A Head Trip Mirage

A Head Trip Mirage

Vishnu Sekhar

First published in India in 2015 by CinnamonTeal Publishing

Copyright 2015 Vishnu Sekhar
ISBN 9789384129903
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events
and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or
used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Vishnu Sekhar asserts the moral right to be identified as the author
of the work. All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be
produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by
any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on
the subsequent purchaser.
Typesetting and Cover design: CinnamonTeal Publishing
CinnamonTeal Publishing
Plot No 16, Housing Board Colony
Gogol, Margao
Goa 403601 India
www.cinnamonteal.in

I dedicate this work to my amusing friends who had once

truly lived this story, which I can only recount.

Authors Note

When I decided to write a work of fiction, I was very

particular about excluding all episodes that were not
related to the realities of life. Each word in this novella
is born from real incidents that either happened to me
or that I observed in the lives of others.
A piece of writing, generally, reflects a writers attitude
towards life and his response to everyday events. Here,
I lace each ordinary happening with a tinge of humor
throughout the work.
So, readers are cautioned to relax a little before getting
into the book.
I promise you, nothing serious has been written here.
Vishnu Sekhar

Chapter 1

ari desperately wanted a job.

He had just heard his grandpa, Mr. Damodaran

Nair, ostentatiously exaggerate his cousins posting in
Dubai, and at the same time belittle Hari for being a
nuisance and a spendthrift.
He could not put up with these baseless allegations
anymore. You could call him anything, but to
describe him as a spender was a lie. His father, Mr.
Sreekumaran Nair, had never even given him loose
change to enjoy soft drinks in summer or paratha
and beef curry in winter. Hari had had no choice but
to flatter his friends into lending him the money.
Hence, he couldnt see a single reason as to why his
grandfather should call him a spendthrift.
I respect him, but that old man always blows things
out of proportion, Hari decided.
Raghunath, his first cousin, was already employed
in Oman. Now, Raghav, his second cousin, had also
found a job. So far, all his loving relatives and friends
had considered Hari to be superior to them, but ever
since these jobs came by, everything started going
downhill.
A Head Trip Mirage

Hari knew his cousins better than anybody else on

the planet. He could not even imagine how they had
landed such cushy jobs despite all their stupidity.
Grandpa kept talking about how his cousins were
sending millions of rials back home, and uplifting
the status of their families. Stating that Money is not
everything could have been an effective counter here,
but Hari didnt want to take the chancehis cousins
might just end up with even greater praises.
Once, his mother had mentioned how grandpa would
constantly pester Haris father during his youth, to
either go study or work on the land. Sreekumaran had
picked neither the pen nor the till, but instead joined
the Indian Army.
Getting a job seemed like the hardest nut to crack.
Hari had tried everything: central, state, small, big;
but like a slimy fish, luck only slipped off his hands
all the time.
The most foolish people in the world, Hari decided,
are those who dont understand how foolish they are.
All employed people ought to admit to this, he felt.
They are the ones who proudly declare that they draw
huge salaries, not for the work they are rendering, but
for all the work they have done before taking on the
job!
What sort of people are these? How do they expect
me to find a good job before completing my studies?
They are all selfish and insensitive. Grandpa may
know every line in the Bhagavat Geetha, but not a
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single line of life! Hari criticized everyone behind

closed doors.
It was true that people had always treated him as
intelligent. Only he knew how foolish he actually was.
If poor memory, pitiable analytical skills, sketchy
concentration, lazy workmanship, and above all,
superior boasting skills were the signs of intelligence,
then yes, he was! Yet, Hari wanted a job desperately.
He tried his best along with the rest of his ambitious
friends, through morning, evening and midnight
study sessions, dedicated discussions, combined
brainstorms, expert analysis, coaching classes!
When the results came, everyone was equally placed
at the bottom of the list.
How can we pass if the questions are set like this?
Shameer expressed his disappointment.
Like what? enquired another.
What was the color of the boxers worn by Mr. Sasi
when he died?
Options:
1. red
2. white
3. blue
4. no boxers!
Interestingly, a candidate, who had known of the
question beforehand by bribing the examiners, called
A Head Trip Mirage

