Them Bastards

Once upon a time in the suburbs of a beautiful city called Bhubaneswar, lived a bunch of kids who called themselves the 'Mafia on Cycles'. Their targets included 'petty Ice-cream Wallahs', the uncles who sold Balloons - The heart shaped ones. Or the 'Bhaina' at the game parlor where they had a time of their lives playing the likes of Mortal Kombat and Re-coil. Those petty fights after the school they used to get in, for Pokemon tazos or those wrestling trump cards now seemed so childish and immature to them, but each one of them very well knew that this was the seed to something great and lovable, the undying friendship that would follow. They used to return their homes with bruised arms and knees and broken cycles, but on the contrary, the bond they developed between themselves had been deemed un-breakable. Together, they used to shout together those dirty slangs they had picked up at school in the summer evenings after a game of Cricket not caring about those colony uncles who would hear them. As time passed by, the cycles gave way to the Peps, the Dios and co. By this time, apart from the slangs, thick fog of smoke came out from their mouths that smelled tobacco. The tiny rascals had become big boys indeed. Period.
Words like Love, crush meant a whole new meaning for them now. Despite the fact that each of them wore different brands of underwear ranging from the stupid sounding 'Rupa' to the chic 'Puma undies', they had one thing, one fucking thing in common- At some point or the other they had felt for a girl. One of them was a born player, in formal words, they'd call him Casanova. He never fell in love with every girl around, it was the other way round. Sick fucktard, made me jealous at times. Gradually with the passage of time, some of em had break-ups, the Casanova did what he was best at, some just let go for they were bored, two of them were still stuck and were having a tough time on moving on and a last single bastard, the glorious and the most creative of the lot was simply confused of what he wanted. He assessed the girls in his life like stock options, where to invest, where to not. Errr sorry, 'whom to invest upon....' :P
Career wise and academically, most of them had a tough time in finishing school, the 12th grade. A few managed it and passed coolly, one of them failed badly. But the other bastards still stood by him, kept his spirits high and a year later, this tiger fought back and cleared his thing perfectly. The fact that they were now in different colleges and instis` was not a problem. They still kicked ass in town, together.
Cutting to the present, they made new friends and relationships and carefully chose the ones that they knew would last forever, probably. These bastards are indeed proud of what they are now and what they stand for. A poet, a semi-poet, a writer (probably), two photographers, a date doctor, two awe-frig-gin-some Joe Satriani-esque guitarists, a gifted foot-baller, one responsible guy ( he's the Man Friday most of the times when we end up screwing ourselves) and the perfect angry young man. Now that's what quite a many people would call a talented bunch o' individuals.
Love them, hate them, envy them. They won't give a give shit to it.
For they Love all and Rock all. Them Bastards.
Care for more, eh?