The Nerdy Odia

You know you have a nerdy Odia on your friend list if he posts pictures from his visit to the Indian Science Congress in an album named 'Winter Vacation Fun'.
Frankly speaking, I've had real bad experiences with nerds. My first tryst with a nerd dates back to the fifth grade when by the slip of the tongue, I uttered a swear word in Odia and she, the class topper had to complain about it to the class teacher.
Ironically enough, I was made to write in my School diary a 100 times, "I will not say Gandu ever again". Not that I enjoyed writing it, but since then, I developed a soft hate for that girl.
Well, it is another story altogether that I ended up having a crazy crush on her when she hit puberty in the 8th grade.

Cut to Plus two, I almost got bashed by a group of IIT/AIEEE aspirants at college for poking fun at their teacher Mr. XYZ Pulley ( Pillai saar! We goodfornothings back benchers still love you.) from some CP (ChutiyaPa) Coaching. Try saying the F-word and Rajinikant in the same breath to an Auto Anna at Madras City Station. You'll know the heat I faced.
To me, CP came across as more of a brothel and less of a premier training institute for IIT-JEE/ AIEEE/ EAMCET/ NTSE/ OJEE/ BITSAT/ TITSAT that they claimed to be. The front benchers of CP were the ones who licked the teacher's ass with outrageous doubts class in, class out. We back-benchers were the ones who were pimped in and tricked in to attending CP for the next two years of our life right after our tenth boards ended. In our free time, either we used to try smoke a meghna beedi or we were aunty-watching at the opposite CCD. That too, from across the road given that our pockets weren't very deep back then. The ones with better money on them used to go to an internet parlour and check their crush-lists on Orkut. I had a friend who wasted two years of his plus two trying to teach a Brazilian girl Odia in the hope that he would one day bring her home to his mom and say, Bou lo, Ye toh Bohu. Two times straight, he flunked.
Computer and internet access being a strict no-no for the back-benchers, they would skim through pages of a borrowed/stolen Madhur Kathayen and be all ooh-and-aah over it in their allegedly free time. No wonder, where those pimples came from.

Now, when I heard about a college senior of mine being kicked out of his high flying job because of the marijuana addiction he had picked up during his IIT days, something reminds me of something that someone said~

 "Its better to be a good poet than a bad engineer."

*No offence intended to any Engineer, any coaching class or any of the aunties, btw.

93

A still from the Movie 'Bombay'

न यह '93 होता,

न यह चिंगारी होती,

जिस कोक से तू जन्मा है,

उस पेट से गद्दारी न होती |


(Had the riots had never happened, Would the Cry of death be ever heard?
Would you have ever thought of betraying the womb of your Mother? Your Motherland?)

न कुरान है तू,

न पुरान है तू,

इंसानियत का कातिल,

मौत का फरमान है तू ||


(Oh Holy text, Neither are you Shlokas`, nor are you the Testaments. Are you a mere letter that carries in it, the dance of death?)

न तेरा मज़हब बड़ा है,
न मेरा मज़हब छोटा,
लेकिन फिर क्यूँ यह दिल,

खून के आंसू है रोता  ? |||

(We both happen to be on the same boat, then why are we rowing the oars in our opposites?)

न तू खुनी है,

न हूँ मैं दरिंदा,

अभी इस जहां मैं,

अमन की उम्मीद है ज़िंदा ||||

(Why fight for the blood of your brothers when there is still a glimmer o` hope and a half a reason to believe in the school of peace?)