11

up the KPSC office demanding answers. This became

a public secret and the results were cancelled by the
government, much to the delight of those who had
failed and the grief of those who had passed.
To Hari, classrooms were just theatres where welldressed, ludicrous professors showered them with
yawns for hours. If the students reacted, they would
forget their dignity and resort to proselytizing! Hari,
with his cynical smile, always looked down upon
those derisory lecturers. Once, a parent had fiercely
attacked Prof. Kumaran, his Chemistry teacher, in a
PTA meeting, complaining that his daughter didnt
understand a single word the professor taught! Many
others also joined in. Finally, Prof. Kumaran, feeling
terribly insulted, had risen to his defense saying: I
cant believe it. I wont believe it. Its a malicious
allegation without substance. I... I... I clearly
understood what I had taught, then, why couldnt
she?!
Far from all this action was Hari with his gang,
whose primary purpose in all lectures was to wait till
attendance had been taken and then slither out into
the sunny outdoors, like numerous penguins gliding
towards the Southern Lights.
How could a ball and a bat produce this much passion
in Hari and his friends? On the cricket ground, even
the tiniest bit of appreciation from the lazy onlookers
produced inexplicable happiness within him. Are all
Indians born with cricketing gene, then? Hari, despite
his lack of any actual talent, was incredibly passionate
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about the game. Wicket keeping, he thought,

especially without gloveshe had tried gloves once
to unfortunate effectwas a remarkable deed. His
heroics cost him much skin off his palms. Each small
injury and bloodshed, however, only increased his
infatuation for the game further.
Hari didnt follow any established philosophy
propagated by a religion or individual. He believed,
instead, that pretension was the cornerstone of
success: if anybody wanted to do well, they should
practice the art of ostentation. He stuck to that
philosophy steadfastly. Even in his game, he would
head toward the crease like a Greek hero! With his
pride as high as the sky, he would adapt the poise of
Tendulkar, only to miss the ball completely and get
ousted. He always had the same fateclean bowled!
One day, while keeping wicket, Hari sensed a runout, and with increasing excitement, stood in front of
the stumps to take the throw, not seeing Usain Bolt
charging towards him. Instead, he saw thousands of
stars at a glance, twinkling and turning over his head.
Did a comet hit his nose? He tightly held his forehead
with both hands and keeled over before someone
could intervene.
Once, as Hari was bunking class, he jumped straight
into the path of the principal, Mr. Sebastianwho
had the appearance of a wrestler and the approach of
a bull. It was the first time he was caught red-handed
by a teacher. He was asked to show his identity card;
the principal knew it was impossible to convict
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13

these born liars otherwise. Both of them trembled

uncontrollablyone with fear and the other with
anger. Hari was terrified of Mr. Sebastian for he had
heard that the Prof. had devoured many promising
youngsters like him before! With swollen eyes and a
pale face, Hari peeped up at the Professors curved
mustache, which stood out like the horns of a wild
African buffalo. He had no idea whether he would be
fried or boiled. After a bout of questioning, Hari was
adjudged to bring in his father: why, death penalty
would have been better than that!
Thinking about his father sent a shiver down his
spine. If the principal was the Devil, his father was
Count Dracula! The thought of his father striding
up the hill with his unbearably heavy body and
thereafter lending his ears to the venomous principal
triggered a volcano inside Hari.
His father was notorious for his quick temper and
wild disposition. Wrath was basically the emotion he
was driven bycreating many enemies and producing
several casualties. Hari was sure he would be torn
into pieces. He hadnt forgotten the day his father had
lifted him up to the sky and then dashed him to the
floor:
It had happened when his grandfather had brought in
a half-ripe cluster of bananas and kept it in the dark
storeroom for ripening. Hari liked to play in that dark
godown; that semi-ancient dome of groceries was
his haunt during holidays. He liked the mixed smell
of numerous foodstuffs insideit was like entering
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a nether world. Sometimes, he would immerse his

