He couldn’t quite understand how teenagers could be so listless, so dull, so lackadaisical, swaying their arms aimlessly, feet tripping over each other, some of them shouting left, others whispering right and a couple chuckling as they watched the fat one in the middle trying hopelessly to hold on to his pants This wasn’t funny to him. These retards were supposed to represent the school at the annual Republic Day parade, and although his troop was always an embarrassment, this years bunch was a total disgrace, despite all the ear wringing, knuckle rapping and butt whooping he had meted out. He pulled the fat one out and gave him a hard whack across his head that sent him sprawling into the dust, and as he fell he took a few others tumbling with him, “Where is your fuckin’ belt, you idiot?,” he bellowed. The already chaotic marching turned into a heaping tripping melee like a bad Benny Hill episode which infuriated him even more: “Anyone else want a biscuit?” he yelled.
As a kid he was always sick. If it wasn’t his asthma acting up, it was some virus he picked up or his tonsils swelling up or the fungal infection in his ass which flared up in the summers and incessantly caused him to scratch his behind like a flea infested monkey leaving disgusting brown streaks on his underwear that earned him the nickname “khujlee.” It might have been this constant itch, or his lack of athleticism despite coming from a family of over achieving sportsmen, or the constant bullying at school, or his poor grades as a result of the classes he kept missing because of all the sick days he took, but his early years were not pleasant.
As a four foot ten, barely ninety pound eighteen year old, college wasn’t any better either. It amazed him, no actually angered and frustrated him, how bad he was at everything he tried. Having given up on sports he tried joining the local chess club but was barred within the first few weeks after he tried to shove a few knights and bishops up a guys nostrils after he had check mated him within the first ten moves. At the urging of his pastor his mother tried to get him to join the local Jesuit order but after they caught him masturbating once too often they threw him out of there as well. Being a big Bruce Lee fan he joined a Jeet Kune Do class, but was surprised to find out that it required much more strength, discipline and endurance than he remembered seeing in the movies. He was awkward around girls and when he did attempt to speak to them his eyes drifted towards their breasts and lingered there long enough for him to get a slap across his face. After his neighborhood bhajiwaali complained to his father about his voyeuristic tenedencies he was summarily dispatched to his grand uncle in Goa who was a history teacher at the newly opened St. Xavier’s college in Mapusa, presumably to straighten him out.
Goa suited him. The beautiful beaches, the refreshing see breeze, the pretty girls made prettier by the intoxicating and deliciously pungent cashew Feni. He fell in love, smooched his first kiss, got dumped … several times, lost his virginity at the Baina in Vasco where he also picked up his first of many gonorrheal infections. And before he knew it he had a Bachelor’s degree in arts and an acceptance to a prestigious BEd program at the Ferguson college in Pune. By now he was a confident young man, with thick Elvis like side burns, slick Travolta like hair , a bad ass belt buckle and even badder ass boots that actually perched him a few inches over five feet. A year later he married a simple but sweet girl from Margao and a couple of years later just as he was expecting his first child, he graduated from the University of Pune and with his father’s influence was hired as a history and civics teacher at one of the best schools in the city.
How he hoped to inspire and mold these intelligent young minds into future leaders and responsible citizens, doctors and engineers, businessmen and accountants, soldiers and politicians. Oh the promise they held, and he would do his part in ensuring that each one of them blossomed to their full potential, knowing how his own progress was delayed by circumstance and lack of opportunity and encouragement. What had happened to that dream. It seemed so distant now as he looked at the hopeless bunch trying to pick themselves up from the dirt. These fuckers he thought, these fucking fuckers … and just as the fat one got up to his feet he whacked him across his head and sent him sprawling into the dirt again.