My apologies to you my reader for the delay in posting the sequel to Namuney! What do i tell you about the trials and tribulations that i have been facing? Certainly, you'd agree that time is the only commodity available to us everyday but still we run short on it!
Well enough said, let's get to the crux!
If you recollect a long time we spoke about the abysmal number of crowds that use the local trains of Bombay. Believe it or not, 6.9 million people like you use the local trains every single day! Of course this is the case excepting those days when the city enjoy's a respite from the grind!
What is the crowd? Is it a humongous body with a head, tail and everything else in between, something like a giant dragon?
If you agree with the above, you're one of those people who actually enjoy life in Bombay. Travelling by train for you is beneath your dignity, and you've never stepped out of home without your air conditioned car! But then, if you're one of those people who travel from far and work hard for your daily bread, you'd know better!Anyways, let me describe it for the benefit of the those who know it not!
The crowd is nothing but a living mass of people. Individuals with their dreams, aspirations, lives and fears who don't have an option other than use the crowded train to travel to their karmabhoomis. Putting it simply, travelling to their place of work!Each one of these people is as different in nature from each other as their fingerprints. "Birds of the same feather, flock together" is a saying which does not find purchase in the local train. People don't travel together under miserable
commuting conditions because they like to do so, they do so because they don't have a choice. Let's talk about a few of the characters you're likely to meet on any given journey in a regular local train.
I. The Skirmisher
Remember we spoke about the skirmishers, the people who attack the local the first! These are the people who ensure their pals get a decent seat in the train. The skirmisher is the one who receives the greatest amount of flak amongst all of the people who barge in! Entering the train first, entering the train at a speed to ensure they're a splitsecond before the other skirmishers in order to get a seat; and once that they grab a seat, they don't leave it at that. They also ensure they block a sufficient amount of space to ensure their pals also get a place to sit. If you ask me, this is the most difficult part of the entire battle. Oh you have no idea of the extent people would go to just to get a seat.
"Get a move on motherfucker, this seat is blocked"
"Oh yeah, says who sisterfucker...?"
More often than not, such a colourful exchange of dialogues often end up with fist fights. Blows keep getting exchanged, but the skirmisher holds ground. The skirmisher's nightmare comes to an end when his team members come to his rescue, and occupy the seats they fought to maintain.
After the first furious five minutes, everything calms down and people exchange pleasantries and gossip yet again and memories of the battle are relegated to the archives, forgotten and erased from memory.
II. The Grumbler
So far we've seen the more generous and altruistic side of humanity, now for the more uglier side of it.
"Hey, mind your foot, will you? This train's not your father's property!" You'll hear this comment coming from the standees section, or the standees occupying the foot space between two rows of seated passengers. This irate flurry of words comes from a passenger who's obviously not at ease with his present situation in the train.
As you would've guessed before never mind if you did not, travelling in the train requires a certain level of tolerance to intrusion into personal space. You cannot expect to travel like a king in the cattle class. You want class, get out of the train. This place is for the spartans and the great unwashed!
But no matter how many times this point has been expressed in words or other means, there would always be someone who's going to disagree with this!
Enter the Grumbler!
The Grumbler is the specimen of humanity who doesn't enjoy his/her present predicament but does not have the courage to fight/change it! The best that the Grumbler can do is make a hue and cry and create a ruckus, but when it comes to fighting, they back off at the first sign of it.
Good, now the argument ceases right? No, the grumbler is not one of those who'll give up that easy. He'll stop grumbling and start mumbling! Mumbling away in a corner of the train where only his nearest neighbours can hear his tale of woe and displeasure. He ensures his words don't reach the aggressor who won't mind translating words into blows for better understanding!
III. The Fighter
The Fighter is by far the bravest, but also the rarest kind of commuter you'd ever find in a train. There would be grumblings and angry words aplenty, but few ever culminate into fights! Awww, you're spoiling the fun. No fun without a fist fight!
Oh yes, i completely agree with you my violence loving reader, there's nothing possibly more entertaining than a fight after a tiring day to spruce up the entertainment. Of course, the fighting's all good fun as long as i'm just a spectator, right? Most of the crowd agrees to this undoubtedly, but there are a few warlike travellers in our midst who'd like nothing more than a tight fist on their faces or feel words are inadequate to express their feelings!
This strata of commuter society is most easily identified by their attire and attitude. They come in with a swagger and more often than not, their clothes are either garish or dishevelled. They hang out close to the doors where they can enjoy a fresh blast of the polluted, humid Bombay air and get a free hairdo minus the gel and effort!
Grumbling with this fellow is like asking for an invitation to Hell! They're a stark contrast from the Grumbler who's a fat, balding fellow wearing formal clothes and thinks chappals or sports shoes are perfectly fine with a trouser!
These guys definitely mean business. Better not piss them off lest you'd enjoy the prospect of a broken tooth or a bleeding
nose!
All said and done, this is what our crowd is all about. Deep down, they're just good human beings who're just trying to
make peace with life in general!
Cheers to the crowd! Zeig Heil!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Namuney # 1 - The Crowd
"Life is but a play, and we're all actors on stage here" quoted Shakespeare not verbatim though a while ago but it still holds true to this day; and it has a significant relevance to the story i'm telling you today!
To the resident of Bom Bahia who travel by public transport be it for work or education, travelling by train would be an experience you'd know only too well. Unless you're one of the more endowed ones in terms of money or time or both to travel by bus or car within the city! But if you're one among the People, you'll relate to this tale.
We Bombayiites spend such a significant part of our life in travel that it itself becomes an extension of life. A family outside family, someone to dote upon for help or advice, that someone whom you can ask about erectile dysfunction or a nagging wifey! Those who come from the far flung suburbs or travel to New Bombay as a part of daily life would definitely agree on the colossal amount of time spent just in reaching office or returning home.
During rush hours the train becomes not just a conduit for commuters, but also human feelings. Name it and you'll find it vividly expressed out here! Let's talk about a few of the colourful characters who make the train journey what it is!
Picture this. You're standing on a crowded platform. Now 'crowded' in Bombay parlance would mean a population of homo sapiens more than the total number of people in a small European village. Now this is an event which would happen during rush hour. Rush hour is the time when this crowd aspires to reach office/college or reach home. And let me tell you, this aspiration is a feeling that would stand the fury of an highly pissed off elephant or maybe even make it turn tail!
Enough said now, you're standing on the crowded platform waiting for the train to come. You're a first timer to this particular 'local'. Local meaning the train that starts off the platform on which you're waiting. The crowd is quiet as of now and is gathered around in small groups chatting, eating and generally having a good time. From a distance you see something coming. It's still too far off to tell which direction is it headed, but there's a palpable excitement in the crowd. They've begun to shuffle around and are waiting on the edge of the platform. Some even wait on the tracks on the opposite side.
"What the heck? What's all this for?" you wonder. The distant object was a train (you're high on booze or grass if you expected it to be a giant caterpillar!) and it's headed your way to the platform slowly but surely. You can notice the tension's begun to step up among the populace. "Hold, hold, hold, as one, as one, hold the line, make ready" you can almost hear these military commands off these people with no military experience whatsoever. Did you say people? Look closely.
The crowd has become one unit. At places they may seem divided, but the objective's clear in every mind. The train pulls into the station and for a moment, there's a pin drop silence. Of course that is the case if you discount the hooting of the train to clear off these adrenaline charged warriors lest they come in contact with the train and suddenly find themselves meeting Demeter in Hades.
