OH, BROTHER!!

I was beat up, torn and tattered but not broken. I scampered and limped my way back home through a route I’d been taking for the past 10 years. The walk was rather mechanical, like clockwork, with a predefined program running through my head, every pothole, every thorny bush, every hedge perfected, as one would expect over the years.

My head was swarming with thoughts of what had just happened. What the fuck just happened?

Did it shake me up? Fuck, yeah!

Was I going to take a step back? Fuck, no!

 As I said, I wasn’t broken. In fact, I was more resolved and resolute than ever. Mom was going to scream at me and freak out. My brother, Noel, was going to have a good laugh. Dad’s reactions in situations like these could never be predicted, he’d either have a good laugh or he would lunge at me and beat the shit out of me.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mom demanded, tugging at my torn shirt pocket which lay dangling precariously low. We were in my drawing room.

“Nothing, Ma!” I replied, through my cut lips.

“Did you get beaten up?” Mom asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“No, Ma. I did not get beat up!” I said firmly.

Just then Noel rushed in, bursting through the door. The moment his eyes fell on my battered self, he paused momentarily, as though absorbing the image painted across in front of him. Having seen enough, he burst into a loud, cacophonous laugh.

“Oh shit, dude!” he exclaimed, clutching his stomach. “Were you run over by a steamroller or what?”

I scoffed, walked away from there to my room, took the bag off my shoulders and slammed it onto my hapless bed. That felt good! So I gripped my bag firmly by its shoulder straps and slammed my bag down again. And again. And again. I was unforgiving on my bag and my bed until my bag could take no more of this relentless pounding it was made to endure, the straps giving away in my fist. I grunted, shrugged and began to take off my torn clothes. What I needed was a nice, long and warm bath. I needed to cleanse myself emotionally and physically.

The moment the first drop of water hit me and trickled through my body, I laughed. And before I knew it, I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t figure out whether the fluid flowing down my cheeks was water from the shower or my tears. That’s when I knew that I had let it go.

SOMETIME IN JANUARY, 1999

It was a pleasant January morning and I was very excited. After all, a sports day in school comes just once every 365 days. It was our sports day that day, which, other than its usual implication, meant a lot of other things as well. It meant there weren’t going to be any classes. It meant we could go a little late to school. It meant the existence of a canteen which meant extra pocket money. It meant getting together with friends and having a good time, just to name a few. I was in the eighth grade and was at an age of raging hormones, high testosterone levels, puppy love and paper dolls.

Rohan, Anil and me had planned on going to school together and having some fun. Rohan was participating in a few athletic events while Anil and me, being the nerds, stayed out of it. I had woken up at 7, which was rather late by my standards. Mom had to literally push me out of bed for wouldn’t budge otherwise. I telephoned Saranya, my crush of over four years and asked her what her plans for the day were. To my austere disappointment, she had planned on taking the day off. No amount of coaxing, wooing or cajoling could deter her from her decision and I hung up with a heavy heart.

“Fuck!” I mumbled, under bated breath.

*******

“This is great news”, Anil said, biting into the sandwich Mom had made for us. “At least you won’t go wandering off!”

“Sure”, I replied, still crestfallen.

“It’s not like you were going to propose to her or anything, were you?” Rohan asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“No”, I smirked, stretching and emphasizing on the ‘no’. I think I overemphasized it!

Both my friends instantly stopped what they were doing and glared at me. Anil had his sandwich half inside his mouth while Rohan nearly choked on his hot cup of tea.

“What the fuck, Sam!” they cried in unison. “You were?”

I stayed mum.

“Holy shit, man!” Rohan yelled and burst into a raucous laugh. Anil soon joined him and the both of them had a good long laugh at my expense. Assholes!

“Anyway”, said Anil, wiping away his milk moustache with the back of his hand. “This means both Sam and I would be there to cheer you on in…..” Anil paused, thinking. “By the way, what exactly are you participating in?”

Rohan coughed, choking on his cup of tea for the second time in a few minutes. He looked at us incredulously. “And you call yourselves friends! Go figure, dipshits!”

It was funny indeed, and neither Anil nor I concealed our feelings as we laughed to our heart’s content.

All Rohan could do was gawk at us. And since I knew what he was participating in, I filled Anil in on it.

Five minutes later we were walking out of home, waving mom goodbye. Dad had given me a cool ₹100 after much coaxing.

