The Lovell Dies Crapsite

Well as some of you may be knowing, recently a bunch of suicidal non-committed guys decided to make a trip up north to the amazing state in India, Jammu & Kashmir. Well okay, there was one committed fellow, but it was decided that in case we were ever abducted by terrorists, we would somehow save his booty and make sure he reached back to his lady love in one piece, without a scratch. And yes, we had a dying sequence in place in case we really had to die.

We also had some crazy discussions like who was the  real saviour. Jesus, Hanuman or Mohammed? The great Buddha also became a serious contestant after learning that most of the people on the north are buddhist. Lots of content from this discussions shall remain classified. We even tried to convert Rahul into following Christianity, but he was too attached to Hinduism and did not cave in to our pressure. Having two Roman Catholics and one Protestant, we even thought of a mass conversion and building churches. But that never kicked off.

We saw Pakistan, hot chicks, met Minissha Lamba and some gay actor who’s name I can’t recollect. Almost got killed by a crazy driver (but later realized that Rahul maybe on dope) and almost skid off cliffs on multiple occasions. Got caught in heavy rain, hail and snow in a matter of hours. Ate some stuff that tossed everyone’s stomachs. Rode up and down one of the highest motorable roads in the world, almost froze to death, got punctured tires, trekked for hours and hours together. We even saw some breathtaking landscape, stayed on private boat house, had a dedicated butler, got stuck in some violence in Srinagar and survived. Collectively clicked more that five thousand photographs, had fun and loads of more stuff.

And here my friends, is a documentation of the trip up north!

Part 1: The Cast

We shall begin with the brainchild behind this trip. The one and only John Paul Sankardhas.

You don’t mess with the John Paul. The man hails from the army. His father is the Major Superior General Something Something Big Man in the Army fellow. Basically John Paul sh*ts in his pants whenever his father comes home. Having spent his entire childhood loitering around the hills of North East India, this man was nick named ‘Ibex’ after displaying immense hiking skills on a previous trip to the Himalayas. John Paul takes the final call on disputes during trips. Also, it has been noticed that the women have some kinda fetish for the fellow. In this documentation, we shall refer to him as Johnny, John, Baap, Saale, mallu f*cker, etc. You get the drift.

Next on the list is the machaan from Chennai, Vignesh Anand.

The Machaan is known for his fetish of bikes. Show him something that has a motor, a chain, two wheels and a petrol tank, and he will shut down mating season to ride it. The man is is denial about Tamil Nadu being part of India. Well I can’t blame him for that. He got a bad reputation as far as stamina was concerned, but little did we know that on this trip he would go on to surprise us all. He is also known as the poser, coz he poses for all photographs. But I now think its just a tamil thing and not really his fault. Machaan, will be referred to as Machaan, Vignesh or Vig.

Third in row, the paranoid f*cker, Rahul Rishi.

The other poser. My theory of tamil boys being posers was at stake after this guy start asking me to click his photos. Anyway, the man is from the really screwed up state in India, politically known as Uttar Pradesh. Which is now being split into like 800 parts. Yes, that state where murder is cool and robbery is a family past time. His presence is always appreciated, especially as we are kept entertained non stop. His negotiation skills are really good and his paranoia sometimes reaches to an extent such that everyone around him appears to be murderers and hardcore criminals. He shall be referred to as Rahul, Bosad, Saale, Ch**tya or Rishi.

Number four. The Good Boy. Daniel Peddity.

The above photo was clicked at the start of the trip, when we were in Delhi. It speaks a lot. Daniel Peddity, our nice holy boy, wasn’t too excited about the trip. Right here he was thinking, “Muskit Muskit, safety safety”. It took a lot of convincing, abusing and some pressure from his better half to get him to say yes. Now this is the one person who we did not want dead on the trip. A lot of people depends on the young man. His Church would have to shut down if he died, I am not kidding. When you get a phone call from your Pastor, who is half way down the nation, on why you haven’t come to Church, you ought to be someone important. His hands are gifted. Yes, only the hands. Counter strike champ. Plays the guitar, drums, piano, TT, chess and can basically do anything with his hands. More about him in detail later. Daniel will be referred to as Danny, Dan, Peddity, Peddity Bhai, Satan, Soitan, Muskit and Daniel.

Fifth on the list. Another machaan named Maruthi Raj Manivannan.