The train has imperceptibly slowed down in its speed, and that's the signal!
"CHARGE!" The skirmishers rush in first before the train can stop eager to claim a prize for themselves and their gangs. Metal meets metal meets leather meets plastic meets everything else comprehensible as they rush into the coaches. They swing in like acrobats on the door's handles. There's a slight gap between the metal door and the metal coach when being fitted to allow for smooth operations. "Wham, wham, wham!" the doors loudly call out in pain as they bang against the coach's frame all because of our skirmishers. Hey, what did you think? This is WAR!
Now the train has slowed down for everyone to jump aboard. Mind you, you'd better be fleet footed else you'd be wiped out like an insect before an elephant. The crowd now makes one gigantic rush towards the door. The span of the door is five feet, and the whole lot of that space immediately disappears before a mass of flesh, blood and bone hell bent on securing the coveted prize. A seat to relax that tired butt!
This is the best part of the fray. This is where the action is. There were people smart enough to claim a seat in the train by travelling one stop before our local's stop. 'Dedhshana' is the local parlance in Bom Bahia for these people. Colourful expletives fill the air as would a battlefield with bullets and arrows, and the infantry crash into each other putting muscle, flesh and bone to the ultimate test. What good are all these if they can't win you a seat.
Every fray has a sufficient population of cannon fodder, and so does our local. Scrawny, slow fools also manage to clamber into the local in the melee, but they're not quick enough or smart enough to make space of the rest. What happens next? FIGHT!
Expletives, fistfights, punches, blows, kicks, bites and weaponry of all sorts are put to the test, and these idiots take the greatest brunt. They crumple under the relentless blows finally clearing the passage or making space for the precious rear to relax! Apart from these, the dedhshanas also lock horns with the rest of the gangs if there's an issue of turf taken over! What do you think we are? We too've drunk our mother's milk, and we'll show you what we've got!
The fray lasts for a good five minutes after which peace comes into play. The rears have found suitable 'cushions', so there's no more reason to be angry! All over now boys, it's all over!
The crowd yet again bears semblance to the previous mood. Everyone's occupied with themselves or their groups.
So what if you didn't land a seat tomorrow, try to get one tomorrow. We'll be locking horns yet again!
To the resident of Bom Bahia who travel by public transport be it for work or education, travelling by train would be an experience you'd know only too well. Unless you're one of the more endowed ones in terms of money or time or both to travel by bus or car within the city! But if you're one among the People, you'll relate to this tale.
We Bombayiites spend such a significant part of our life in travel that it itself becomes an extension of life. A family outside family, someone to dote upon for help or advice, that someone whom you can ask about erectile dysfunction or a nagging wifey! Those who come from the far flung suburbs or travel to New Bombay as a part of daily life would definitely agree on the colossal amount of time spent just in reaching office or returning home.
During rush hours the train becomes not just a conduit for commuters, but also human feelings. Name it and you'll find it vividly expressed out here! Let's talk about a few of the colourful characters who make the train journey what it is!
Picture this. You're standing on a crowded platform. Now 'crowded' in Bombay parlance would mean a population of homo sapiens more than the total number of people in a small European village. Now this is an event which would happen during rush hour. Rush hour is the time when this crowd aspires to reach office/college or reach home. And let me tell you, this aspiration is a feeling that would stand the fury of an highly pissed off elephant or maybe even make it turn tail!
Enough said now, you're standing on the crowded platform waiting for the train to come. You're a first timer to this particular 'local'. Local meaning the train that starts off the platform on which you're waiting. The crowd is quiet as of now and is gathered around in small groups chatting, eating and generally having a good time. From a distance you see something coming. It's still too far off to tell which direction is it headed, but there's a palpable excitement in the crowd. They've begun to shuffle around and are waiting on the edge of the platform. Some even wait on the tracks on the opposite side.
"What the heck? What's all this for?" you wonder. The distant object was a train (you're high on booze or grass if you expected it to be a giant caterpillar!) and it's headed your way to the platform slowly but surely. You can notice the tension's begun to step up among the populace. "Hold, hold, hold, as one, as one, hold the line, make ready" you can almost hear these military commands off these people with no military experience whatsoever. Did you say people? Look closely.
The crowd has become one unit. At places they may seem divided, but the objective's clear in every mind. The train pulls into the station and for a moment, there's a pin drop silence. Of course that is the case if you discount the hooting of the train to clear off these adrenaline charged warriors lest they come in contact with the train and suddenly find themselves meeting Demeter in Hades.
The train has imperceptibly slowed down in its speed, and that's the signal!
"CHARGE!" The skirmishers rush in first before the train can stop eager to claim a prize for themselves and their gangs. Metal meets metal meets leather meets plastic meets everything else comprehensible as they rush into the coaches. They swing in like acrobats on the door's handles. There's a slight gap between the metal door and the metal coach when being fitted to allow for smooth operations. "Wham, wham, wham!" the doors loudly call out in pain as they bang against the coach's frame all because of our skirmishers. Hey, what did you think? This is WAR!
Now the train has slowed down for everyone to jump aboard. Mind you, you'd better be fleet footed else you'd be wiped out like an insect before an elephant. The crowd now makes one gigantic rush towards the door. The span of the door is five feet, and the whole lot of that space immediately disappears before a mass of flesh, blood and bone hell bent on securing the coveted prize. A seat to relax that tired butt!
This is the best part of the fray. This is where the action is. There were people smart enough to claim a seat in the train by travelling one stop before our local's stop. 'Dedhshana' is the local parlance in Bom Bahia for these people. Colourful expletives fill the air as would a battlefield with bullets and arrows, and the infantry crash into each other putting muscle, flesh and bone to the ultimate test. What good are all these if they can't win you a seat.
Every fray has a sufficient population of cannon fodder, and so does our local. Scrawny, slow fools also manage to clamber into the local in the melee, but they're not quick enough or smart enough to make space of the rest. What happens next? FIGHT!
Expletives, fistfights, punches, blows, kicks, bites and weaponry of all sorts are put to the test, and these idiots take the greatest brunt. They crumple under the relentless blows finally clearing the passage or making space for the precious rear to relax! Apart from these, the dedhshanas also lock horns with the rest of the gangs if there's an issue of turf taken over! What do you think we are? We too've drunk our mother's milk, and we'll show you what we've got!
The fray lasts for a good five minutes after which peace comes into play. The rears have found suitable 'cushions', so there's no more reason to be angry! All over now boys, it's all over!
The crowd yet again bears semblance to the previous mood. Everyone's occupied with themselves or their groups.
So what if you didn't land a seat tomorrow, try to get one tomorrow. We'll be locking horns yet again!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Saaz ki ek shaam!
Have you my reader ever visited a rock concert? Of course if pumping music and adrenaline isn't just your cup of tea, you'd obviously say no. But what if i promised to take you to a different world altogether?
Imagine a thousand strong audience, imagine the number thousand literally! Not a thousand souls calmly munching popcorn or simply admiring some soft music being played on stage. I'm referring to a thousand souls dancing, singing, shouting, gesticulating, and indulging in every possible manner of expression. And all this happens in one single venue, one place of gathering, one huge helluva f***ing riotous mob! But this is a mob of joy, of course you can discount the violence provided their demands are being met!
