It was raining again.
“It is monsoon. What else did you expect ?” We were trying to be optimistic . Our league match was to be held in a couple of days . After gathering all players , cajoling them to come this far , the skies open up. What do you do ? I sat gloomily staring at the pitch getting beaten up by furious raindrops and steadily changing into a rectangle of bubbling muddy slush, amid the lush green of the rest of the field.
The raindrops beat a relentless rhythm on the asbestos roof. It was normally impossible to sit like this on a hot sunny day. The asbestos would radiate solar heat inside , and the metal chairs ready to bake lazy butts. The stands would be shimmering . But today , the rain made everything cool and the roof was welcome , so were the chairs , with rusty angles poking out of its ancient ,worn carcass.
Suddenly , out into the rain came a group of boys, shouting screaming and chasing each other . They positioned themselves on the pitch and started playing mock cricket . Running ,splashing to and fro, their clothes stuck to the thin bodies , they squealed with delight. A collective roar rose from the throat of our group.
"They are ruining our pitch."
"Bhago yahan se , kutto, (Go away, dogs ,)This is our pitch ."
The urchins stopped and stared at us , blinking in the rain. Next moment , they continued their play , some even started mocking us .
"Bhaago,kutto!" They danced in unison.
That , was the last straw. Waving bats , wickets , iron chairs and other weapons , older and better off boys from under the stands , poured out into the rain . The urchins didn't expect us to vent our frustrations like this , they ran pell-mell. Some over enthusiastic players threw some of the said projectiles at the receding backs of the urchins , slowed down by rain and slush. Some fell. They were badly beaten up .
Rains stopped .
Parents and by parents I mean, real mean looking people from the jhuggi-jhonpadis (slums) arrived in hordes. People who reproduce like cockroaches , and unleash their offsprings like weapons of mass destruction on civilization . Who are not bothered if their kids live or die , or their whereabouts either , but who will amass to beat the shit out of a suit-wallah chap, if they lay their hands on them . What I didn't know was that I was about to become one of them .Very soon.
Boys , afraid of their wrath, went underground. Curfew was clamped on the town. Matters went totally out of hand .
We were first temporarily suspended and then rusticated from our respective educational institutions . Overnight, we were branded criminals .
Some of us belonged to really wealthy and influential families . They stayed put. Others , like me , were more of a middle class. We were cuffed by our fathers , taken to thanas (police stations ), paraded infront of our Principals and roundly denounced . Thankfully , none of the urchins died.At last , we were sentenced four months of rigorous community service .We would, in addition, also lose one academic year.
It involved sweeping roads , while undergoing the added humiliation of watching our classmates swish past on imported cars, scarcely throwing a glance in our direction. There were four of us . None of us ever threw anything at those boys . The guys who threw the metal chairs were seated in air -conditioned cars. We were seen and named by some of the urchins who identified us later. One of the urchins was called Lachu.I knew him, for his mother worked as a maid at some houses in our colony. His father was a perpetual drunkard and an occasional worker at the soap factory . Occasional, because he would booze off , absent for days, and the management was too terrified of the trade union to chuck him out.
We four would see lachu loitering around us wherever we went . He would hang around the streets we worked, then he would sit in the langar hall whenever we went there to do "sewa" which involved serving / cooking food in vats .Earlier , we thought he was mocking us , and we would ignore him. Alam , the hot headed amongst us, came close to blows with him on several occasions . He hated the sight of the boy . We did too, only we weren't so vocal.
Then one day , two weeks later , we were coming out of janitor's office , having replaced our brooms back, when we saw Lachu , pacing up and down outside with couple of his cronies. We ignored him and went our way.
That evening , we were summoned by the town DSP .He called us and handed us "Maafinamas"(letter of forgiveness). We were forgiven for our misdeeds and we could resume college. He said a boy named Lachu had cleared our names by recounting the real events .
Alam , as usual angry, retorted , "Saala , pehle nahin bol sakta tha!!" (Couldn't the bugger tell this earlier?)
Lachu , standing outside , heard this and answered , " I was terrified Alam bhaiya."
Alam completely lost it and lunged towards him. It took all of us to grab him and keep him back from letting history repeat itself.
We resumed college to mixed reactions.
Days later, we came to know how Lachu was coerced into implicating us and exonerating others , as one of our wealthier friend's father owned the soap factory where his father worked, and his mother worked as a maid in their houses.
