Measured along the line of sight, JNV Calicut (residential school where I studied from sixth to twelfth grade) is 5.22 kilometers from the Arabian sea. On road, it takes a minimum of fourteen kilometers to reach Kottakkal beach from the school, where the Kunjalis had established a base. The five and some kilometers is stretched to fourteen because of the serpentine Moorad river, who is called Kuttiyadi river in official documents.

I know this because it has been eleven years since I graduated school. Since then, I have had gained access to a laptop and internet, and can simply look up the geography of the scene I had sprawling out in front of me at the school. It was on a top of a hill and there was nothing else apart from a smaller hillock and snippets of a river that marked the scenery from the school to the sea. Looking southwest from the place where we washed our plates after dinner, one could see the lighthouse at Kadaloor sweeping and blinking on intervals I tried to guess were indeed regular. On the other side, eastwards, I could see the streetlights from the College of Engineering and a few pinpoints of bluish white light still on on few of the buildings.

I am being specific. Now I want to tell you something about myself. I dreamt of my school yesterday. It was not a bad dream; something prevented it from becoming a bad dream. It was a dream that made me anxious. But I also wanted to complete the dream, which makes it a mix of anxiety and curiosity. A trembling, perhaps. The more I try to recreate the dream in my mind, the less and less sharp it becomes. Like the focus puller was trying to prevent the shot from happening.

I have watched the scenery