hands in a sack of rice and scoop up a handful as if it
were Alauddins treasure. Sometimes, he would climb
the old ladder and feel over the attic to find surprises,
ending up with his hands full of lizard poop and mice
carcasses.
Children, by nature, know where delicious things are
kept, and so did Hari. Inside that antique museum,
through the dusky gaps sealed by the spiders, Hari
crawled to the golden fruits, gulped down three and
threw the peels down on the floor. Next morning, he
was awakened by loud complaints from his grandpa:
So, nobody knows who has taken it. Do you mean
that the room has eaten it then?
Hari sprung up from the bed and peeped through the
narrow opening of the door.
Why does he care? After all, its only a few bananas,
Hari muttered under his breath.
Grandpas shrieks were loud enough to bring his
father to the door. He bellowed at everyone to fall
in a line, pointing his spear-like finger at each face
individually. Everyones tongues had dried up. Hari
knew that his fathers fiery eyes would ultimately fall
on him. They did. He, however, kept his cool and
shook his head.
Interestingly, grandpa doubted only Haris grandma,
Janakiamma and his great grandma, Devakiamma.
He had always looked at his wife as an embodiment
of falsehood and deception, gifted with the ability
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15

of putting up an innocent pose to mask malicious

thoughts. And Devakiamma, too, was considered
to be a doubtful character, a learned liar. According
to grandpa, he was the only civilized person in the
world.
Infuriated by the sustained silence and his failure
at figuring the truth, Haris father rushed off to the
nearby marketplace, much to everyones solace.
During lunch time, there was a violent demonstration
of anger over the same issue: this time there were
rice plates flung to the floor, first by his father, then
grandpa, and finally his uncle, Radhakrishnan.
Meanwhile, as the banana storm subsided, Hari was
up to new mischief. At night, his sister Saundarya
was doodling her wide and wild imagination in the
margin of her school texts. Hari could see the winking
wick-light passing through her frizzy hair, throwing
shimmering shadows around.
Ill tell mother. Youre not studying. Whats this?
Snakes? Worms? Beautiful! You have spoiled the book.
Im going to tell her, Hari twitched his lips.
Saundarya was caught red-handed; she had forgotten
to notice the presence of her vicious brother.
Do you know who had eaten the bananas? he
demanded, before she could speak.
She looked at his face expectantly.
Dont tell anyone. Its me! Hari broke the suspense
dramatically.
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Before he could stop her, she had found their father

and done the needful. An immediate roar sent a shiver
down Haris shell. Not having prepared a convincing
lie, he admitted to the deed. Within moments,
Sreekumaran had lifted him up to the sky and dashed
him to the floor. Hari had never imagined that the
curses of the many spiders and cockroaches he had
demolished in the storeroom would bring him such
disaster. If great grandma hadnt caught his hands,
grandpa hadnt held his waist, and his mother hadnt
blocked his fall, Hari wouldnt have been alive for Mr.
Sebastian to ask him to bring his father to college.
All these incidents shot past his mind as he waited
outside the principals room. It was his regular strategy
to make culprits stand outside for a long time till they
had nervous breakdowns. That made it easier for him,
later, to fry them up the pan!
Hari stood like a criminal about to be executed.
Eventually, the assistants face appeared above the
door and beckoned him in. The rancid smell of the old
furniture mixed with ancient books in the den brought
him to the verge of dizziness. Meeting Satan in his
own abode was tricky. It was the one thing hed always
wanted to avoid. There he was, the king of devils, his
eyes as red as the summer sun and his ways as dry as
the Sahara sand. Hari felt sweat streaming down his
cheeks, along his neck, causing an unbearable urge to
itch. He tried to keep his nerves under control for he
knew that nervousness itself was a sign of sin.
The boss broke out at once: Who do you think you
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17

are?... Hero!... Dont show your heroism here... Bring

your father tomorrow... Now get out. Heroes...
Tears, not out of regret, but out of fear, gushed forth
and his words sprang out in a torrent.
Sir... please, sir... Im sorry, sir... I wont repeat,
sir... I assure you, sir... please sir, Hari began to cry.
The genuine wail from a teenager surprisingly
transformed the devil to the divine; the principal
was unexpectedly moved by it.
Relieved at having successfully revoked the penalty,
Hari returned to his class exhausted, much to the
amazement of his friends. They had never thought he
would be back from the Hades so soon.
It was, however, only a week before Hari was back to
his usual ways!

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