“It is monsoon. What else did you expect ?” We were trying to be optimistic . Our league match was to be held in a couple of days . After gathering all players , cajoling them to come this far , the skies open up. What do you do ? I sat gloomily staring at the pitch getting beaten up by furious raindrops and steadily changing into a rectangle of bubbling muddy slush, amid the lush green of the rest of the field.
The raindrops beat a relentless rhythm on the asbestos roof. It was normally impossible to sit like this on a hot sunny day. The asbestos would radiate solar heat inside , and the metal chairs ready to bake lazy butts. The stands would be shimmering . But today , the rain made everything cool and the roof was welcome , so were the chairs , with rusty angles poking out of its ancient ,worn carcass.
Suddenly , out into the rain came a group of boys, shouting screaming and chasing each other . They positioned themselves on the pitch and started playing mock cricket . Running ,splashing to and fro, their clothes stuck to the thin bodies , they squealed with delight. A collective roar rose from the throat of our group.
"They are ruining our pitch."
"Bhago yahan se , kutto, (Go away, dogs ,)This is our pitch ."
The urchins stopped and stared at us , blinking in the rain. Next moment , they continued their play , some even started mocking us .
"Bhaago,kutto!" They danced in unison.
That , was the last straw. Waving bats , wickets , iron chairs and other weapons , older and better off boys from under the stands , poured out into the rain . The urchins didn't expect us to vent our frustrations like this , they ran pell-mell. Some over enthusiastic players threw some of the said projectiles at the receding backs of the urchins , slowed down by rain and slush. Some fell. They were badly beaten up .
Rains stopped .
Parents and by parents I mean, real mean looking people from the jhuggi-jhonpadis (slums) arrived in hordes. People who reproduce like cockroaches , and unleash their offsprings like weapons of mass destruction on civilization . Who are not bothered if their kids live or die , or their whereabouts either , but who will amass to beat the shit out of a suit-wallah chap, if they lay their hands on them . What I didn't know was that I was about to become one of them .Very soon.
Boys , afraid of their wrath, went underground. Curfew was clamped on the town. Matters went totally out of hand .
We were first temporarily suspended and then rusticated from our respective educational institutions . Overnight, we were branded criminals .
Some of us belonged to really wealthy and influential families . They stayed put. Others , like me , were more of a middle class. We were cuffed by our fathers , taken to thanas (police stations ), paraded infront of our Principals and roundly denounced . Thankfully , none of the urchins died.At last , we were sentenced four months of rigorous community service .We would, in addition, also lose one academic year.
It involved sweeping roads , while undergoing the added humiliation of watching our classmates swish past on imported cars, scarcely throwing a glance in our direction. There were four of us . None of us ever threw anything at those boys . The guys who threw the metal chairs were seated in air -conditioned cars. We were seen and named by some of the urchins who identified us later. One of the urchins was called Lachu.I knew him, for his mother worked as a maid at some houses in our colony. His father was a perpetual drunkard and an occasional worker at the soap factory . Occasional, because he would booze off , absent for days, and the management was too terrified of the trade union to chuck him out.
We four would see lachu loitering around us wherever we went . He would hang around the streets we worked, then he would sit in the langar hall whenever we went there to do "sewa" which involved serving / cooking food in vats .Earlier , we thought he was mocking us , and we would ignore him. Alam , the hot headed amongst us, came close to blows with him on several occasions . He hated the sight of the boy . We did too, only we weren't so vocal.
Then one day , two weeks later , we were coming out of janitor's office , having replaced our brooms back, when we saw Lachu , pacing up and down outside with couple of his cronies. We ignored him and went our way.
That evening , we were summoned by the town DSP .He called us and handed us "Maafinamas"(letter of forgiveness). We were forgiven for our misdeeds and we could resume college. He said a boy named Lachu had cleared our names by recounting the real events .
Alam , as usual angry, retorted , "Saala , pehle nahin bol sakta tha!!" (Couldn't the bugger tell this earlier?)
Lachu , standing outside , heard this and answered , " I was terrified Alam bhaiya."
Alam completely lost it and lunged towards him. It took all of us to grab him and keep him back from letting history repeat itself.
We resumed college to mixed reactions.
Days later, we came to know how Lachu was coerced into implicating us and exonerating others , as one of our wealthier friend's father owned the soap factory where his father worked, and his mother worked as a maid in their houses.
Might is right always.....
ReplyDelete.in gods world too
Might is right always.....
ReplyDelete.in gods world too