A mosh pit's a place which souls such as these call temple, and the artist is their Messiah, Allah or call it whatever you may. And yes, there are atheists who believe in this God!
There's an eerie silence at the mosh pit. People have begun to gather but then they're all rather subdued. Looks like a grand congregation for somebody's funeral. Why so serious? Why not man, the artist is still to arrive!
The crowd's waiting for the arrival of their God. This God knows his/her status and knows just how to exploit it! They usually never make it on time for the show. Making their devotees wait makes them feel good, or maybe this might be my prejudiced, jaundiced point of view.
And then one fellow catches a glimpse of something, or somebody. A cry of exultation goes up that soon infects the whole crowd. Sometimes it could be somewhat different. A compere or a host comes on stage to heat up the mob with expectation and desire. Ooooh! This is a sight that must not be missed! Nothing on earth could ever compare to this sight!
The God comes up on stage, and a gaggle of girls oh so beautiful, so pretty, so quiet looking girls simply go marbles at somebody who'd be their daddy's age. "F*** you girl, what makes you dig that d***?" is a question many an anxious teenage mind would be having! But then life itself follows no logic, so leave aside your thinking when you're coming here. This a place where the heart rules the head.
The bouncer's got to be the enemy number one of the God's fans. Flexing biceps and screaming invectives threatening a painful death to those who disobey, they command a respect that's seldom physically challenged, unless you've been watching way too many 'angry young man' movies!
But then think not that the bouncer's the God's undefeated personal guard. The riotous mob has a trick or two up their sleeve as well. On purpose, someone somewhere causes a distraction. The bouncer quickly rushes to the scene, and for one breath of a moment, the gate's unguarded, absolutely open for anyone. And the assault begins. At places where barricades separate the haves from the have nots, an enterprising chappie makes a quick leap over the barricade. This is the signal for all hell to break loose, and before you know it there's a steady flow of crazy fans leaping over the barricade until the bouncers come back.
God you must be thinking "i'm much better watching the whole thing from the safety and privacy of my home". But then, this is an experience in itself, something to be enjoyed just as much as the music. This is what we call 'emotion'. You aren't no true fan until you do something as crazy!
Trust me, all the action above happened before you could even bat an eyelid!
Enough of heating you up, let's get to the core of the apple!
The God always makes a start with one of his/her biggest hit numbers and this is what the crowd's been crying for, been dying for!
Singing, roaring, crying, laughing, the mosh pit's one place where nearly all human emotions run amock. The action simply keeps getting better and better as time goes by. It better be else there's a crowd that'll demand immediate justice, and they don't follow no court of law!
Soon enough, a variety of smells in addition to sounds hit your olfactory glands. A veritable assault indeed! It's the smell equivalent of emotion. Ranging from smokes smoked by the 'enlightened' ones among the crowd to the smell of sweat, your nose'll be subject to nearly everything! I once found myself subjected to the combination of sweat and stale hair oil assaulting my sense of smell! F*** &^*&*& $$%#@@#
The sound throbs through your body and in your ears. You can actually feel the music pulsating through your body, and deafening your ears. Oh yes for this to happen, you've got to be really close to the stage.
And so finally with much misgivings to everyone ranging from the government to the grumpy old man who might call the cops to cut out the noise, the event comes to a close. As mentioned before, the mob will not back down.
The God tears off a piece of his clothing, throws it into the mob, and there goes up a yell, yodel and everthing else in between. This has got to be the best part of the entire deal. Confusion, chaos and music in between. Anarchy rules supreme and for a moment everything's forgotten!
Reluctantly but surely, the show comes to an end, and the mob dies out replaced by quiet people wending their way out of the pit headed someplace they call home.
If ever my dear reader you get a chance to visit such a concert, please do so. It's an experience not to be forgotten.
Adieos until next time.
Imagine a thousand strong audience, imagine the number thousand literally! Not a thousand souls calmly munching popcorn or simply admiring some soft music being played on stage. I'm referring to a thousand souls dancing, singing, shouting, gesticulating, and indulging in every possible manner of expression. And all this happens in one single venue, one place of gathering, one huge helluva f***ing riotous mob! But this is a mob of joy, of course you can discount the violence provided their demands are being met!
A mosh pit's a place which souls such as these call temple, and the artist is their Messiah, Allah or call it whatever you may. And yes, there are atheists who believe in this God!
There's an eerie silence at the mosh pit. People have begun to gather but then they're all rather subdued. Looks like a grand congregation for somebody's funeral. Why so serious? Why not man, the artist is still to arrive!
The crowd's waiting for the arrival of their God. This God knows his/her status and knows just how to exploit it! They usually never make it on time for the show. Making their devotees wait makes them feel good, or maybe this might be my prejudiced, jaundiced point of view.
And then one fellow catches a glimpse of something, or somebody. A cry of exultation goes up that soon infects the whole crowd. Sometimes it could be somewhat different. A compere or a host comes on stage to heat up the mob with expectation and desire. Ooooh! This is a sight that must not be missed! Nothing on earth could ever compare to this sight!
The God comes up on stage, and a gaggle of girls oh so beautiful, so pretty, so quiet looking girls simply go marbles at somebody who'd be their daddy's age. "F*** you girl, what makes you dig that d***?" is a question many an anxious teenage mind would be having! But then life itself follows no logic, so leave aside your thinking when you're coming here. This a place where the heart rules the head.
The bouncer's got to be the enemy number one of the God's fans. Flexing biceps and screaming invectives threatening a painful death to those who disobey, they command a respect that's seldom physically challenged, unless you've been watching way too many 'angry young man' movies!
But then think not that the bouncer's the God's undefeated personal guard. The riotous mob has a trick or two up their sleeve as well. On purpose, someone somewhere causes a distraction. The bouncer quickly rushes to the scene, and for one breath of a moment, the gate's unguarded, absolutely open for anyone. And the assault begins. At places where barricades separate the haves from the have nots, an enterprising chappie makes a quick leap over the barricade. This is the signal for all hell to break loose, and before you know it there's a steady flow of crazy fans leaping over the barricade until the bouncers come back.
God you must be thinking "i'm much better watching the whole thing from the safety and privacy of my home". But then, this is an experience in itself, something to be enjoyed just as much as the music. This is what we call 'emotion'. You aren't no true fan until you do something as crazy!
Trust me, all the action above happened before you could even bat an eyelid!
Enough of heating you up, let's get to the core of the apple!
The God always makes a start with one of his/her biggest hit numbers and this is what the crowd's been crying for, been dying for!
Singing, roaring, crying, laughing, the mosh pit's one place where nearly all human emotions run amock. The action simply keeps getting better and better as time goes by. It better be else there's a crowd that'll demand immediate justice, and they don't follow no court of law!
Soon enough, a variety of smells in addition to sounds hit your olfactory glands. A veritable assault indeed! It's the smell equivalent of emotion. Ranging from smokes smoked by the 'enlightened' ones among the crowd to the smell of sweat, your nose'll be subject to nearly everything! I once found myself subjected to the combination of sweat and stale hair oil assaulting my sense of smell! F*** &^*&*& $$%#@@#
The sound throbs through your body and in your ears. You can actually feel the music pulsating through your body, and deafening your ears. Oh yes for this to happen, you've got to be really close to the stage.
And so finally with much misgivings to everyone ranging from the government to the grumpy old man who might call the cops to cut out the noise, the event comes to a close. As mentioned before, the mob will not back down.
