The Rush Hour

The stillness of a graveyard descended on the seventeen acres of pure scenic beauty. In the fortresses of terror,  a.ka. Classrooms, the teacher dragged on and on, obviously oblivious of the antics that found a fitting stage behind his back. The atmosphere was charged; a serenity one associates with lush green palms, lapping waves and dancing girls, descended on the 40*40(I think so at least…) room: The tranquility before the tempest. Infamous(and atrocious, mind you….) personalities shot frequent, inpatient and imploring glances at their expensive devices of time keeping. A monster lurked in the shadowy corners, prowling the perimeter, marking its prey and preparing for its ultimate pounce. The minute hand of the clock ticked away and away and finally read the time 12:10. Time and all beings on the face of this part of the Earth came to a complete standstill……A gong echoed somewhere in the vast expanse, shattering the deathly silence into an million shards, a billion screams.

And then, all hell broke loose.

A boisterous mob burst worth from every nook and cranny of the vast fortress like heated shots from the very cannons of the Flying Dutchman. The Lunch Break had begun in Loyola.

A clamorous rush to the canteen signals the start of the lunch break in Loyola. This “stampede” continues as long as either the lunch break or the popular goodies last.

However, lunch break is also a time to rise and shine after a two-period long siesta for some. It is also a reprieve they get so as to sort out more original ways of dealing with the grueling times yet to come.

Lunch break, likewise, stages the “sharing syndrome”. It involves a group of “starved”(or so they say) youngsters embarking on quests and expeditions (legend has it that Sinbad himself started his expeditions with a similar aim… But that is another story, isn’t it?) to find delicacies to feast on. The wafting aroma of the “chef d’oeuvre” bids them welcome as one or other of their mates opens this container of his mother’s (sometimes it is the servant of the house and often the chef in the nearby restaurant) hard work(the lunch box, you dunce!). The mob, now ten to fifteen strong, pounces on the poor, baffled guy and “shares”(if snatching away generous portions of the food before the owner actually can comprehend what is happening can be called sharing). This process continues on and on till there are absolutely no more lunch boxes to demolish (There is no question of the appetites of the mob being fulfilled….So just forget about that factor….:D). Then, it is to the terra firma to try out their sporting skills.

A person standing near the rabbit cage, gazing at the conies enjoying some really smelly cabbages is suddenly jolted to his senses by a roar of some battle of long past. Blood lust renewed, he rushes to the source of the clamor where he finds himself in a vast space (some call it the football ground) and is greeted by a mass of black and white. Suddenly, he notices a dot appear in his vision. He wonders why it got bigger and bigger (can it be some sort of dream??) until finally the football hits him squarely on the face. at the same instance something round and hard(guess it can also be called a cricket ball) collides with a part of his anatomy which is best left unmentioned [:D]. He begins to sit down one hand caressing his face and the other on his umm….err…..you know THAT part of his anatomy. Big mistake!! The moment his ass makes contact with the ground, he is trampled upon by a mass of moving bodies. Yes, this is a dream. But the only difference is, this doesn’t end even when you wake up. Welcome stranger, to the football ground of Loyola.

If you have come for the conventional game of football, you have come to the wrong place. Coz this is Loyola. Here, we make the rulers and abide by them; if you can, that is. A football match in Loyola is often a brutal contest of mind, body and words ( add a few broken teeth, a fractured arm or two and a few twisted ankle here and there. After all, one cannot be too careful!!). We Loyolites are totally into what ever we do- be it sports, arts or studies. So here is football as it was born-raw and untamed.

But sometimes(or maybe often), things go a bit out of hand(I mean, WAY outta hand…[:D]). Enthusiasm overrides all sense of time and space( too much of a good thing, you know……). The game often stretches beyond the forty-minute-break and well into the fifth period and after that, the triumphant procession of winners swaggers off the ground(followed by a not-so-triumphant losers…), only to come to an abrupt halt outside a room fondly referred to as the “principal’s parlor”, after being subjected to a “mild” persuasion by a certain somebody who has made that room his abode. The ones who were seen with jubilant expressions can then be seen as the disgruntled guards of the parlor, for the rest of the afternoon.

On the other not-so-eventful days, we Loyolites simply like to laze about near the benches, putting on the clothes which were discarded earlier so unceremoniously. Often, this is followed by the arrival of one or other of the uncles from the office, so as to put us in the right course, back to class.

…..Well, in case I am not mistaken thoroughly, there’s one of them advancing so menacingly in this direction. So, whoever you are, wherever you come from and whatever you do, stranger, you might just want to run……..