THIS IS CHENNAI AFTER ALL !!

[chevy]

hi every1

Due to lack of time i may not be able to follow up the story on a daily basis. I'll try to follow up weekly or fortnightly.
Also if you feel there are any mistakes please do PM me about it ...

NOTE :
1)This is purely a work of fiction
2)All similarities to persons living or dead, locales and incidents are used fictitiously and any coincidences are by chance and are not intended.
3)All words used to describe a particular place(eg:kinshasa,chennai) or character( eg: teachers) or any other views or descriptions, are to reflect the opinion of the character who is narrating the story (Lalli) or whichever character concerned and not that of the author



hoping to get ur valuable feedback n suggestions

cheers!
chevy

[chevy]

THIS IS CHENNAI AFTER ALL




1


"Hey.....Back to your places............................... It’s Shailaja, people!”

Mrs. Shailaja is a terror for most of the students at our college.
Her class is the most silent and inactive class. Of course we had to answer her questions, which we feverishly did. We couldn’t yawn, drink water or lean on the back rest of the chair. Then why the hell did the chair have one, anyway?

This isn’t the only scrape for us. As first year college students, we faced many more quandaries in this hell of an institution. Let me tell you first, about the recently held oratorical competitions. Coming from the African country of Congo, the Indian culture amuses me in many ways than one. Now, now, people, don’t think I am some tribal pygmy or Bantu from Congo. My mother is from India and my father is African-American. So I am, a little Indian, a little American but mostly African. I grew up in Africa for most of my childhood. I was born and lived for the first two years of my life in Ohio. Then it’s always been Congo, till Mom suddenly decided to send me to her parents for higher education. I had hoped to go to the Americas for high school and someday be able to live the carefree American life. I had never imagined that Mom would come up with this idea all of a sudden. According to Mom, India is the best place for education and Bangalore is the best place for me to live. It is beautiful and has an amazing climate. It symbolizes a typical Indian Metropolitan city. Mom told me a lot about this Indian City and how it feels like to live there. Before long, I had been relocated to Bangalore. Though I was skeptical about living with my grandparents in the beginning, it turned out to be two years of great fun. I’d never enjoyed so much in my life before. We were eight to ten of us and we hung out on the streets of Bangalore almost every day. Though I had fun , Somehow I still feel as though I am in India on a very long vacation. Since I relocated myself to India, I’ve been to Congo just once. Not that I didn’t want to go. Going through the customs formalities in the Kinshasa airport will be one’s most irritating experience in life. Instead of trying to get through the gauntlet of officials, it’s better not to visit the country. I really wanted to go to Congo last year, especially because my parents considered resigning their jobs there and migrating to some other place. I hoped to get into some good college in Bangalore itself but some quacks suggested that I be sent to Chennai for college. And that’s why, I am here now grumbling and whining about every little thing.

So let’s get back to the oratorical competitions. It is this fun-type of extempore competition called Jam or Just a minute. We never had something like this in my old school in Kinshasa and I’d never tried it in Bangalore. So, being a first time jammer, I was nervous like I’d never been before. A pumpkin shaped guy was the judge. The first and second round went on without any hurdles. At least I didn’t notice any. During the third round, I noticed that Pumpkin was more involved with his mobile phone than with the competition. At the end of the third round, Pumpkin had three minutes to pick out the finalists. As I sat with all my fingers crossed, I got a clean picture of what was actually happening. Pumpkin was troubled with messages from a scrawny little girl sitting at the back. Scrawny waved her hand in the air and Pumpkin cast glances to her side. Scrawny pointed towards her mobile and Pumpkin immediately put his hand into his baggy pocket and fished out his. And then what exactly happened I have no clue. But the next day, there was Scrawny with us as finalists. And, did I tell you, Scrawny was the worst jammer in the semi finals. I don’t think Pumpkin and Scrawny look nice together and I don’t the chemistry behind this, but there was something immoral, off beam...

The only class I enjoy in this College is French. It reminds me of my old school, Kinshasa and my old pals. Kinshasa is home for me. Not that it is a very peaceful place, actually. In fact, I don’t even have to guts to invite my Indian friends to Kinshasa.