“Why the fuck do you need hundred bucks?” he had demanded.

“Dad, you know me.” I replied, softly, “fifty’s never enough for my stomach!”

“You’ve got to keep your tummy in check, boy,” Dad went on. “You’re gonna fall sick someday!”

“Dad, please,” I said, not attempting to conceal my impatience. “I’m kinda running out of time. Are you going to give me the money or not!”

“It‘s always ‘gimme this..gimme that’ for you, isn’t it,” Dad ranted on relentlessly. “Always wanting things the easy way, not ready to work for it. Always….”

“DAD!” I cried, cutting him short rather rudely.

Dad glared at me so hard, I could feel his gaze slicing me vertically in half.

“Fine”, I said sighing, not wanting a hard hand falling across my face. “I’ll stay back home this weekend and study. No cricket, no tv and no novels!”

“Okay”, Dad replied, thoughtfully. “You have a deal, Neil!” He took out his wallet and handed me a ₹100 note.

“Damn, the sacrifices one had to make for a little extra pocket money!” I cursed under my breath.

The rest of the day went by rather uneventfully. Rohan, taking part in the 100m sprint and the long jump couldn’t even make it to the finals. In its own little way, that turned out to be a blessing in disguise with Rohan joining us for the rest of the day in our merry making. We checked out the different events taking place over different spots in our sprawling school campus. The main stadium was reserved for all the track events while the smaller grounds hosted the less interesting events like the hammer and discus throw, the long and high jump. The indoor stadium hosted the badminton competition and that was where we spent most of our time. We were keener on checking out the girls in their incredibly loose shorts and sweaty t-shirts than the game itself.

Every time a girl would jump high for an over head smash, we’d clap, scream and whistle as a consequence of the perversities of our minds. We’d keep doing this, regardless of the quality of the shot. At times we’d get a very disapproving and disdained look from a few of our teachers, but hey, it was our sports day! Who gave a flying fuck! And as a game progressed and the girls began to sweat, things got even more heated up and our whistles and claps grew louder. That was probably all the fun we had the whole day. By 3, we decided to call it a day and head back home.

I was a little low since Saranya hadn’t turned up and decided to head back alone through our school’s back gate while Anil and Rohan headed out through the main gate. We walked to our classrooms together, picked up our bags and waved each other goodbye. Being an eighth grader wasn’t easy, as most eighth graders would agree. We had, besides high testosterone levels, exceptionally high emotional levels too. I was no different. Not that I had any qualms spending time with my coolest buddies, but compare that to spending time with a girl and that shit’s completely different.

I hung my head low and dragged my feet as I walked out of school. I don’t know what happened but I decided to make one last pit stop at the canteen before I left. Not only was the canteen inside the indoor arena which happened to be on the way out, but I had, and still do have, the habit of eating every time I was low. I walked into the stadium and made my way across to the canteen, where I could see our seniors, the tenth graders, who ran the canteen, frantically working towards pulling down the shutters for the day. I ran towards them, hoping to get one last samosa or at least a laddoo.

As I stood over the counter, which was nothing more than our classroom desk, panting, seriously out of breath, a senior came up and said, “we’re done for the day.”

“No, you can’t be”, I said, still gasping for breath.

“Hey!” he retorted, rather rudely as he leaned over the desk menacingly. “I just said, we’re done for the day. Do you want me to explain that in a language you understand?”

“No”, I replied aloud, dejected. “I get it.”

I turned around and began retracing my steps out of there. Why the fuck do all seniors have to show off with violence?! So much for Om, Shanti, I suppose! Fuck!

Just as I was about to walk out of the arena, I heard someone call out to me: “Hey, you!”

I turned around to see the same senior waving his hand frantically, beckoning me. “Come here”, he seemed to say.

Excited at the prospect of getting that elusive samosa or laddoo, I sprinted back towards the canteen.

“Yes, sir!” I said, flashing the biggest grin I could muster.

“You wanted something right?” he asked, smiling.

“Yeah, I do”, I replied, thrilled. Oh, how I wish I could detect a fake smile.

“Come inside”, he said, beckoning me with his finger.

Getting inside a canteen brought unparalleled thrills to the prepubescent soul and boy, was I thrilled. It was like stepping into heaven!

I took my first step inside, my first step to doom.

