Of Empty Threats And Broken Limbs--I

They say that in a battle field, there is no father, no son, no brother and no friend. Just you and the other. Your spear for the pulsing heart of the enemy. Your sword for his overlarge head. Your scimitar for his genitals (at least it is so among the Arabs). You and him. Him and you  (pretty much the same thing, actually….).

In the battle field, you ask for no quarter, ‘cause u ain’t gonna get any.

This is war. There are battles to be won. Reputations to be kept in grasp. Lairs to be retained.

Coz this is the battle of screwing. And here, there is no space for the faint-hearted.

So do you have it in you to screw the ones around you and stick ‘em on the wall??

Then your place to be is not in front of your goddamn PC, but at a certain inter school fest.

A fest to find footholds, to make a name for yourself in the art of screwing (some call it “theyp” or other variations of the word. But your author would like to refrain from using words newly inducted into the vocabulary….) and to avenge the grudges you bear. Not any other inter-school fest…. But THE inter school fest (or at least so THEY say)…..

Yes, Let The Battle Begin!!

The previous day was a night mare. There were participant lists to be finalized (thanks to a STUPID somebody and his equally stupid stubbornness), parts to be decided in the drama event, the song to be practiced. In short, we had everything to do and had something like 5 hours in hand. With the aim of finishing these stuff, we went over to the house of one of my friends. There were a surprisingly large number of guys crowded in the house (guess the fact that a particularly hi5 tuition class in the vicinity which was scheduled to conclude in 2 hours and the angelic beauties in it played the catalyst…). I was swept with the tide and found myself closeted in a room with complete music buffs. Well, at least, there were the girls to look forward to….Needless to say, after all the dubbing, rehearsals, practices and me suddenly finding myself contending in a new event, I managed to get home by 11 o’ Clock, to one angry mum and a sleepy sister reprimanding me gleefully for the lateness of the hour….

The day dawned awesomely. The sun rose up, with its usual glorious splendor. Having slept at early hours of dawn, not surprisingly, I woke up bleary eyed. Then SOMEHOW I drag myself to school, to rendezvous with my friends. It was then time for last minute checks and finally to board the bus.

An hour later finds us in some God forsaken part of Trivy. They say that THE school has its abode here in the middle of no where. More space for their extra-large heads, I s’pose. They show us greenery. We yawn at them. After all, one doesn’t boast of the Gir to an Amazon-dweller…It was then a time for the last minute frenzy to smoothen out the shirts, flatten the odd strands of unkempt hair and to plaster expressions that would (hopefully) qualify as COOL. (The desire fuelled by presence of the “infamous” TRINS girls in the vicinity….) Little did we know that the worst was yet to come, waiting just round the bend so that it could surprise us with one mistimed leap.( Did I just say “mistimed” ??. Well, that was for us. THEY, in fact, had timed it very well indeed…)

It all began with the rooms. “All the non-participants are s’posed to be in the auditorium. The participants can continue their practice..”, our so-called “usher” announced in a kinda broken English. Well, they were so bright that they expected the dance and music practice to be conducted without a power supply. Then ensued a running around by us until finally after much “shakes and swirls” we were allotted one more room. Thank God! (For now at least…).

 But the apprehension had already settled. The odd gleam of battle lust could be seen in our eyes.

Yes. We had a gut-feeling, that from that moment onwards, we were in for a hell of a time.

[To be continued..]

The Road Trip Called Life......

New York sat nestled among the mountains (mountains??) and enveloped in a seemingly impenetrable darkness. I signaled the man behind me to halt. With my gun cocked and put in the “Fire” mode, I led my troupes (troupes??) on towards the city walls that loomed menacingly ahead. A stealthy movement in the corners drew my gaze. The flicker of a shadow. My gun roared. A black cloth fell, torn to shreds by my two pound bullets. A shadow flickered, again (don’t they get tired of this flickering?), this time to my right. I turned, only to see a blurred figure pounce on me. I was lifted momentarily off the ground, defying all sense of gravity and swung around until my back made hard (and pretty uncomfortable) contact with the wall. I retaliated, swift as a mamba, strong as a lion. Kicking off from the wall, I pinned my captor down on the ground. I drew back and struck a heavy blow across its face…… and my hand made contact with the pillow.

My eyes snapped open.


 My sister, on the process of drawing apart the curtains, stood transfixed, perhaps wondering whether to laugh or simply get the hell out of the room.

I was kneeling on the bed, holding the pillow up, my face drawn apart in a savage roar.

Crap!! Just another dream.

