Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. However, inspiration has been drawn from real life events. My tribute to the War Forgotten. The first rays of the sun barely visible over the quadrangle, the dampness of the morning drizzle still lingered in the air. Morning assembly was still an hour away. Not much time left, but clearly that the organizers had everything under control. Lookouts were already posted to watch for any teachers who might feel that they
had to see what was going on. And a little chai and biscuits goes a long way towards getting the peons to turn a blind eye.
This was it. Battle royale. Today we would have a new GrandMaster Penfighter.
The tournament had begun two weeks ago. Group tables were quickly drawn up, the organizers making sure that the amateurs would quickly be weeded out. The qualifiers were brutal and a cleanup squad had to be assigned after one of the teachers questioned us about the broken remains of Reynolds and
SticEazy's strewn all over the floor.
Lunch hour was when our battles took place. Barely taking the time to chew, the tiffins were quickly disposed of. By the semifinals, lunches were skipped altogether in favor of starting the fights early.
The finals were to take place yesterday, but as luck would have it, a strike was called by the All India Youth Organisation (AIYO), in protest against the recent heavy downpours (and strangely enough, the weather
has been
unusually pleasant since yesterday evening). And today, being the last working day before the exams, would be a half day. No lunch hour. The finals had to happen, and
now.
Inside the classroom, the table was already set up and the refs were giving the pens the once-over to make sure they were within regulations. The two pens couldn't have been more different. The champion's pen, the now famous 'Goliath', was of a foreign make, a sleek body made of 3 mm thick stainless steel. Difficult to get it moving, virtually impossible to stop it once it did. The challenger's pen, imaginatively named 'Gecko', had already made a name for itself in the penfight circuits. A custom job having specially treated rubber bands resulting in a grip that gave credibility to the Fevicol ads.
The losers' finals had concluded some time ago. It was a no contest, really. Turned out that one of the contestants had been competing with his father's pen, and on discovering the purpose for which it was being used for, he was quickly stripped of its possession, thus leaving him no choice but to fight with his run of the mill
AddGel. It would have been easier if he had just thrown in the towel.
It was time. The refs were announcing the start of the match. The champion would do the break off. The challenger seemed confident, but just as he was placing his pen on the table, a slight, almost imperceptible tremble. Might have missed it had his pen not magnified it so. Was the match already over?
The champion broke off. The challenger studied the position, his fingers twitching at his pen. Then seeming satisfied, he bent down for his first strike.
And in the corner of my eye, I saw one of the lookouts waving frantically...
Some class....students, the Hag and the crazy dude.. the sight of these two brings back bitter memories......
still another class
yet another class