Bedardi Raja

I still remember that day my Nanu (Grandfather) talked about biscuits and the king. The great Bengal famine was at large during the time. The whites used to drive around the choupal near the pond on their Jeep along with the little fat prince for company who would throw bits of Cambridge biscuits on the road and thus the chaos. Skinny yokels from nowhere would come up and have the fight of their lives, just for that bit of the cookie. But soon enough (like it happens in a Manoj Kumar film), things got better and people got to eat. The British left and Nanu was jobless (he was a Jamedar for the King of the land). His Highness, himself had to sell his most loved collection of Mercedes and Bentleys at some non-descript flea market in erstwhile Calcutta in order to get the queen and the fat prince two square meals a day and a roof to live. He was not a king anymore. He stayed in a Undertaker's house on the border of Pir baba's graveyard. The stench of burnt flesh and sound of cracking skulls now became a part of his existence. So much was the despair that he had to sell his Cigar circumciser to pay the fees of the lawyer who was fighting his case against the Hypocrisy. Country liqour and Beedis had replaced his daily fix of Exotic spirits.
Ok, Hyprocrisy is not in the literal sense here. For the record, it is not what it means in the Merriam Webster's. It could be a person, a bunch of them, or a letter with the tiger's emblem, anything, everything. It is a bloody element and it is omnipresent. For a lack of a better example, it is the bunch of people who took away his ancestral palace and his Kingdom when he was busy holidaying at a picturesque county in the land of the queen. They, the Hyprocrisy used to hang out at a big circular Building in the heart of Delhi at the tax-payer's expense. Last I heard, they still do that. Only the stuff they gossip on has become lamer, vague and baseless with each passing day.
Now back to the life of the King, his life was on a one-way to hell. Well technically speaking, hell was pretty close in a way.
One fine day, the little fat prince was bitten by a mad chimpanzee in the left nipple. The lung was punctured and the cute little kid breathed his last at a place where people from the city wearing white coats were royally raping the Hippocrates' oath and were least bothered to attend the ailing kid when he needed them the most. After this mishap happened, the Queen had started talking to herself. Womenfolk of the village claimed that they had allegedly seen her eating human faeces at the fields where they shat at the break of the dawn. The white coats, who were supposedly on the payroll of the Hypocrisy claimed that she had an exotic disease in her brain and called it Schizophrenia
(Wasn't Typhoid already tough enough for the village folks to pronounce?) .

Of Jimmy Choos and Cavallis

Yes, she wears those big goggles that scream 'Roberto' and 'Cavalli' all over. Yes, she flaunts a leather handbag (17000£ btw), big enough to accomodate her younger daughter inside it ( She's happily married you pervs!) and equally audacious to have the Greenpeace stage their typical (I find it Kinky though *winks*) nude-protests at the door of her Swanky Lahore residence the very next day. So, whats the fuss about it?  We, the Indian Media are so much obsessed with the Austere-Shastra that  we train guns on almost anyone we can. I mean, what is the point in contrasting her flamboyance to the perils of her country? She has a rich dad. Deal with it guys. Mind you, she's more than a  pretty face. An economist by training (Courtesy the Americans, who else?), she was the first lady to present the Budget speech in the Parliament of her land. Beat that.

A lot of people complain that Indian men are going bonkers over her and in the whole process are defaming the sacred ladies of our own land. Lets face it, appreciating beauty is no crime and someone has to be prettier than the rest. That ways, our ladies are nowhere close to her. Not even the one who gets her statue erected (read: constructed) in every nook and corner of Uttar Pradesh at the drop of a hat or even the one who makes a nice spoof of Being Human by auctioning her eccentric Canvasses at even more eccentric prices. Offence intended on this one.

If only she didn't have any political baggage on her, things would have been different, I believe. 

PS- The rest can begin whacking the rotten testicles of that section of the Indian media which has been awesomely irresponsible in carrying out its journalistic duties. For example: 

Till then, Good night (pause) and good luck.

Of Raavan, Love and Periods

October the 17th, 2010 | 2100hrs.

"Cmon dude, accept it. My smoke is denser.", Abhi proclaimed with an audacious authority as he made circles of nicotine laced smoke from his mouth, courtesy the Milds, his tenth in the day.

"Grow up bitch. Stop acting like a Montessorri wannabe.," UC replied him  and they fought over whose smoke was  whatever-it-was. Duh.! In the midst of all this, i looked up the sky where the smoke from our fags wrestled along with the smoke from the burnt crackers that had a few moments back had taken the form of an impressive display of fireworks.