********************************************

The realm of divination has been troubling me for days now. “Sleep deprivation can lead you to dream really unrealistic dreams” or so some sod said (don’t ask me crap like who, when and where. I sure as hell don’t know!!). But what does this statement imply? That I should quit late night movies, surfing and reading?? Dream on, pal, coz that ain’t gonna happen in the eons to come (largest time frame that came to my mind, actually. If you can think of something larger, please inform me.). But a few tuitions…. Now that’s something I don’t mind missing. Coz life nowadays is sure gonna be my ticket to hell.

>>The train of thoughts that threatened to stretch on and on is interrupted as the tap I had been trying so unsuccessfully to open, revealed its inner most anatomy and so inelegantly tuned itself to provide a totally obstruction-free passage for a clear liquid (in other words, the damn tap simply opened).<<

Spluttering, gasping and skin taking the temperature of frozen fish-sticks, I emerge from the bathroom. Solace is hard to find as I am greeted by a jumbled up mess of badminton racquets, books, CD’s, files, folders and, yeah, a few textbooks from school too.

Aghast at the horror I have given birth to, I stare at my reflection and then at the mess. My eyes revert back to the mirror and then to the mess.

(This process repeats itself until finally the voice of my mother reprimanding me (in a very cruel language, mind you. Poor me….) for leaving my shoes sorta, you know, scattered in the porch.) I come out of my reverie and slowly begin my descent….. The train of thoughts start chugging away…..

Now, off to school, to bunk more classes, throw more chalks (and bodies too), plan new atrocities and evade capture (at least try to do so). As I trudge along the “picturesque” (yeah, right!) road to school, I contemplate on how this particular day will end: In the parlor or somewhere even worse?? (Is there such a place at all??).

>>The train of thoughts is again so rudely interrupted as the driver of a passing car decides to furnish the humble author with a choice of “pleasant” words for walking somewhere close to the line of symmetry of the road.<<

I look around and heave a sigh of relief. Nope, not one soul around. Feeling quite jaunty all of a sudden (the driver had already driven off) I empty my rather ill-fitting response of words (comparing to him that is… Oh! The burning ears…..) into the air. Somewhat satisfied, I walk on and on…. The old train starts chugging again……

Past the hockey court, past the buses parked in a crooked line I walk on and on (why can’t this class be any closer???)

>>Once again the train of thoughts is interrupted, this time in the form of a lone foot which singles out my brand new shoes and brands the imprint of its own shoe on mine (Duh! The guy just stamped me!!!).<<

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Some great man proposed it and just then twenty or so not-so-great men took it into their heads to prove the theory right. Limbs(feet or hands?? Don’t look this way, I sure as hells don’t know!!) descended on my glazing shoes one after the other, leaving the shoes that were new only till a few seconds back, covered by muddy paw prints( SHIT!!!!). One very disgruntled me (an understatement actually) is then accompanied by gleefully hooting friends to our abode, the class room. The train of thoughts come to an abrupt halt as the fuel required to chug it on has now gotta be used for far more productive activities, like hiding boots, hanging bags in front of the class, decorating the seats of a “chosen few” with painfully crushed chalk powder and in the intervals that present itself in the midst of all these, throw a few well-aimed (most often ill-aimed) chalks on the heads of some unsuspecting nerds.

Mean while, the train of thoughts gather more thoughts, preparing itself for an hour long journey.

The shrill ringing of the bell startles us for a split second before we resume our relaxed postures outside the class, in the corridor. This state of relaxation continue till whispers of  “….principal….principal….”  are heard. Then, the ones who were so relaxed, vanishes like the flick of a leopard’s tail. A split second’s scramble and we are back in class. We sit in anticipation. The tamer enters (some call her the teacher too. But with monsters like us, the more apt word is tamer itself…). She starts off and the train of thoughts, now fully replenished and ready, starts chugging again……

Time spent in class is actually not a waste of time at all. It is this time that helps us actually to meticulously plan out a lot of activities that coincides with the term absurd atrocities (to the teacher that is. Well, what is precious to the other primates may not necessarily be the same with humans….Similar case actually……). God bless the person who shortened the number of subjects in the XIth… We now have to devise battle plans for lesser number of teachers (oh YEAH!!). The period drags on and on….. The train stops again…. Out of thoughts once again and also due to the fact that I finally managed to attain nirvana….(as in sleep…..).

>>The train of thoughts is interrupted once again as the tamer sets her sight on this particular species of homo sapiens (duh! Me!!) and so kindly allows him to continue his endeavor to attain solace outside the room with the aid of the cool breeze. Translation, I just got kicked out of class….again<<

The train of thoughts can now chug on, undisturbed……