Short Story from College days. One understudy spent all his cash to seek after another leisure activity – Playing Guitar and left with no cash even to eat.]PS: All characters and occurrences in this story are simply a work of fiction. Any likeness to any genuine individual or occurrence is absolutely incidental.
I have kept in touch with this story in first individual, however that doesn't suggest that it is about me. Remarks and feedback are generally welcome.
Guitar
Guitar
I was seeking after my third year in B-tech at a medium appraised private Engineering school in Kochi, which in the event that you don't have the foggiest idea, is in the God's own nation – Kerala. Talking about my third year, it was amid this time my scholarly diagram started to dive like an Indian cricket scorecard of the 90's, after Sachin's rejection. However, all the more critically, that was the time the Tamil motion picture 'Varanam Aayiram' was discharged.
The Suriya starrer blockbuster had two noteworthy impacts to the school young men of that time.
a) Many began hitting the exercise center religiously; six packs were back in design.
b) The rest started to learn guitar.
I was of the second class.
It dislike I needed to be a hero. In any case, there was this charming young lady with wavy hair and profound dimples that I was captivated to. She joined that year in first year CS, in this manner diverting my delicate heart for the days to come.
Her name was "Daisy" and there was an inept sentimental film tune in Malayalam about non-romantic love that goes this way:
'Ormathan vaasantha nandhana thoppil,
Oru pushpam mathram,
oru pushpam mathram…
Daisy… .. Daisy… . Daisy… … .
La laa.. "
This can be interpreted generally as :
"In the Eden patio nursery of adoration, there is stand out beautiful blossom. One blossom, that is "Daisy" ".
The fresher's day was round the corner. Expressions club secretary was my companion and he would allow me to play this tune on the off chance that I figure out how to play it without causing substantial harm to the music. So the arrangement was to play the melody in guitar for some time, and when the 'Daisy part' of the tune comes, I would take a gander at her in the midst of the whole school and sing out loud:
"Daisy… Daisy… . Daisy… la laaa… ".
Along these lines of communicating affection to a young lady is somewhat silly, I know now. Yet, around then, I thought that it was imaginative. I was pleased to have concocted another dim style of proposing, which was not yet included in any of the Kolywood, Molywood or Bollywood masalas.
Keeping in mind the end goal to figure out how to play, I purchased a second hand Yamaha guitar from a companion of mine for three thousand bucks.
Three thousand rupees!
That was a considerable measure of cash for an understudy like me who lived in a modest unhitched male room with exceptionally humble money related apportions from my dad. It was sufficient cash to leave a gap in my wallet.
A major opening!
Talking about my wallet, I was remaining alongside a bustling street close to my school and was reviewing the substance of my five hundred bucks worth Levis tote. Other than the pointless bits of refuse, there were two ten rupee notes in it, with the Father of the country grinning at me, in every one of them.
That was a Saturday and I had turned out to have my early lunch. Since I had just twenty rupees, I didn't have numerous choices.
I strolled into Balan chettan's 'thattukada', (sort of Malayali Dhabha). The "Oonu" (dinners) was shoddy. Only fifteen rupees. The always grinning Balan chettan served me his unassuming offering of boundless rice, sambar, two assortments of thoran, a pappadam, pickle and a few cuts of onion plunged in vinegar. I had two rounds of rice and was going to request a third round. However, then, I had a prick of still, small voice. How might this basic man get a benefit by bolstering bold idiots like me, and that too for only fifteen bucks! So I ruled against the third round, paid Balan chettan, and went to my leased room with a five rupee coin in my Levis wallet.
Back at my room, my flat mate Sami was still stable snoozing. His short thin body was secured from head to toe in his "lungi" (beautiful dhoti) which had the phenomenal capacity to bend over as a sweeping at whatever point it was excessively frosty or while the mosquito nibbles expanded past a breaking point.
'Wake up, you rascal'– I kicked my sluggish flat mate's thin spine.
'Get lost you #@$#' – The last word was not clear as Sami shouted at me. However, I could extremely well top off that obscenity for myself.
I generally consider how Sami could rest till late evening on any given occasion. This was inconceivable for me, as my yearning dependably overpowered me. It constrained me to wake up at moderately respectable hours with the goal that I could at any rate have my informal breakfast.
I checked out my stinking unhitched male room. However hard I attempted to keep it slick and clean, Sami would ruin it generally. Books and garments existed together in that room with no request. I would have advised Sami a hundred times to keep the books on the table and the garments in the rack. However, it was my third year of school with this numbskull and he had not attempted a bit to make any endeavors to keep our room clean, and I had surrendered.
'I like my space to be filthy' he used to say, 'for scholarly people are constantly untidy'.
However, then I saw something that smashed my heart separated. The mongrel Sami, had left his clothing on my guitar! I took my guitar in my grasp and took a gander at Sami, as yet dozing as gently as an infant. My impulses were to give one in number blow at his head with my guitar. His golf ball measured head was prepared for the Tiger Woods in me. However, the aggregate of three thousand rupees flashed over my psyche. I controlled myself from doing as such. All things considered, my charming musical instrument had other heavenly obligations to perform.
I took my guitar and delicately rubbed off the overnight clean with a delicate material. I had been rehearsing with this guitar for over a month now. My companion, who sold it to me, had helped me figure out how to play it. He at first attempted to begin from the fundamentals. Be that as it may, as I demanded, he consented to show me to play this one tune 'Daisy'.
For me, learning guitar had one and only single target - to play the tune before the whole school and sing out my adoration to Daisy. Be that as it may, as I advanced with my guitar lessons, I had gradually begun to build up a love towards my guitar. I venerated the bends of my yellow Yamaha magnificence more than that of any Hollywood on-screen character.
I started my practice.
'Orma than vaasantha nandhana thoppil… "
It was showing signs of improvement step by step. I was picking up in certainty.
'It's not terrible, but rather I figure you are playing it one note high or two notes low' – that was Sami's master remark about my present status with the tune.
I proceeded with my practice and forgot about time. At some point later in the day, I rested off.
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