One friend of mine here, Sandipa is actually someone called “NRI”. Non Resident Indian. Her parents work in the Americas and she’s born and brought up there. She too has just come to Chennai for education. It is the unawareness of the local culture that binds us. You’ll be thinking that I stick to her because of my American dream. And that is not untrue. Sandipa is this is rich, elegant type of girl. Not the freak out fashion I had presumed she would have, since she came from America. Once, I mentioned to her that I was born in Ohio. I don’t think she heard it or interested in knowing about place of Birth. I even have an American Passport. My mother has an Indian Passport and my father has American. Now, you’ll ask me where African fits in, right? Dad’s mom is American and his father is African. Mom is a typical south Indian. It is just that we lived in Congo for so many years because Dad taught in the American school there. Mom loves her work there as a nurse. Both my parents work for pleasure more than money. Often they offer their services free of cost and that leaves us hand to mouth at times. But in the last few years, Congo has improved and my parents get paid well on time. But my grandparents never risked coming to Congo.

In Kinshasa, I lived in the better and cleaner part of the city. Our neighbors were educated and lived in houses made of brick and cement. Yeah, of course, all houses are made of brick and cement. That’s what you’ll think if you are not a Congolese. In Kinshasa, it’s still something not many people have. Though I am not Congolese by birth, I am much like one. All my friends were Congolese. This is rare because, not many Americans allow their children with the locals. My dad, however, blended with the Congolese so well, he even spoke Lingala and Swahili.
Chennai is actually neat. Bangalore was a little neater and had an amazing climate. But compared to Kinshasa, Chennai is really neat. I don’t understand why my friends talk about corruption in India. I guess they should visit Congo and then decide if they can talk about it. Congo is actually vibrant and exciting. People struggling to live happily in a structure-less society. My Mom’s parents are typically south Indian and pure Vegetarians. Mom never cooked non-Vegetarian food and you might find it unbelievable that she is still a pure vegetarian, even after so many years in Congo. I never knew so many dishes could be made out veggies till I came here. In Kinshasa, our cook made delicious Shani, wild mushrooms and bread made from cassava paste. Shani are slightly fried caterpillars, taste something like raw hot dogs. We never went to a “market” to buy fruits and veggies. We just plucked them from our garden and shared it with our neighbors. I am used jumping over fences and plucking mangoes and avocadoes from the neighbors’ garden. Mom would compensate them later with the peppers and yams from ours. My parents have often told me about the “Indian Hospitality” which I guess I haven’t still discovered in the last two years of my stay in India. In Kinshasa , If you need milk or eggs, someone will literally run to the store buy some, and deliver them to you. If you want your garden maintained, someone will come dependably for $5 a day, cut the grass, plant tomatoes and peppers, pick the fruit when it’s ripe, sometimes even make a chicken dish, and serve it hot when it comes out of the oven. All this done wholeheartedly with a smile. I really don’t know what to say about Indian hospitality. Of course my Patti ( that’s how I call my maternal grandmother) taught me to say the customary “Vanga” or welcome in tamil, and other formalities, I still find that people here think twice before they talk and thrice before they spend. Or probably it’s just that I’ve met only the stingier section of the society.

The first semester in this college goes in all sorts of competitions in different forms of dance, music, writing, art and oratorical competitions. I decided to plunge myself into every opportunity that came in my way. Though I lost in Jam, I consoled myself saying it was particularly because something fishy was going on. I flopped royally in the music competitions. I always thought Congolese music is historically well known. Especially, now many local bands have re-emerged, perform in the Middle Eastern countries and local five-star hotels. I invited some of my friends to team up with me and everyone, except a submissive and stupid girl Arti, disagreed to perform with me. We sung two songs in Lingala in Afro-rhythmic beats. Half way through the singing, I felt as though I was back in Kinshasa. I got up and began to sway myself to the music like we did in Congo. At the end of it, I felt absolutely proud of myself and Arti, totally embarrassed.


[ to be continued]

[crazy]

chevy..............very intresting.........