This man, I met him for the first time. He is a friend of the original machaan, Vignesh. Besides that, I did not know who he was, I did not know what he did or who he did, but all I knew was that he was Maruthi. He would also land up playing a vital role in reinforcing my theory that all tamil boys are posers when it comes to photographs. Now since I don’t know him too well and he is not within punching distance, I shall not abuse him that much. He is referred to as Maru or Maruthi.

Sixth. Anand Narayanmurthy. No I don’t know if he has a Facebook profile.

This man, yes he sealed my theory on the tamil boy poser thing. He is another friend of Machaan and I did not know him before the trip. He also shall not be abused brutally. He will be referred to as Sharja (no don’t ask me from where that name came), Anand or Sarjah.

And last, Me. Lovell D’souza.

Foul mouthed Goan guy. I’m also in denial when we say Goa is part of India. Clicked like three thousand photos and annoyed everyone with the shutter sound. My role was to throw around 200 highly abusive and sensitive questions to Danny in order to get him to abuse, but failed. I abused Rahul at times too. I documented the trip by clicking photographs, taking GPS readings, recording the paths we trekked and  making candid audio and video recordings. I shall be referred to as Me or I.

And that is the cast. The seven of us who went out to explore the great state of Jammu and Kashmir. Not knowing if we would come back alive. But knowing one thing, that Danny would surely come back alive and would tell the world what brave people we were and what great adventures we went on. The trip up north begins!

Update: Part2: The Dying Sequence is now up.

Before you start reading this, you would like to get some context by reading about the Murder at Hanuman Nagar #48.

Now to what happened.

I wake up in the morning, actually it was more like an afternoon. But on a Saturday, my morning begins post noon. The guy who takes care of the house was in our balcony. This guy is also the laundry man of the colony, and he uses our terrace to dry his clothes sometimes. We are cool with that as long as there is someone to keep an eye on our place so that robbers and murderers stay away. And, the terrace is huge, so we don’t really have to look at someone else’s underwear hanging around. I don’t really know this guy’s name, so lets call him Appa.

Appa greets me can calls me sahib  (thats like ’sir’ in hindi). I feel good. My morale is boosted. Alright!

Appa: You guys came pretty late last night. Wasn’t it around like 2 am?
Me: Yeah we did come late.
Appa: Had to work overtime I guess.
Me: Yeah, theres a lot of work. (If only he knew what bad people we were, he would stop hanging the clothes on our terrace).
Appa: I was ironing clothes late into the night. Even I have a lot of work nowadays.
Me: Yeah I noticed you. (Sh*t suddenly he makes me feel so bad).
Appa: You guys were awake even after that, I saw your balcony light on.
Me (F*ck, hope he did not see how we disposed the bodies): Ya, there was a dead cat here and two dead mice too. We were disposing the bodies.
Appa: What? Only one cat?
Me (Holy mother of the Phantom): What? There are more dead cats here???!!!
Appa: Yes.

Appa walks to a small cemented block in which our water meter takes shelter and points to it. And there lay another dead feline. It’s body under the meter, with one paw on top of the meter and another pointing towards the North Pole I guess. It had bled through the nose, all the blood dried by now. Disgusting sight. Well, not really that disgusting, but disgusting to some extent nevertheless. Appa puts his hand into the  water meter compartment, finds the tail of the cat and tugs on it. It does not budge a bit. Must have died last night and it’s body had become stiff. Appa gives another hard tug and manages to get the dead cat out. It’s body had taken a very weird indescribable  shape. He carries it to our gate, and in one smooth swing of the arm, he flings it in to the dumping area we used the previous night. Blood drops from the cats nostrils flew into the air and went splat on the cemented road outside.

The second dead cat was disposed. Let me stress on one point. The manner in which we disposed the bodies the previous night was much more respectful. Something just short of a 21 gun salute.

Appa: Ah, that was that.
Me: What happened? How come so many dead animals in our balcony suddenly? Is the house haunted? I bet it is! No wonder the landlord gave it to us for such a low price.
Appa: No sahib, no no! This house is not haunted. It is the best house in the colony.
Me: Then what happened here?
Appa: Well yesterday just before Vignesh sahib could come some cats were fighting. One male cat came and started fight. It must have killed the two cats. Lots of noise sahib. Even the ladies next door came to watch what was going on.
Me: They came to watch? Couldn’t they shoo the cats away?
Appa: What to do sahib? I am only a laundry man, if I tell them what to do, they will stop giving their clothes to me. The cats were fighting for quite a while. I think the male cat killed the other cats. The mother cat is still somewhere around.
Me: Hmm, that’s disgusting. Male cats tend to kill kittens which are not theirs, and are in their territory.