These very fireworks for a moment's time had painted the Bhubaneswar sky in such a exotic manner that it would have inspired Renoir or Picasso to pick the brush and hit the canvas. That beautiful is was. Or so i believed.

My eyes glanced upon one particular type of the fireworks, the 'chakri' (read: the spinning fire wheel). It at first started glowing and began to spin. When it was at its climax, it was shimmering like some swarovski crystal at its lordly best and then, it began to dim and flickered away like a light bulb on a low voltage power source. And darkness prevailed then onwards. I still don't get it of why this thing caught my attention, but i could pretty much relate this to the elements of  Love and Sex alike.

At first, love blossoms when the sparks fly, literally.Then, the sun is at its highest peak, like the lovers say which is in turn followed by a phase of Darkness with the cold dark moon for company. Well, this is what happens, generally.

I'd choose not to elaborate the same with Sex.

*grins*

Love is like a firecracker. Love is over-rated. This was one view, the three of us shared today. By this time, the conversation over hot pakodas had also shifted to this very topic." There are other things in life that are beautiful and as much inspiring as love is. But still, why is love the only thing cellular companies, Coffee-shops and the likes cash on.eh?", UC stated. "Look at Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin. Most of their lyrics are so intriguing and addicting, yet those lines got nothing to do with love.", he continued."Totally a point.Why the fuck can't Pankaj Udhas and his ass think the same way.? He is depressing me, officially", Abhi said as some typical emotionally-wrenching ghazal played from the loudspeakers. Me and UC looked at Abhi and had a laugh over it.

"Life is way too dramatic you see. If we mortals could afford to cut most of the drama in our respective scenes and strive to live in a more practical manner, life could could be so easy, so beautiful", i don't know who said this as i was busy gazing the fireworks but this line hit me home. I actually got this feeling that God was speaking himself, totally. Maybe it was Abhi, or UC.

"Jeez man!! The fire ain't getting up its crotch. Its stuck in its skirt. I think we must leave. Its late as well.", Abhi Complained.

"Maybe, our ten-headed guy is having his periods today. So he won't burn, i guess.", That was me.

"Now, How the eff do you guess that.?", UC gave me a dirty look with this.

"Oh, Cmon, he's wearing a giant pleated paper skirt with what seems to me like black Polka dots on pink. Don't you see that, macha.?", i replied.

"Bastardos, lets go home before god gets angry on this one.", this was Abhi who was ever complaining about reaching late at home.

Ab, Bus - Public Transport Gets a Whole New Face For Bhubaneswar

Gone are the days when one used to wait for like decades for an auto or have a tough time bargaining with the auto-wallah (read: cabbie) over the fare. If you are still not getting of what i'm talking about, then for your information organized public transport had its inception at the city of Bhubaneswar, India in form of a City-wide Bus service.
This is a small yet a audacious step for Bhubaneswar and means quite a lot for its denizens. :)
This is surely something we denizens could take pride of in a while. Agree?
So, here's a small but packed info on all about the Bus Service that was rolled out today on a Public-Private Partnership basis.
It is a organized city-wide transport service comprising of twenty buses that would ply on Two distinct routes. The first route would be from NandanKanan Zoological Park to Biju Patnaik Airport with the buses numbered 207 and the second route is supposed to stretch from VSS Nagar to Dumduma with the buses numbered 40.
The tariff for the tickets is as low as Rs.2 and depends and is proportionate upon the distance one travels.
Holy Smokes!, thats surely economical, eh?
Here is the route plan for both the routes.

Bus no.207:
Nandankanan-Raghunathpur-Nandan Vihar-KiiT Square-Patia-Damana Square-Chandrasekharpur-Kalinga Hospital-Fortune Towers-Jayadav Vihar Square-AG Colony-Kalinga Stadium-Shastri Nagar-Kalinga Enclave-Rabindra Mandap-Master Canteen-Rajmahal Square-Forest Park-Airport.

