, and told him, just shoot. He gave a growl, and out of nowhere flicked on a switch. Suddenly, the room was flooded with light. I noticed strange umbrellas that covered the spotlights. He asked me to go sit on the lone seat at the centre. He asked me what background would I like. I asked him what choices I had.

He replied Hollywood, Bollywood, waterfall and solid colours. Not a bit adventurous, I chose the solid colour.

Then, he asked me to smile. I tried hard. Really hard. The tension on my face was evidently visible because the photographer immediately started laughing himself. I stared at him, and he replied, “Smile, not frown”. I sighed. And I gave up. It’s just impossible to smile at nothing. But he didn’t understand.

I ordered, “Just shoot”. He said “Smile”. I said “Shoot, or I leave”.

And click. I went blind.

Or so I thought. Stupid flashes. He said, come tomorrow.

The next day, I went to collect my photograph. And with the first look, I immediately burst out laughing loud. It was as if someone had punched me in my face. I told the photographer, show someone this the next time they are unable to smile.

Happy with my new photographs (60 of them!), I sailed home singing.

Edit:: I haven’t changed much since I was twelve. Not bad.