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Binu & Sivan

Everybody calls him Patta. Perhaps, like he explained to his mom when she intercepted a letter from me addressed to Patta, because he is a Pattar. He was tall, dark and handsome. OK, tall and dark; two out of three is not bad…(sorry, old REC gag). He used to sleep in a hammock, was a pioneer in electronic eavesdropping, could drum and sing equally well and was a pal.

But it was when we returned to REC as Freedom Fighters that Sivan and I became close. And mauling our Bengali Dada in Kattangal, high on Cherunni’s, is a fond memory from our re-engineering period.

After I moved to Chennai, Patta used to come over once in a way and we always had a good time – death-defying stunts on my bike, noon show in Blue Diamond, night show in Shanti, those were the days… The he married from Chennai, and stopped coming to Chennai.

But we are still in touch, and late in the evening, when I feel sad and lonely – or just plain drunk – it is always Sivan that I call, and at times, vice versa

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