The God tears off a piece of his clothing, throws it into the mob, and there goes up a yell, yodel and everthing else in between. This has got to be the best part of the entire deal. Confusion, chaos and music in between. Anarchy rules supreme and for a moment everything's forgotten!
Reluctantly but surely, the show comes to an end, and the mob dies out replaced by quiet people wending their way out of the pit headed someplace they call home.
If ever my dear reader you get a chance to visit such a concert, please do so. It's an experience not to be forgotten.
Adieos until next time.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Kutte ki zindagi - Return home
Chapter 1: Nowhere to go
The fray had been SS's last, and this was the same with the others as well. Bhoora was shaking and his voice came in deep sobs. He had been adopted into the gang by Mum, and so he had a deep affection for Mum. Mum was the first to fall to the humans. SS had been beaten to death by them. He too was hit by the strange red thing that hit Mum, but he got more than just one. None of us, not even SS knew what this new weapon was. A terrible tragedy was the norm to learn, if life was your teacher.
Bhoora managed to escape the humans and hid in a corner. He watched SS as he staggered with the last of his strength trying to create a diversion at the cost of his life. One of the humans came with a heavy stick and brought it down on SS's head. Like Langda before him, SS died without a whimper. One blow to his head was enough to end his services on Earth.
The others too succumbed to the red stings. After the deed was done, the humans cleared the field. Soon, there was nothing remaining that spoke of the carnage that had taken place except for SS's blood that soaked the dry tarmac on that fateful day. What a terrible waste of life? What wanton destruction? Who were these humans, what gave them the right to kill us who didn't strike down their kinsmen even when we had them at our mercy? Is this what makes you human? Is this why you look down upon us?
Tears were flowing uncontrollably and all three of us bundled together in our moment of sorrow as we used to during the cold wintry nights. Of course then it was for warmth, but this time it was for support.
Thannkfully, Fate was kind enough to let us weep to our heart's content. But day was soon breaking over the brow of the sky, and soon we'd have to start moving. There could be more vicious humans here too.
It was terribly difficult for Grease to control his temper against humans. He'd always been the one who broke off from a fight, but the news of SS and the others death had been too much. He woke with a grim expression looking for a fight. His tear stained eyes did not betray a sign of fear, nor any other emotion other than rage.
He soon found his fight. A rag picker, a comical looking human whom we always barked at because they scavenged scrap from places we fed was his first target. Bhoora's account of SS's death drove him into a frenzy. Without a sound he was charging at the fellow. He had his back to us, and so didn't realize what was in store for him.
Grease bit hard on the knee cracking bone, and the rag picker fell screaming. He struck back at Grease with his curved rag picking tool but Grease was unstoppable. Bhoora and i tried hard to pull Grease off him lest we attract human ire here as well. After much biting and barking, Grease let off the rag picker who now looked like a rag doll in pain and blood. We ran for all we were worth from the scene of 'crime'.
"Are you out of your mind, have you forgotten the law? We don't attack humans, we don't kill humans!! You'll get us killed as well just like Mum and SS. Is that what they died for?"
"I'd rather die fighting that cursed biped than live in fear of what they'll do to me! I'll avenge Mother's death, as will i avenge SS and the rest of our family". Grease's voice sounded raspy. He had been barking and growling far more than his throat would allow him. "Why didn't you let me finish him. SS and Mum would have been pleased with me".
"SS and the others are dead. You must learn to accept this fact and move on Grease. War with the human race will surely bring death upon all of us, and we don't intend to die by a human's hand". Bhoora sounded cold, but he spoke the truth. There was no sense in all of us dying for those who were already gone. "Let's return to our old turf". His voice came out more like a command than a statement.
Yes, we'll return home. Where else can we go now?
Chapter 2 The long journey home
Puphood was long since over for us, but we still had been behaving like pups. Behaving like pups until now. The sight was indeed menacing. Three fierce looking dogs now made their way back to Thakurdwar. We anticipated trouble on the way back for we were mending our way through the turfs of other gangs.
We had covered these places running the time before, but this time there was no running. The day was still breaking across the horizon when the first fight began. A skinny looking mongrel came at us barking for all his worth. We didn't bother to look.
"Don't you know this is our turf, who'd you think you are to be tresspassing these grounds. Shall i teach...."
Before the words could even come out, Grease was at his throat holding it in a vice like grip. We didn't bother to talk with the mongrel but his threatening growls had now turned to piteous whimpers. His gang stood watching, but none dared to make a move. Surely we looked like hardened fighters indeed. If happiness made you sweet, grief made you tough. And we were tougher than nails as we made our way past the others.
At the end of the curb, Grease dropped him without a word just as he'd picked him up. We left him there more dead than alive!
A good portion of this trek back was through no mans land, but we didn't bother. And at last, we could see our good ol' turf in the distance.
Chapter 3 You've got to earn your respect
Excitement and joy is what we felt as we could see and smell those good ol' sights and smells, but there was something different here. A new smell greeted us. The smell of a new gang who'd taken over our turf!
We were greeted the same way we'd greet a stranger, menacingly!
"Who're you? What do you want? F*** off, this is our turf!" exclaimed an old hound with one eye. He called himself Sol Lek, the one eyed one. Sol Lek had a small gang of four members, and new entrants included Tango and Charlie too! Talk of faithfulness, these sons of bitches these days owe allegiance to no one!
"And what if we don't?" These words rang out in unison from all three of us at once.
"Then prepare to die!" No sooner had he said these words, his troop began to charge!
And so throwing caution and safety to the winds, we too charged with all our might. Fate always rewards the brave, and no worries if we weren't rewarded. Atleast we tried...
Now you know what it is to have a dog's life indeed... Wait a minute, "Who goes there?"
Woof, woof!!
The fray had been SS's last, and this was the same with the others as well. Bhoora was shaking and his voice came in deep sobs. He had been adopted into the gang by Mum, and so he had a deep affection for Mum. Mum was the first to fall to the humans. SS had been beaten to death by them. He too was hit by the strange red thing that hit Mum, but he got more than just one. None of us, not even SS knew what this new weapon was. A terrible tragedy was the norm to learn, if life was your teacher.
Bhoora managed to escape the humans and hid in a corner. He watched SS as he staggered with the last of his strength trying to create a diversion at the cost of his life. One of the humans came with a heavy stick and brought it down on SS's head. Like Langda before him, SS died without a whimper. One blow to his head was enough to end his services on Earth.
The others too succumbed to the red stings. After the deed was done, the humans cleared the field. Soon, there was nothing remaining that spoke of the carnage that had taken place except for SS's blood that soaked the dry tarmac on that fateful day. What a terrible waste of life? What wanton destruction? Who were these humans, what gave them the right to kill us who didn't strike down their kinsmen even when we had them at our mercy? Is this what makes you human? Is this why you look down upon us?
Tears were flowing uncontrollably and all three of us bundled together in our moment of sorrow as we used to during the cold wintry nights. Of course then it was for warmth, but this time it was for support.
Thannkfully, Fate was kind enough to let us weep to our heart's content. But day was soon breaking over the brow of the sky, and soon we'd have to start moving. There could be more vicious humans here too.
It was terribly difficult for Grease to control his temper against humans. He'd always been the one who broke off from a fight, but the news of SS and the others death had been too much. He woke with a grim expression looking for a fight. His tear stained eyes did not betray a sign of fear, nor any other emotion other than rage.