I was called to the store room which was to the right of the entrance. The moment I stepped inside, I froze. I saw the only person I was dreading to bump into the whole day, Sandeep, Saranya’s elder brother. At close to 5’10” with broad shoulders and a deep heavy voice, he was an imposing figure. My throat dried up as I took a deep gulp of air and I had lost my voice. My legs began to wobble and I couldn’t seem to find them. Oh adrenaline! Where the fuck were you when I most needed you!

“So, Samvit”, Sandeep said, his voice reverberating across the tiny room. Not only did I tremble, but I could have sworn I heard the glass windows shake too. My mind too began to fuck with me. “You have a crush on Saranya, eh!” He was smiling, a cold, blood curdling smile.

“Hmm”, I managed to croak.

His smile faded and in one swift move, reached forward and grabbed me by my collar.

“Was that a ‘yes’?” He demanded, shaking me violently.

All I could manage was a sheepish nod of affirmation.

I saw a fist flying through the air and the next instant my head exploded in a dazzling display of stars and colours as a searing pain ripped across my face starting at my left cheek bone and spreading throughout my body as my glasses flew off my face. But Sandeep still had me by my collar, not loosening it even the slightest.

You know how they show people getting face punched in the movies in slo-mo? With ripples forming at the point of impact of the fist and the cheek, spreading across the entire face? I fucking swear to God, it’s all true. That’s exactly the shit that happens!

“Are you gonna leave her alone as of now?” He demanded shaking me violently yet again.

Having lost not just my voice, but my composure too, I nodded, this time, in the negative.

“No?” he stared at me in disbelief. By then, his buddies had joined us and I could see their fuzzy outlines at the corner of my watery eyes. They were laughing at egging Sandeep on.

“This little piece of shit just said ‘no’”, he seemed to be telling them. “What do we do with him?”

The next thing I remember was me lying on the floor, defending myself from a barrage or blows and kicks and then I remember someone pouring a bucket of water over my face. No, I wasn’t dead. No, I wasn’t beaten to pulp either, nor did I have any broken bones. I picked myself up and dusted my muddy shirt n trousers. My shirt pocket was torn and I had a few buttons ripped off too. I had a bloody and swollen lip and my glasses lay smashed in a corner. I looked as if I was the only survivor of the worst ever earthquake. I gathered myself together and walked out of the indoor arena.

I was beat up, torn and tattered but not broken. I scampered and limped my way back home through a route I’d been taking for the past 10 years. The walk was rather mechanical, like clockwork, with a predefined program running through my head, every pothole, every thorny bush, every hedge perfected, as one would expect over the years.

My head was swarming with thoughts of what had just happened. What the fuck just happened?

Did it shake me up? Fuck, yeah!

Was I going to take a step back? Fuck no!

 As I said, I wasn’t broken. In fact, I was more resolved and resolute than ever. Mom was going to scream at me and freak out. My brother, Noel, was going to have a good laugh. Dad’s reactions in situations like these could never be predicted, he’d either have a good laugh or he would lunge at me and beat the shit out of me.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mom demanded, tugging at my torn shirt pocket which lay dangling precariously low. We were in my drawing room.

“Nothing, Ma!” I replied, through my cut lips.

“Did you get beaten up?” Mom asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“No, Ma. I did not get beat up!” I said firmly.

Just then Noel rushed in, bursting through the door. The moment his eyes fell on my battered self, he paused momentarily, as though absorbing the image painted across in front of him. Having seen enough, he burst into a loud, cacophonous laugh.

“Oh shit, dude!” he exclaimed, clutching his stomach. “Were you run over by a steamroller or what?”

I scoffed, walked away from there to my room, took the bag off my shoulders and slammed it onto my hapless bed. That felt good! So I gripped my bag firmly by its shoulder straps and slammed my bag down again. And again. And again. I was unforgiving on my bag and my bed until my bag could take no more of this relentless pounding it was made to endure, the straps giving away in my fist. I grunted, shrugged and began to take off my torn clothes. What I needed was a nice, long and warm bath. I needed to cleanse myself emotionally and physically.

The moment the first drop of water hit me and trickled through my body, I laughed. And before I knew it, I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t figure out whether the fluid flowing down my cheeks was water from the shower or my tears. That’s when I knew that I had let it go.

Xxxxxx

Ok, for the record, nothing ever materialized between me and Saranya. Yeah, that’s right. Got the shit beat out of me for nothing!