Appa leaves and then I start to put all the pieces together. Two dead cats, two dead mice. Mother cat alive. Male cat killed the cats. Cashew nuts. White liquid out of the first cats mouth. A paranoid Vignesh.

Okay, so here is what might have happened that gory night.
Mother cat and her two kid cats must have come across the two dead mice or must have caught and killed them. The mice must have been poisoned by our crazy neighbor, surely. Kid cats must’ve been enjoying the evening snack and spending some quality time with mother cat. Male cat arrives and realized that those two kid cats are not his. All hell breaks lose. Male cat starts a fight. Mother cat starts to defend the kid cats. One kid cat runs and hides under the water meter. Male cat grabs hold of the first kid cat’s neck. Mother who is not as big and strong as male cat is not able to defend her kid cat or do anything. Male cat’s jaw are too strong for the kid cat’s neck. Kid cat starts to choke. Male cat shifts his attention to the other kid cat. He grabs hold if its next and chokes it to death. The second kid cat dies under the water meter. Male cat for some reason decides to leave. The first kid cat chokes to death slowly. The poison from the mouse starts to take it’s effect too. Vignesh comes home to see the mess of a murder. Panics and calls me. I’m too engrossed with the glass of rum in front of me. I talk him into coming to Club 8 and drinking too, not knowing how bad the situation was. Vignesh, with his fetish for alcohol, caves in and comes to Club 8. Somewhere between then and 2 am, the first kid cat dies. Two mice and two cats are left dead.

Case solved.

And, here are photos of Dead Mouse #1, Dead Mouse #2 and Dead Cat #1. The photographs are blurred, but if you are one of those people who go eeeeeewwww for no reason at all, then you are warned.

Due to the graphic nature of this post, viewer discretion is advised. This post involves two dead cats, two dead mice and a paranoid tamil machaan named Vignesh Anand.

My phone buzzes.

Vignesh: Dude, there’s a cat in our balcony and I think it’s dying. Where are you?
Me (in my head): F*ck you man. Kill it. Make the weight on Mother Earth less by a few kilos.
Me (in reality): I’m at Club 8 man.

Club 8
The place everyone loves to hate. Nothing fancy about this place, just that play some good metal numbers and it’s shady to some extent. The pros: They play stuff like RATM, Nirvana, etc. Bad @$$ pro: Very, very close to our house. The cons: No chicks. Real bad @$$ con: Some Telugu annas sometimes start to dance. Really freaky, but very amusing. Lets leave the cons aside, coz anyway we just go there to abuse and have drinks with some good people.

Vignesh: You there?
Me: Yeah man.
Vignesh: What should I do? It’s breathing hard man. I think it’s gonna die soon.

Now you’d be wondering, why the hell does Vignesh have to call me to save a dying cat? Well to add some context, I’ve been the proud master of a female cat named Tommy and I was expected to play Superman in this situation.

Me: Give it some water. Or, just give it a slight tap on the back man.
Vignesh: Tried that, nothings happening. Actually, I was moving the bike back, but it was wasn’t budging, and then I realized the cat was behind the tire. I think I must’ve hurt it.

(Aha!!! Murderer!!!!!!!!)

Me: No man, don’t worry, the cat would’ve ran away the moment you touched the bike.
Vignesh: But what to do? It’s gonna die any moment! There are some cashew nuts in the house. Should I give it cashew nuts?
Me: I don’t think it’s gonna eat cashew nuts, but yeah you can give it some.
Vignesh: I’ll do that. But I really think it’s gonna die. What should I do.
Me: Come to Club 8, lets drink. The cat will probably go after a while.
Vignesh: Ok, I’m on my way.

Three minutes later he is at Club 8 and the drinks are on. Cheers!
From Club 8 we landed up at a colleagues place, indulged in some anti-social activities and once we were done we decided to head home around 2 am.

Open the main gate and, f*ck! Dead cat. Sh*t, f*ck this cat, couldn’t it have utilized the other 8 lives that it had or gone somewhere else and died? Bl**dy dead cat. Son of a b*tch cat.

So I go in an turn on the balcony light, and voila! Two dead mice on either side of the dead feline.

The badly screwed up crime scene
The dead cat was in the middle of the of the balcony. Near it’s mouth lay some cashew nuts. Yeah, cats don’t like ‘em nuts imported from Goa I guess. It’s neck had some puncture marks, but there was this liquid that had flown out of it’s mouth. But hard to say weather it had choked or it was poisoned. On it’s right, just at the foot of the stairs that lead to the terrace, was a dead mouse.