He soon found his fight. A rag picker, a comical looking human whom we always barked at because they scavenged scrap from places we fed was his first target. Bhoora's account of SS's death drove him into a frenzy. Without a sound he was charging at the fellow. He had his back to us, and so didn't realize what was in store for him.
Grease bit hard on the knee cracking bone, and the rag picker fell screaming. He struck back at Grease with his curved rag picking tool but Grease was unstoppable. Bhoora and i tried hard to pull Grease off him lest we attract human ire here as well. After much biting and barking, Grease let off the rag picker who now looked like a rag doll in pain and blood. We ran for all we were worth from the scene of 'crime'.
"Are you out of your mind, have you forgotten the law? We don't attack humans, we don't kill humans!! You'll get us killed as well just like Mum and SS. Is that what they died for?"
"I'd rather die fighting that cursed biped than live in fear of what they'll do to me! I'll avenge Mother's death, as will i avenge SS and the rest of our family". Grease's voice sounded raspy. He had been barking and growling far more than his throat would allow him. "Why didn't you let me finish him. SS and Mum would have been pleased with me".
"SS and the others are dead. You must learn to accept this fact and move on Grease. War with the human race will surely bring death upon all of us, and we don't intend to die by a human's hand". Bhoora sounded cold, but he spoke the truth. There was no sense in all of us dying for those who were already gone. "Let's return to our old turf". His voice came out more like a command than a statement.
Yes, we'll return home. Where else can we go now?
Chapter 2 The long journey home
Puphood was long since over for us, but we still had been behaving like pups. Behaving like pups until now. The sight was indeed menacing. Three fierce looking dogs now made their way back to Thakurdwar. We anticipated trouble on the way back for we were mending our way through the turfs of other gangs.
We had covered these places running the time before, but this time there was no running. The day was still breaking across the horizon when the first fight began. A skinny looking mongrel came at us barking for all his worth. We didn't bother to look.
"Don't you know this is our turf, who'd you think you are to be tresspassing these grounds. Shall i teach...."
Before the words could even come out, Grease was at his throat holding it in a vice like grip. We didn't bother to talk with the mongrel but his threatening growls had now turned to piteous whimpers. His gang stood watching, but none dared to make a move. Surely we looked like hardened fighters indeed. If happiness made you sweet, grief made you tough. And we were tougher than nails as we made our way past the others.
At the end of the curb, Grease dropped him without a word just as he'd picked him up. We left him there more dead than alive!
A good portion of this trek back was through no mans land, but we didn't bother. And at last, we could see our good ol' turf in the distance.
Chapter 3 You've got to earn your respect
Excitement and joy is what we felt as we could see and smell those good ol' sights and smells, but there was something different here. A new smell greeted us. The smell of a new gang who'd taken over our turf!
We were greeted the same way we'd greet a stranger, menacingly!
"Who're you? What do you want? F*** off, this is our turf!" exclaimed an old hound with one eye. He called himself Sol Lek, the one eyed one. Sol Lek had a small gang of four members, and new entrants included Tango and Charlie too! Talk of faithfulness, these sons of bitches these days owe allegiance to no one!
"And what if we don't?" These words rang out in unison from all three of us at once.
"Then prepare to die!" No sooner had he said these words, his troop began to charge!
And so throwing caution and safety to the winds, we too charged with all our might. Fate always rewards the brave, and no worries if we weren't rewarded. Atleast we tried...
Now you know what it is to have a dog's life indeed... Wait a minute, "Who goes there?"
Woof, woof!!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Change comes 'barking'
Chapter 1: Change comes 'barking'!
There was a surreal silence after Langda's death within the gang as well as the adjacent neighbourhood. There were sporadic fights off and on, but never had there been such a grim battle that cost lives.
SS pretended not to be shaken by the incident, and if you judged him by his courage; it hadn't reduced one bit. But Langda's loss weighed heavy on his conscience. Langda had been one of the earliest members of the gang and most jovial one. I remember playing with him as a pup! Instead of the jovial laughter of jokes and pranks that he used to play on us, there was a gloomy silence throughout the gang.
Tango and Charlie soon proved to be useful to the gang when it came to scouting and scavenging. All said and done, they used to keep to themselves unless and until there was work to be done. True blue mercenaries they were! Grease and i hated them for it!
This so called environment of peace seemed to go on for a while until terror struck again! This time it was something we never anticipated. SS and the old timers knew about it, but for Grease and me this was something new; and it spread not just through our gang but all the gangs in the neighbourhood.
'Hoot, hoot, hoot, hoot!!' The sound seemed just like one of the usual human monstrosities that shared our space on the streets, and occasionally mowed down a fighter or two. We kept our distance from them and they from us. But this one was something different. This was a hunt, a manhunt or must i say doghunt in human lingo!
The thing stopped at the opening of the street. Grease was caught unawares. A human approached him with a biscuit in hand. Thinking it's just another kind soul offering him a quick snack, Grease went for it joyfully. In the twinkling of an eye, the human put a leash around Grease's neck and was dragging him toward the monstrosity.
Grease's cry of terror resounded across the neighbourhood. Every member of every gang voiced out protests as loudly as possible but dared to do nothing beyond that. Nobody wanted to be caught. Nobody dared other than SS.
SS charged gallantly as before, but this time he went like a ninja assasin. The man had his back toward SS and was dragging Grease when SS quickly went for his leg. What happened next probably happened faster than you can read this line. Blood squirted and the man howled in pain as SS's deadly canines met unprotected flesh and bone. He dropped the leash and fell to the ground. Grease was far too stunned to react. A sharp bark from SS quickly got him back to his senses and he did what he did best, fled!
The man was up again when SS turned back to face him. And this time, he had something worse than a leash, and he was with a friend. They both had long sticks that gleamed in the afternoon sun. But SS wasn't about to fight alone. Mum and the others quickly started a frenzy of barking that made them crazy! They came at us with the sticks but we were too quick for them. This time i wasn't content with mere snapping!
I went for the second man as he swung his weapon at Bhoora. Bhoora was a nondescript cur except that he had brown fur that earned him the name Bhoora. Bhoora backed off quickly, and i went for his hand. Seeing this, Bhoora too went for the other hand. The man was down and grappled by two of us. A third fellow could despatch him to the Happy Hunting Grounds, but it was against the law to kill humans. So we sunk our canines deeper into his flesh until he screamed in agony. He was out of action. His comrade turned to face us, but he already had a bleeding leg. Both of them turned tail and the monstrosity was soon making its way out from our turf!
Chapter 2: Sacrifice
By now you must be thinking, we've been fighting in a lonely street in Bombay; something that's a rarity in the middle of the day in this city. The humans around us had been watching us all the while. They didn't budge when Grease was attacked, but the attack on the two assassins now turned them as a body on us. They stared at us for a while and then one of them sounded the cry.
'Maar daalo, maaro, maaro', and all Hell broke loose. There was a shower of rocks on us, and we were forced to turn tail. They were far too many in number, and the cacophony was deafening. All of us fled as a body chased hotly by those obnoxious bipeds. Some of them had weapons too! From a distance we could see the assassins returning. This time there were two monstrosities. I don't know how many poured out from them, but they were many in number. The mob was behind us and they were ahead of us. Like Hell we were caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea!
