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..]

Along The Memory Lane.......The Echo Of A Battle Paean*........

 "*": paean is a battle cry, a cheer or a slogan. Take your pick

Shook from the golden bough of cobwebs high above in the dizzying heights of the ceiling, dust turbinated down and down, with a deliberate languor that spoke of arrogance and even a self styled Godly persona. In a sluggard pace that could have rivaled even the slowest of snails, it spiraled down and down. The crowd watched, fascinated as their mesmerized eyes followed the swaggering descent of the dust particles. But as the descent shifted their focus to a lower part of the X-large auditorium, the eyes of the 400 strong crowd as well as that of the few players on the court fastened on what was present to the rear end of the hall.

A fifty strong mob stood there.

 Silent and watchful.

 Bunched up together, their eyes and ears as one, strained intently for that blast of whistle that seemed not to be coming soon. They were a single entity. Not many. But one. A restless dog straining on his leash. A lion caged and bound, raring to pounce, seeking out the prime time.

Then a shrill blast echoed from the puny whistle on the hands of the referee. Simultaneously, with a co-ordination to rival even that of the best of choirs, a few voices rose up from the rear…..

“
Arre Sabse Aage Ladke Kaun??”

Almost as if on cue, five hundred voices battered the ear drums as one…

“LOYOLA…..LOYOLA….”

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


This is cheering, chanting and requiem, the Loyola style.

In the last five decades Loyola has emerged as the undisputed best in this country of God. The rampaging lion, lord of the forest, the Manchester United in the EPL, the Illuminator who elucidated the untraversed trails to the ones who toiled hard to simply tag along from behind.

But why?

The question indeed has perturbed the greatest of minds all these years. Schools wondered, teachers gaped aghast and students, well, they just sat there swore out aloud,” What the FUCK is wrong with them??”(Least they could do, actually. After all one must always do what one does best.)

Well, this is us. This is our school. No, strike that. This is our home. The entity that made us the individuals who we claim to be today.

We belong here. No where else.

Here, as the fag end to my long yet so short stint in Loyola looms ominously closer and closer, it is the spirit Loyola instilled in me that I remember most today. Cheers and chants find the now-so-familiar path to my tongue even in the most unlikeliest of times( like the time when I was so kindly “requested” to grant audience to the principal and the time when I was writing a stupid exam with 150 or so other souls. Well, in the latter situation, I had nothing constructive to keep me occupied anyway. So I guess for once I could be pardoned). These battle cries of Loyola have become so tediously familiar to my family that they so conveniently tell me to shut my trap every time I get a bout of cheering. Well, easy for them to say. 

    

For they are so at ease, being blissfully unaware of that feeling of exhilaration we Loyolites receive, every time our voices are pressed to service for our school.

It is indeed this attitude, this spirit, this relation with our alma mater that sets us apart.

One distinction that took Loyola to the top of the food chain.

It was one fine morning in the eve of the grand daddy of ‘em all, La Fest, that the pride of being a Loyolite reached its peak. The days that followed helped us concrete that belief. But that is another story, eh?

It is a feeling so indescribably satisfying that we receive when we join in the cheering for our school. That inexplicable contentment. The feeling of elation and exhilaration. Nothing in my life that I have experienced has had this effect on me, or my friends, so to say.

It will be with the greatest amount of regret that bye the end of 2011, that 150 souls will step out of that seventeen acres of heaven on earth, past that wrought iron gates.

But we will not perish.

For,

Once A Loyolite, Always A Loyolite.


Coz till the end of our days, we will be able to call out thus:


"People Wanna Know,
Who We Are
So We Tell Them
We, Are The Loyolites"