Dead mouse #1 looked like it had been choked and had it’s neck broken. It’s body was intact and in one piece, but yet it looked disgusting.

Dead mouse #2 was on the other side of the cat. This was one badly mutilated body. All that was left of it was its head, the backbone and the rear end of it’s body torn in a manner such that it was inside-out with the legs and tail facing the back of the skull. Very disgusting, hard to explain.

Vignesh: How do we dispose this stuff?
Me: Hmm.. dunno man. I think I’m high, lets do it tonight itself, else tomorrow morning when I wake up I won’t be able to do nothing.
Vignesh: Maybe we should toss a coin and the loser cleans the mess.
Me: Yeah amazing plan! Nobel award winning material you are. F*ck your plan, I’m going and getting a stick or something and we shall fling it out.

The front side of House #48, Hanuman Nagar Colony, faces an open deserted area, dedicated to disposal of waste by all the people of the colony. It also serves as a dumping spot for carcasses, and tonight we were gonna put it to some good use!

I walk around bout can’t find a stick. Just then my eyes fall upon a… oh wait, the manner in which we disposed the bodies would be considered ‘inhumane’ by a lot of people. Keeping that in mind I shall not document it. Lets just say that the 3 carcasses made it’s way into the deserted area with respect and some skills that would make Tiger Wood smile with appreciation.

Me: Alright, cool work man, high five!
Vignesh: Yeah, thank God. Hope I don’t get any nightmare with cats tonight.
Me: Screw the cats man.
Vignesh: Why do you abuse so much?
Me: Screw you too.
Vignesh: Goodnight machaan.
Me: Yeah.

And with that, the Tamil boy and the Goan boy go to their respective room and sleep.

What had happened that led to the death of the cat and mice? Was it Vignesh who ran over the cat with the bike? Was Vignesh the murderer? Why was it mentioned that there were two dead cats, but only one accounted for? How did this all happen? Will the readers get to see photos of the crime scene? Is Shiney Ahuja really ‘Bhai’-sexual?

For these answers, stay tuned for the next blog post! :D

Update: The Murder Mystery Solved is now up.

To begin,
Goan = Anything to do with my motherland, Goa.
Omelet = Omelet.
Pao = Loaf of bread.

The Goan Omelet Pao!

Now if you ever land to Goa, you would like to eat an omelet pao because (in order of preference)

1. It’s cheap.
2. It tastes amazing.
3. You get to meet friends.
4. Someone lands up sponsoring you omelet pao (high five!).
5. You get to check out chicks, as these omelet pao guys open shop at strategically placed junctions.

There are a variety of omelet paos that you could choose from, but I would suggest you go to the guy at the Mapusa taxi stand, not only because the stuff there tastes good, but also because that guy has employed human robots. More about them later.

Now for some omelet pao etiquette.

Rule #1: You do not, and I mean do not, eat omelet pao alone. You should always make sure you have company.

Me (on the phone): Hey, !@#$%^ lets go eat omelet pao.
Lesley (who stays like 3 kms away): Eh, wtf man, I’m watching TV. !@#$ off.
Me: !@#$ you man. Screw you. Just come. It’s on me.
Lesley: It’s the woman volleyball finals man.
Me: Screw them.
Lesley: I will.
Me: Are you coming or not?
Lesley: Parcel it and come to my place man.
Me: @!#$#(@$*#@$@#)%*&^&#(@$@#$ . !@#$ you man, I’ll eat alone. Lemme know who wins.

Srijay: Hello.
Me: !@#$%^ lets go eat omelet pao.
Srijay: !@#$ you man. I stay in Porvorim (which is like very far from where I or Lesley stays).
Me: Lesley is coming man. And we may go and play some Counter Strike too.
Srijay: Cool, I’m in. Where do we meet?
Me: Taxi stand, omelet pao.
Srijay: Okay.

Lesley: Hello.
Me: !@#$%^ I spoke to Srijay, he’s coming to Mapusa to play some Counter Striked. He said he wants to meet up and go beat some school boys in Dust 2 (a Counter Strike map).
Lesley: Where are we meeting?
Me: Taxi stand, omelet pao.
Lesley: Cool, will be there in 10 mins.

And, this is just one example on how you do not break Rule #1.

Rule #2: You always eat your omelet pao with the roas. Roas = Chicken curry.

You have the option of consuming your omelet pao without the roas, but if you are gonna do that, I suggest you’d might as well eat a newspaper. Besides, the newspaper would be 1/10 the price.