They pointed their sticks yet again, but this time things were different. Whenever they pointed a stick, one of us would fall to the ground grovelling in pain with a funny looking thing sticking out. Mum too caught one in her thigh. The wise and brave SS had one final move in his mind. He charged them head on!
This could not have been a signal for a grand final stand. We were outnumbered, and death was certain if we stood our ground and fought. Ah, death would have been a good option had we been cornered by our own kind. Atleast, we could fight on an even plane. SS surely had something else in mind, but we all charged them together!
Time seemed to stand still, and the humans on both sides too were frozen for a moment. You could just about feel the palpable suspense so as to what's coming next...
The men broke formation, and that was the exactly what SS had in mind. Scoot!!
When they broke off, we all showed them what we could do by means of a clean pair of heels! We ran through the assassins lot and we ran through the mob. Grease and i ran blindly ignoring what went past us, whether we were entering foreign turf. When we stopped, we were by the sea. The sea was far off from where our turf was. This was foreign turf, and could be hostile too!!
There was nobody behind us, and there was an absolute silence spare the squawking of the sea birds. SS and the others were nowhere to be seen. The sun was setting and we were hungry, thirsty and stranded for the first time in foreign turf.
Chapter 3: The first night alone
We cried bitterly for we were truly alone. We wouldn't have minded the company of even a hostile kinsman but there was not one in sight. Surely this was someplace dreadful to our kind.
After a while, we drifted to sleep in a makeshift bed of leaves. Dawn greeted us with the sight of Bhoora. Bhoora had traced us all the way from Thakurdwar. He was wounded, and there was a deep gash on his neck inflicted by some human. He had news for us. Bad news...
There was a surreal silence after Langda's death within the gang as well as the adjacent neighbourhood. There were sporadic fights off and on, but never had there been such a grim battle that cost lives.
SS pretended not to be shaken by the incident, and if you judged him by his courage; it hadn't reduced one bit. But Langda's loss weighed heavy on his conscience. Langda had been one of the earliest members of the gang and most jovial one. I remember playing with him as a pup! Instead of the jovial laughter of jokes and pranks that he used to play on us, there was a gloomy silence throughout the gang.
Tango and Charlie soon proved to be useful to the gang when it came to scouting and scavenging. All said and done, they used to keep to themselves unless and until there was work to be done. True blue mercenaries they were! Grease and i hated them for it!
This so called environment of peace seemed to go on for a while until terror struck again! This time it was something we never anticipated. SS and the old timers knew about it, but for Grease and me this was something new; and it spread not just through our gang but all the gangs in the neighbourhood.
'Hoot, hoot, hoot, hoot!!' The sound seemed just like one of the usual human monstrosities that shared our space on the streets, and occasionally mowed down a fighter or two. We kept our distance from them and they from us. But this one was something different. This was a hunt, a manhunt or must i say doghunt in human lingo!
The thing stopped at the opening of the street. Grease was caught unawares. A human approached him with a biscuit in hand. Thinking it's just another kind soul offering him a quick snack, Grease went for it joyfully. In the twinkling of an eye, the human put a leash around Grease's neck and was dragging him toward the monstrosity.
Grease's cry of terror resounded across the neighbourhood. Every member of every gang voiced out protests as loudly as possible but dared to do nothing beyond that. Nobody wanted to be caught. Nobody dared other than SS.
SS charged gallantly as before, but this time he went like a ninja assasin. The man had his back toward SS and was dragging Grease when SS quickly went for his leg. What happened next probably happened faster than you can read this line. Blood squirted and the man howled in pain as SS's deadly canines met unprotected flesh and bone. He dropped the leash and fell to the ground. Grease was far too stunned to react. A sharp bark from SS quickly got him back to his senses and he did what he did best, fled!
The man was up again when SS turned back to face him. And this time, he had something worse than a leash, and he was with a friend. They both had long sticks that gleamed in the afternoon sun. But SS wasn't about to fight alone. Mum and the others quickly started a frenzy of barking that made them crazy! They came at us with the sticks but we were too quick for them. This time i wasn't content with mere snapping!
I went for the second man as he swung his weapon at Bhoora. Bhoora was a nondescript cur except that he had brown fur that earned him the name Bhoora. Bhoora backed off quickly, and i went for his hand. Seeing this, Bhoora too went for the other hand. The man was down and grappled by two of us. A third fellow could despatch him to the Happy Hunting Grounds, but it was against the law to kill humans. So we sunk our canines deeper into his flesh until he screamed in agony. He was out of action. His comrade turned to face us, but he already had a bleeding leg. Both of them turned tail and the monstrosity was soon making its way out from our turf!
Chapter 2: Sacrifice
By now you must be thinking, we've been fighting in a lonely street in Bombay; something that's a rarity in the middle of the day in this city. The humans around us had been watching us all the while. They didn't budge when Grease was attacked, but the attack on the two assassins now turned them as a body on us. They stared at us for a while and then one of them sounded the cry.
'Maar daalo, maaro, maaro', and all Hell broke loose. There was a shower of rocks on us, and we were forced to turn tail. They were far too many in number, and the cacophony was deafening. All of us fled as a body chased hotly by those obnoxious bipeds. Some of them had weapons too! From a distance we could see the assassins returning. This time there were two monstrosities. I don't know how many poured out from them, but they were many in number. The mob was behind us and they were ahead of us. Like Hell we were caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea!
They pointed their sticks yet again, but this time things were different. Whenever they pointed a stick, one of us would fall to the ground grovelling in pain with a funny looking thing sticking out. Mum too caught one in her thigh. The wise and brave SS had one final move in his mind. He charged them head on!
This could not have been a signal for a grand final stand. We were outnumbered, and death was certain if we stood our ground and fought. Ah, death would have been a good option had we been cornered by our own kind. Atleast, we could fight on an even plane. SS surely had something else in mind, but we all charged them together!
Time seemed to stand still, and the humans on both sides too were frozen for a moment. You could just about feel the palpable suspense so as to what's coming next...
The men broke formation, and that was the exactly what SS had in mind. Scoot!!
When they broke off, we all showed them what we could do by means of a clean pair of heels! We ran through the assassins lot and we ran through the mob. Grease and i ran blindly ignoring what went past us, whether we were entering foreign turf. When we stopped, we were by the sea. The sea was far off from where our turf was. This was foreign turf, and could be hostile too!!
There was nobody behind us, and there was an absolute silence spare the squawking of the sea birds. SS and the others were nowhere to be seen. The sun was setting and we were hungry, thirsty and stranded for the first time in foreign turf.
Chapter 3: The first night alone
We cried bitterly for we were truly alone. We wouldn't have minded the company of even a hostile kinsman but there was not one in sight. Surely this was someplace dreadful to our kind.
After a while, we drifted to sleep in a makeshift bed of leaves. Dawn greeted us with the sight of Bhoora. Bhoora had traced us all the way from Thakurdwar. He was wounded, and there was a deep gash on his neck inflicted by some human. He had news for us. Bad news...
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Kutte ki zindagi # 1 Blood Brothers
I. The beginning
This story's only too familiar to you my friend, for you are an avid follower of Bollywood's movies. It's a story that's been done to death by Bollywood with a thousand variants but believe it or not, it's the truth in this story that keeps it living in people's hearts. Let me not bore you with factual details, so here we go!!