I like the way u describe Congo

oh included image....................chennai

[Lambretta]

chevy..............very intresting.........

I like the way u describe Congo

oh included image....................chennai

Hm......wud've been better to post a front-view image of Central Station...

[crazy]

chevy..............very intresting.........

I like the way u describe Congo

oh included image....................chennai

Hm......wud've been better to post a front-view image of Central Station...

yeah............


(I hate chennai............)

[chevy]

yes ..lamby .. i ve posted an old pic of chennai central station.. .and did ya read the story .. comments ?

[chevy]

( note : here comes the next two parts: jus wanted to tell that i may nt b updatin my story this often ....i ll b posting once or twice a week or mayb jus once in a fortnite not to sure... but i had already time since i had already written it earlier it's out so soon. )

please do comment about it ..

cheers !
chevy

[chevy]

2




Shailaja’s classes go on as usual. In fact, she is this over enthusiastic lecturer who loved conducting extra classes, special classes and many other stupid classes, which none of us felt the need to attend. There is no point being in her class. Seriously, we are half the time conscious of what this fiend is thinking about our posture or where her menacing eyes are stealing glances at that we barely listen to the lecture. Thank heavens, she is not the type of lecturer who conducts oral tests or we’ll all be dead in class.

The college is right behind a popular mall, called Kences in the city. On the first day of college Shailaja had lectured for one hour regarding the consequences if a student was found in the mall during college hours.

After three months of college, my college-mates went to extent of passing abusive messages. We had nicknamed all the lecturers and imitated them in their absence. Preethi , a girl in my class, sends such humorous messages, that most of us look up to her as thought she is some Imperial lord. Once in the middle of Shailaja’s class my phone vibrated.

Message received from Preethi:
We had many options.
Poison.
Kerosene.
Sleeping tablets.
Hanging.
Slashing our wrists.
Starving to death.
Dying of thirst.
Falling from a cliff.
Falling from the balcony.
Lying on the railway track.
Banging on a moving car.
Jumping from the bus....
But we chose:

















Vishnu college !

[ to be continued ]

[chevy]

3







Though we hated college to the core , we had little fun.
One of the many things I love in Chennai is speaking in Tamil. In Bangalore I had never bothered to learn Kannada as most of my friends conversed only in English. In Chennai, even the north Indians settled here speak in Tamil.
It’s funny and I’ve never picked up any other language this fast.

Besides Shailaja there are other lecturers who make our lives miserable. One is Mrs.Shreya. She tops the list when it comes to nagging and being moody. One day she’ll treat you like you are her favorite student. The next day she’ll scream like you are the biggest pain in her neck.

A typical Shailaja lecture would sound exactly like this:

“Girls!! I am very sorry to tell you. All of you are very unprofessional. ( Podi goyya. Ni mattum ena ? ).
Our college is not like other colleges ( Yeah. We are the worst !! ). We work after hours and very often on weekends. ( yenga Uyira vangurathukey teachera poranthiya? )
.Whether I come or not , some teacher will come and you will have special class.( So the priority is not to teach us something. It is to keep us in this jail till two o’clock. ) i ve never come across a batch like this. I was appointed in this college even before the first peon was. I don’t have to prove my excellence to anyone. Yesterday, after college got over, none of you waited to ask me if I wanted to conduct extra classes. All of you walked away at the stroke of one. (college hours are not enough, is it ? You are so inefficient that you need extra ones. Obviously if you blabber so much in class, you’ll never finish the portion.)......”


If you clean the Department Staff room , Mrs. Shreya will come up to you and say, “ Hey come in. What happened , kanna ?”

If you don’t , she’ll shout at you exactly like how Shailaja had in her last outburst of anger.
“Aiswarya, is this absolutely unacceptable. You are very unprofessional. You body language is not good. (Look who is talking, Minnie mouse.) I didn’t expect you to be like this.... ”

(Podi dubuku. Crazy mouse-sized copy cat. Can’t shout to a student with her own words. Wait. Our time will come.)

[ to be continued]

[Surya]

Chevy!

NICE!!!! really becoming ur fan!!