The essence of the omelet pao is lost if the curry is not allowed to create a thin slimey, juicy layer between the omelet and the pao. This being the primary tastemaker.

Thus, Rule #2 should not be broken, yet those who do so may be allowed to go unpunished.

Rule #3: Order some juice.

It should not come as a surprise that there always is a guy providing fresh juice right next to the omelet pao guy. This is the age old marketing technique that they do not teach you at MBA class. The juice guy provides the exact balance between hunger and thirst. Hunger being satisfied by the omelet, thirst being quenched by the juice. Now imagine eating a lovely omelet pao and then not having anything to drink. FAIL!

Rule #3 is not mandatory, but should be followed. So order some juice.

These are the 3 main rules that are to be adhered to when you venture out to eat your omelet pao.

Now back to the human robots. The means and speed of the delivery of you omelet pao is directly proportional to the experience of the human robots at the omelet pao stall. Older the human robot faster you get your omelet pao. Lets refer to these human robots as hubots. Hubots are of a special breed. They do not have something known as hand-eye coordination. Their eyes and hands function separately. They also use their mouths a lot primarily to pass on information from one hubot to another. They produce anywhere between 6 to 12 ready-to-consume omelet paos in a minute.

The way you acquire your omelet pao is as follows. You shout for your order. One hubot picks up the information and registers it. And signals that he has heard you and your order is on its way. What you do not notice and realize is that the rest of the hubots have also registered the same information and are already preparing your omelet pao.

The hubot precision of omelet pao preperation is unmatched. One hubot breaks a couple of eggs which land onto a massive frying pan. In seconds another hubot has had them fried. A third hubot busily cutting loaves of bread in the middle, suddenly puts his arm out with the pao, only to grab hold of an airborne omelet which slip right into the pao. This omelet pao then moves into the hand of another hubot who adds the roas and next thing you know your omelet pao is wrapped into a tissue and is handed to you by one of those mobile hubot.

The mobile hubots are the ones who make sure you enjoy your meal without having to go to the counter to place your order or have to watch the other hubots at work. The mobile hubot also get you juice from the jucie guy if required.

Next thing you do is bite into you omelet pao. Aah! Life is bliss! The Goan Omelet Pao!!!

Now you may be wondering what happened to Lesley, Srijay and me. Srijay who stays in Porvorim which is like 10 kms from Mapusa has to take one of the local buses, get down at the Mapusa bus stand and walk to the taxi stand which is right opposite the bus stand. I stay in Parra, so jump onto the so call ‘Beast of the Road’ aka the Honda Activa and ride 3 kms to the Mapusa taxi stand. Lesley, the lazy b*stard stays in Mapusa, 3 minutes away from the taxi stand. As protocol always an important part, Srijay reached first by default, I reach a few seconds after he arrives and Lesley, that moron never turns up on time.

Srijay: Where’s Lesley?
Me: Dunno man, he should be here anytime. (One mobile hubot catches my signal for two omlet paos).
Srijay (on pohone): Where the !@#$ are you man?
Lesley: Ah, I’ll leave now.
Me: He just left right? (Sirjay nods, our omelet paos are in our hands by now).

Lesley decides to show up after 3 minutes. On an average 30 omelet paos must have been produced by now.

Lesley (to Srijay): !@#$%^ what do you wanna game suddenly?
Srijay: Me? You are the one who came up with the idea.
Lesley: B*lls.
Me: Hey looks, hot chick man. Looks known, must be our junior.
Srijay: !@#$ you man, you are paying for our omelet paos.

Amen. Goan Omelet Paos!!!

This is a mind opener for those people who judge people by looks. Starring Mr. Newman Fernandes.

Mr. Newman Fernandes was the principal of St. Xavier’s College, Mapusa, Goa while I was there from 2002 to 2005. I by no means want to attack or ridicule him but I just want people like him to know that his actions are not justified.

Let me begin with the part when I hit puberty and then started to grow a beard. Yes, suddenly the face started to fill up with lots of hair and I for some reason (mostly and maybe because I was a metal fan) though that it was really cool. Well, to set the record straight, I still think beards are cool. If Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni and Tom Araya could keep a beard, then so could Lovell D’souza!

