Blog 3601: Once upon a time...

Act 1. Scene 1.

Its been ages since I last blogged.
Hah.

Obviously it means that I've been busy.
Hah.

You there, with the raised hand, what is it?
Hah.

Whaaaa! You think I was out of ideas and just never felt like it?
Hah.

*Looks around and finds everyone staring accusingly*
Hmm...
Huh.

Hey! hey! Lookee there... a flying bird!
*While everyone looks around, our hero quickly slips a blog idea out of the back of his mind*
Hah.

A flying bird?!
*Whistles coolly*
*Surveys the ceiling*

Act 2. Scene too.

It was a dark and stormy night.
The wind was howling in the trees.
The moon was barely visible through the dark sinister clouds.
And in some other part of the world, I was sitting in Class KG.
Section A.
Around a rectangular desk.
With at least 3 other students.

The class was progressing serenely.
Young minds were being imparted the knowledge that generations before them took their lifespans to deduce and formulate so that their progeny would be better informed and hence more capable in their search for truth, meaning and the purpose of life.

Teacher: "Turn to page twenty. Twinkle twinkle little star."

Okay I dont really remember what poem and what teacher, but then *puffing a smoke and looking nonchalant* how does it matter. Hah.

The guy to my right ("RightGuy") whispers in my ear: "You know how to make a bomb?"
Me: "Dont talk in class"

RightGuy: "I know how to make a bomb"
Me: [:O]

RightGuy: "Its easy. Slice your eraser and sandwich dirt between two slices."
Me: "Ohh"

RightGuy: "Bas... then pack it tight and throw it. Maine bahut baar kiya hai apne area mein. Paper mein aata hi rehta hai."
Me: *the look when you think you got superman on your side*

Quietly, before the-left-guy-with-spectacles-who-sat-in-rigid-attention-during-class could observe, I borrowed a blade from him.
Hah.

I made two thin slices from my Nataraj Pencil Eraser.
Rubbed my shoe against the floor.
Lifted my leg.
Pinched some dirt.


*Ek chutki dhool ki keemat tum kya samjhoge reader babu. Bachhon ki barood hoti hai ek chutki dhool. Conspiracy ki wajood hoti hai ek chutki dhool. Har fool ko cool lagti hai ek chutki dhool. Ek chutki dhool...*

Sandwiched the dirt between the slices.
Pressed it hard.
And with a mighty heave, threw it out of the window onto the thick drain pipe.
*Hah*

I waited for the fountain of filth that'd erupt.
Not that I had any particular predilection for squalor.
It was just one of those things that happen in the heat of the moment and are best resolved on the field itself.
Yah.
But...
Nothing happened.

I looked RightGuy squarely in the eye.
"You mean lil red cheeked smirking #$%@&#"
RightGuy: "War-drub malfunction. Twas the wind. Try it in class. It works"

I wonder if you've ever noticed - the # is such in integral component of those unspoken curse-storms that are usually depicted as @#^$#% or some such lookalike. Its like, even without it, a %*&%^! would signify the same curses... but it'd just not be bad enough.
Yah.

Quietly, I remade the bomb.
Rubbed shoes slowly.
Used the sole of one to dig into the alleys of the other.
Lifted leg.
Pinched dirt.

*Ek chutki dhool ki keemat tum kya samjhoge reader babu. Eraser ke katne ka sabab hota hai ek chutki dhool. Drain pipe phate to gazzab hota hai ek chutki dhool. Yeh sab aur woh sab bhi hota hai ek chutki dhool. Ek chutki dhool...*

Sandwiched dirt between two more eraser slices.
And then.
Slowly.
Lowered my hands.
Started swinging my hands beside the chair.
Easy boys... you see... nothing there... just merrily swinging hands... heh...
Hah.

And then, I let go.
The rubber-dirt sandwich bomb floated for a brief moment.
My heart tensed.
It would fall near the teacher.
Slowly, it neared ground zero.
And then...
It touched the ground.
Bounced.
Disintegrated.
The boy on the nearby chair looked at it.
Turned back.
Searched faces.
I smiled serenely.
Twinkle twinkle little star.

I'd finally got the bomb thingy going.
If nothing else, at least the idea had bombed.
Hah.

That Truman guy, President of USA, said this: "I have found the best way to give advice to children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it."
Now now, would you, Mr. President?
Hah.