On a dark, sultry night in one of Bombay's poorly lit lanes; i and my brother came into this world. There wasn't much fanfare when we were born, and we were not the first borns in our family. Born blind and weak, we stumbled and fumbled to get to what every newborn first craves for, Milk!
My home? Well, the street where i was born and the gullies that surrounded it were all mine, provided i could defend it from the others! This was all that i knew and i would ever know until my time would come for this was our turf, a place we could call our own and f*** the hell outta anyone who dared tresspass! The humans called it Thakurdwar, and we couldn't bother less with the names as much as the fighting!
"Life in Bombay's tough, you either kill or be killed!" was one of Mum's fav quotes. I and my brother like most o' my buddies never knew who our father was, and Mum never spoke about him. So, let's not bother about him!
Ah yes, it would be extremely rude if i didn't introduce myself. White Fang is what my Mum called me because i had a set of shiny white fangs when i was two weeks old. As for my brother, he was called Grease because he could show you what he could achieve by means of a sprint! Nobody, absolutely nobody could ever dream of catching Grease.
We never were sticklers for the law except someone else came into our turf, and stealing and fighting were the very first things we learnt in our 'school'!
Bombay's a city with a heart of gold, but she isn't no kind nun to provide you with bread and butter if you aren't quick enough to grab it and run or stand ground and fight!
It's been three summers since the time we entered this world blind and weak, and now...
We lived in a close knit community, a community we call gangs; and there were many such gangs operating all across Bombay. A gang could control an area of three to four streets including a busy street if they had good fighters in it. Ours was a small time gang with quiet, but competent fighters. We were a gang of seven and was controlled by two fighters, one of which was Mum. The other fighter was Silver Streak. We called him SS out of respect. Grease and i thought he was our father until Mum cleared our misconception! Silver Streak was originally from a good household, but he was abandoned when he was found to be too violent. You could never be violent enough to too violent is what i felt. But his owner definitely didn't think so!
Nevertheless, SS remembered the lesson for life. He was one dog who never went looking for fights but never came out of one without severely wounding his enemy if he got into one!
The days were nonchalant, nothing happening except for some exercise until the sun would beat us back into some cosy corner to snooze. After sunset is when the entire action unfolded. Loud barks, growls and howls announced a tresspasser alert and there was a fight and chase for sure! Yippee! Time for some action!
II. Tresspasser Alert!!
Langda came running as fast as his three legs could carry him. Langda had lost a leg in an accident caused by a human. "Intruders, intruders! There are five of them! Hurry, call SS!!" he gasped. This was serious. If Langda returned back to call the gang, this was a serious turf war!
Like a bolt of lighting, and with a thundering roar; SS charged head on. SS's roar was enough to waken all our comrades who were just beginning to return to their lairs after an eventful evening. And so we charged, we charged on our intruders!
They were not surprised. They too charged head on toward us for all their worth with equally menacing war cries. Soon enough; tooth met bone and tooth met fur! The battle had turned into an incomprehensible melee.The noise was deafening!
SS was now silent. The only sound that could be heard from his direction was his jaws in action and his enemy's reaction to it! "Crunch, scrunch, crunch" SS's jaws were busy at work. Grease and i fought as one, back to back. We too snapped anything unfamiliar that went past us. The intruders were not novice, they seemed like seasoned fighters for they were causing casualties among us as well.
The first to fall was Langda. Langda was a fierce fighter, but his missing leg meant he was a moment slow in delivering the killer bite, or getting out of harm's way! Two tough curs caught hold of Langda by his rear legs whilst one went for his throat. Langda despatched him with a squelching crunch to the backbone. But his companion caught hold of him by the neck and bit hard. Langda went down without a sound.
SS soon rallied the others and after three dead, the remaining two bolted! The fight was becoming too unhealthy, and if they stayed for even a minute longer, they too'd join their comrades!
With one dead and two badly wounded, this was a Pyrrhic victory. We could not afford such losses. What if they returned? Or what if there were more?
III. Change
There was a lull after the night of Langda's death for quite some time in terms of fighting. Two twins joined us a week after the fight. They called themselves Tango and Charlie. Both seemed like mercenaries and claimed to be purebred Dobermanns. We didn't mind the caste as long as they could fight and scoot quickly enough.
Everything seemed to be going well until one day...
This story's only too familiar to you my friend, for you are an avid follower of Bollywood's movies. It's a story that's been done to death by Bollywood with a thousand variants but believe it or not, it's the truth in this story that keeps it living in people's hearts. Let me not bore you with factual details, so here we go!!
On a dark, sultry night in one of Bombay's poorly lit lanes; i and my brother came into this world. There wasn't much fanfare when we were born, and we were not the first borns in our family. Born blind and weak, we stumbled and fumbled to get to what every newborn first craves for, Milk!
My home? Well, the street where i was born and the gullies that surrounded it were all mine, provided i could defend it from the others! This was all that i knew and i would ever know until my time would come for this was our turf, a place we could call our own and f*** the hell outta anyone who dared tresspass! The humans called it Thakurdwar, and we couldn't bother less with the names as much as the fighting!
"Life in Bombay's tough, you either kill or be killed!" was one of Mum's fav quotes. I and my brother like most o' my buddies never knew who our father was, and Mum never spoke about him. So, let's not bother about him!
Ah yes, it would be extremely rude if i didn't introduce myself. White Fang is what my Mum called me because i had a set of shiny white fangs when i was two weeks old. As for my brother, he was called Grease because he could show you what he could achieve by means of a sprint! Nobody, absolutely nobody could ever dream of catching Grease.
We never were sticklers for the law except someone else came into our turf, and stealing and fighting were the very first things we learnt in our 'school'!
Bombay's a city with a heart of gold, but she isn't no kind nun to provide you with bread and butter if you aren't quick enough to grab it and run or stand ground and fight!
It's been three summers since the time we entered this world blind and weak, and now...
We lived in a close knit community, a community we call gangs; and there were many such gangs operating all across Bombay. A gang could control an area of three to four streets including a busy street if they had good fighters in it. Ours was a small time gang with quiet, but competent fighters. We were a gang of seven and was controlled by two fighters, one of which was Mum. The other fighter was Silver Streak. We called him SS out of respect. Grease and i thought he was our father until Mum cleared our misconception! Silver Streak was originally from a good household, but he was abandoned when he was found to be too violent. You could never be violent enough to too violent is what i felt. But his owner definitely didn't think so!
Nevertheless, SS remembered the lesson for life. He was one dog who never went looking for fights but never came out of one without severely wounding his enemy if he got into one!
The days were nonchalant, nothing happening except for some exercise until the sun would beat us back into some cosy corner to snooze. After sunset is when the entire action unfolded. Loud barks, growls and howls announced a tresspasser alert and there was a fight and chase for sure! Yippee! Time for some action!
II. Tresspasser Alert!!
Langda came running as fast as his three legs could carry him. Langda had lost a leg in an accident caused by a human. "Intruders, intruders! There are five of them! Hurry, call SS!!" he gasped. This was serious. If Langda returned back to call the gang, this was a serious turf war!
Like a bolt of lighting, and with a thundering roar; SS charged head on. SS's roar was enough to waken all our comrades who were just beginning to return to their lairs after an eventful evening. And so we charged, we charged on our intruders!
They were not surprised. They too charged head on toward us for all their worth with equally menacing war cries. Soon enough; tooth met bone and tooth met fur! The battle had turned into an incomprehensible melee.The noise was deafening!