Newman for some reason never kept a beard. And I, being a nice student of the institution, for some reason never asked him why. I could have just walked up to him on any given day and ask him, “Sir, Michelangelo had a beard, but where is yours?” Well I never did that. But one fine day, I’m standing outside the St. Xavier’s college canteen gate, quietly sipping on my cup of tea, checking out all the hot chicks that made it to the institution. When suddenly this hand grabs hold of my beard. Well guess who zeroed in on me. The principal was standing there with my beard in his hand while time froze for a few seconds till I could recollect what exactly was happening. My brain over-clocked trying to recollect what nonsense I might have done in the past few days.

• Broke college property? – No.
• Abused someone verbally? – No.
• Came smelling of smoke for practical sessions? – Maybe.
• Caught screwing around with some girl in college? – In my dreams, Yes. In college, No.
• Faked lab reading and staged experiments? Yes.

Sh*t. This guy is the principal. And right now I’m so screwed. Before I could give him the “WTF” look he said, “You fellow, where do you think you are come? This is an educational institution this is not the way you come to college!” Ok, so I was wearing some real dirty  jeans, must have had some metal band black t-shirt on by default, but surely I wore a clean underwear. And then he lets me know, “You are growing this beard for what? Is this some new fashion? You think anyone will give you a job with that beard? You give me your I-card.” Ah, the classic statement – “You give me your I-card.” “Tomorrow come to my office first thing in the morning and show me if you have a chin and then you can take your I-card back.”

“F*ck you man, I don’t give sh*t”, that’s what I thought. :) But I just said, “Ok, Sir” and he left. You don’t mess with the head of the institution when your career is in his hands. So there went my I-card, “Lovell B Q D’souza, SYBSc” up with the man to his office into the box of blacklisted students. The disgrace of the college would be collected in a box in his office. Well that was that.

I walked up to my cousin Ryan D’souza who saw all this happening and was enjoying all of it. Nothing like amusing yourself at someone else’s cost. I was like, “He told me to shave my beard.” Ryan, “Tell him you have some sickness and you can’t”. Me, “duh!”

Part two: The Psycho relatives.

Now if you stay in a village with all your relatives being your neighbors, life can be bliss, life can be a sh*t hole. I had my share of both. Till today I find my relatives very amusing. Yes, somehow I find their conversations very funny, not that because they crack god jokes, mainly because they talk sh*t most of the time.

Some relative to my mom, “Is you son sick? Why is he so thin? Hope he is not doing anything bad you know.. like ‘bad’. May be he is in bad company. And what’s that? No one in ‘our family’ keeps beards. What is this rubbish?”

Me (in my head), “Well f*ck you!”

First of all I wasn’t sick. Yes, I would get the occasional fever and I still get it now. Thin? WTF? I always though I was on the heavier side. By ‘bad’ I assume they were referring to sex, drugs and booze. Well the answer is no. Bad company, well maybe yes, but I don’t regret any of the nonsense I’ve done in life. You f*ckers, the so called ‘bad company’, you know who are, you guys rock! And, who the f*ck defines which family gets to keep beards and which family doesn’t?

Back to the beard.

So I sadly cut off my maybe four inch long beard with a scissors that might have never been used again. Then the rest of the remaining hair got shaved off. Next in line was some amount of Pop’s Original Old Spice after shave. That stuff burns, especially if you’ve shaved after months.

The next morning I’m back in college, standing there at the college canteen gate, like a rape victim. Feeling the cold morning breeze hit my chin. No a good feeling at all. I get a few stares from some people who see my face for the first time since they ever joined college. My friends laugh at my baby face look. We exchange a few set of highly sophisticated abuses and have a good laugh.

I walk up the stairs to that dreaded room labelled “Principal’s Office”. I step in and Mr. Newman Fernandes gives me a big smile. I give him a big smile too, more out of sarcasm. He runs through the content of the box, locates my I-card and hands it over to me. I get to walk free. I give him a nice, “Thank you, Sir” and I carry on with life.

Well Newman, now this part is for you.

Two of my other friends and I wrote the final year exams with our beards, nailed the exams with our beards, gold plated you and the name of our college (when we secured the highest number of distinctions ever), with our beards. We walked up and collected our certificates from you, with our beards.

I got a job, with my beard. I interviewed for one the biggest company in the world, with my beard. The guy who interviewed me had a beard. I got the job, with my beard. I proudly took my beard along with me on my first day, and my I-card also has a photo of me with my beard. And, till today as I type this I have my beard.

So next time, any of you fools out there ever discriminate a young guy because he has a beard think twice.

PS: Please do not leave any comments targeting Newman directly (I shall delete those). He’s a nice guy, but stereotypes too much. Let him live his life. But yes, you can post politically correct comments.

Power to the beards!