SS was now silent. The only sound that could be heard from his direction was his jaws in action and his enemy's reaction to it! "Crunch, scrunch, crunch" SS's jaws were busy at work. Grease and i fought as one, back to back. We too snapped anything unfamiliar that went past us. The intruders were not novice, they seemed like seasoned fighters for they were causing casualties among us as well.
The first to fall was Langda. Langda was a fierce fighter, but his missing leg meant he was a moment slow in delivering the killer bite, or getting out of harm's way! Two tough curs caught hold of Langda by his rear legs whilst one went for his throat. Langda despatched him with a squelching crunch to the backbone. But his companion caught hold of him by the neck and bit hard. Langda went down without a sound.
SS soon rallied the others and after three dead, the remaining two bolted! The fight was becoming too unhealthy, and if they stayed for even a minute longer, they too'd join their comrades!
With one dead and two badly wounded, this was a Pyrrhic victory. We could not afford such losses. What if they returned? Or what if there were more?
III. Change
There was a lull after the night of Langda's death for quite some time in terms of fighting. Two twins joined us a week after the fight. They called themselves Tango and Charlie. Both seemed like mercenaries and claimed to be purebred Dobermanns. We didn't mind the caste as long as they could fight and scoot quickly enough.
Everything seemed to be going well until one day...
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Bullshitter
"Beta, apun idhar bees saal se raha hai!" exclaimed a loud voice with no defining characteristic. The owner of the voice was nothing colourful either. It was rained that evening and this gentleman had definitely had his share of washing, but then he wasn't one of those who'd bother!
Ice-cream! That was on the menu for me as well as this nondescript sample of homo sapiens. For convenience's sake, let's call him the bullshitter! It had been a hard day for me, and i was really hungry. The sky was overcast and the watch's hands showed half past eleven. Time to have a quick bite and scoot, yes sir!
The street was empty sparing a few dogs who'd just decided a to have a rendition of a soprano in pooch lingo, and of course poor blokes like me who headed back home late!
"Woh blah blah tera maalik mera punter tha, samjha na? Samjha ki nahi. Blah, blah, blah...!"
The ice-cream guy looked rather nervous before this huge tub of lard. Oh yes, he was fat. How could i forget that 'defining characteristic'? He had a rotund paunch, surely a sign of prosperity. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his eyes looked red. It seemed like he had a wild night with friends. Must be having one last snack lest he go home with an angry belly screaming invectives!
From all the signs above, it looked like a classic case of extortion. He was freaking the poor ice-cream kid into submission, ice-cream, and above it all, money! Hey that ain't fair! Not with a d*** who's earned just a few hundred rupees throughout the evening.
There were a few bystanders. As is the case with most bystanders, they love doing nothing beyond watch contentedly from a distance. F*** you bystanders!
I had a rather difficult evening at work, and was royally pissed off! This tub of lard didn't seem he'd recover from a few quick blows to the face and a kick to the groin. But wait, why get into trouble? Mr. Bullshitter might be a dark horse, and summon enough strength to squish me like a bug. Now what? Wait and watch, join the bystanders association of India, you d***!
He slowly ambled away with his money and the faloodas. He had a good taste for ice-cream, 'coz i too had a taste for faloodas; and trust me nothing ever gave you a more strong kick than the sugary strawberry syrup topped with small sweet tidbits we call tutti-frutti! God, i love 'em!
With the kick now firmly in place and a temper driven by a sugar high, i immediately asked the ice-cream chappie who was this f***er who fleeced you? Why'd you oblige man? He's still in sight, and we can catch him and give him a sweet treat that he really needs!! Don't i sound soo much like the knight in shining armour? All set to succour the poor from the clutches of the wicked! You couldn't have been more wrong, maybe less wrong than i was that night!
The ice-cream vendor, a thin kid no more than a junior college dropout gave me a reply that threatened to kill my much needed high.
"Arre nahin sahib, woh koi chutiya hai. Aap fikar mat kijiye..."
Phisss.......
And so all my chances for a bit of bravado and machismo were washed off by a slight drizzle that started once again.
I asked again "Lekin tumne to usko paise diye?"
Came the reply "Sahib usne mujhe sau rupaye diye they, usee ke chutte diya maine..."
Ah, what a pity? Well, never mind...
The man, our bullshitter evidently was somebody sometime back in time. Must've been a goonda or a local 'administrator' judging by his words. Or maybe he was just another guy soaring on hot air, bullshitting people whilst an ice-cream vendor prepared a falooda for him to take home...
Ice-cream! That was on the menu for me as well as this nondescript sample of homo sapiens. For convenience's sake, let's call him the bullshitter! It had been a hard day for me, and i was really hungry. The sky was overcast and the watch's hands showed half past eleven. Time to have a quick bite and scoot, yes sir!
The street was empty sparing a few dogs who'd just decided a to have a rendition of a soprano in pooch lingo, and of course poor blokes like me who headed back home late!
"Woh blah blah tera maalik mera punter tha, samjha na? Samjha ki nahi. Blah, blah, blah...!"
The ice-cream guy looked rather nervous before this huge tub of lard. Oh yes, he was fat. How could i forget that 'defining characteristic'? He had a rotund paunch, surely a sign of prosperity. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his eyes looked red. It seemed like he had a wild night with friends. Must be having one last snack lest he go home with an angry belly screaming invectives!
From all the signs above, it looked like a classic case of extortion. He was freaking the poor ice-cream kid into submission, ice-cream, and above it all, money! Hey that ain't fair! Not with a d*** who's earned just a few hundred rupees throughout the evening.
There were a few bystanders. As is the case with most bystanders, they love doing nothing beyond watch contentedly from a distance. F*** you bystanders!
I had a rather difficult evening at work, and was royally pissed off! This tub of lard didn't seem he'd recover from a few quick blows to the face and a kick to the groin. But wait, why get into trouble? Mr. Bullshitter might be a dark horse, and summon enough strength to squish me like a bug. Now what? Wait and watch, join the bystanders association of India, you d***!
He slowly ambled away with his money and the faloodas. He had a good taste for ice-cream, 'coz i too had a taste for faloodas; and trust me nothing ever gave you a more strong kick than the sugary strawberry syrup topped with small sweet tidbits we call tutti-frutti! God, i love 'em!
With the kick now firmly in place and a temper driven by a sugar high, i immediately asked the ice-cream chappie who was this f***er who fleeced you? Why'd you oblige man? He's still in sight, and we can catch him and give him a sweet treat that he really needs!! Don't i sound soo much like the knight in shining armour? All set to succour the poor from the clutches of the wicked! You couldn't have been more wrong, maybe less wrong than i was that night!
The ice-cream vendor, a thin kid no more than a junior college dropout gave me a reply that threatened to kill my much needed high.
"Arre nahin sahib, woh koi chutiya hai. Aap fikar mat kijiye..."
Phisss.......
And so all my chances for a bit of bravado and machismo were washed off by a slight drizzle that started once again.
I asked again "Lekin tumne to usko paise diye?"
Came the reply "Sahib usne mujhe sau rupaye diye they, usee ke chutte diya maine..."
Ah, what a pity? Well, never mind...
The man, our bullshitter evidently was somebody sometime back in time. Must've been a goonda or a local 'administrator' judging by his words. Or maybe he was just another guy soaring on hot air, bullshitting people whilst an ice-cream vendor prepared a falooda for him to take home...
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