Bus no.405:
VSS Nagar-FCI Godown-Satsang Vihar-Vani Vihar-Ram Mandir-Master Canteen-Rajmahal Square-Forest Park-Palashpalli-Bhimtangi-Lingaraj Road PH-Pokhariput-Jagmohan Nagar-Jagamara-Khandagiri Square-Kolathia-Dumduma Colony 


Have a Nice ride! :)

PS- The author of this blog that is me is having a very bad writer's block. Feeling guilty about the fact that my blog has been dead for a while, this is all i could come up with.
To all my readers, i know you would want my ass kicked for not posting pieces and poems anymore, but please bear with me for a while's time and take a vacation. Cheers :)
I should be up with something very soon.



Disclaimer- The information issued in this post is solely for informational and educational purposes and is solely for the benefit of the general public of Bhubaneswar.
This is not an Official Statement or a Notification and this post is by no means published or sponsored by the concerned authorities. Hence, Agent Literateur shall be held responsible for any kind of loss connected to this post.


©Text and Photos- Agent Literateur, 2008-2010

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?

Re-fuel ->

He was badly drunk. His two-wheeler seemed to be bit slow for him, no matter how hard he twisted the accelerator. On the signal, he started spilling abuses on his vehicle in colloquial Odia, much to the fascination of the traffic around who tried hard to ignore him. Of course they coudn't.

Two hours ago, he, had puked three times.

When a cop at the signal approached him,he said, 'Good morning Uncle!', It was 8pm though. 'Today is my birthday, Isiliye thoda sa maar diya and got carried away. But you carry on sir, Nothing serious.' He handed him a neatly and symmetrically folded Rs.50 bill. The cop gave him a cursory glance and went away. He grinned.

Maybe i need to re-fuel up first, he thought. A kilo metre from the signal, His wet and Vodka laced watery eyes fell on a sign which read Indian Oil.  He drove in the pump, cut through the crowd which much to his amazement gave him way and right in front of a filling machine.
'Dui Liter bhaina. Plain...( Tank up to two liters mate..)'

The petrol bunk attendant, he was a young guy, probably around 13-14 years of age. He derived a expression on his face which was a potpourri of surprise,Amazement and Laughter.

Why wouldn't he be? after all, a very few people on a Yo-Bike come here, and it was this drunk guy today... :P

eMoTiOnAL AtTYacHAaRR...

"Faala(read-Saala:P)...aaji eve ta poora barbaad hei gala!!(buddy...dis evening was a waste)"...Patel said as he lit up another Davidoff.The strobe lasers behind the DJ's deck were flashing on our corner and the smoke from his cig reddened up which would have resembled blood if it ever had a gaseous state :P.Yes we were at Ten Downing Street....

A much awaited rock gig of the town had got delayed and this pissed us off, actually dissappointed us.Yes,a pretty known B-School of the country-XIM,had dissappointed us, ditched us officially. Who on the earth would like to watch a gig if you start the sound-check at 9:30pm,that too with two of the performing bands backing-off at the eleventh hour?OK,enough of the Journo stuff,coming to the point we were in no mood to wait.So we left ASAP.

Finally the five moody emotional bastards-Raan,Patel,Ahmed,Casanova,Moi headed towards TDS,that too on a friday-night which meant not a weekend,a bit cheap booze,shit music,no crowd...so eventually no legs and thighs as Raan lamented :(. As we entered the pub,we seemed like Gorrillas in Antartica. There 'actually' were no partying people out there.All i could see were a band of waiters who seemed unemployed, for the night.They were busy watching some stupid soap on a silver-bordered flat panel.Somebody should teach this people to not watch such stuff atleast on a TV like this,else i would send a few ninjas to shove off these people's as*#$, would love to actually. We chose a table and parked our asses. A group of who seemed like corporate people complete in their suit-boots sat on a far-end.They seemed pretty unstable,emotionally.All of them were actually crying in a sync(BOOZE WORKS WONDERS!!!). Imagine such people who run companies and stuff, whom other people envy and perceive as emotionally-challenged individuals were actually weeping.To me,it seemed like a the group of those senior-citizen uncles who sat at my neighbourbood park in the evenings talking about what new tantrums their daughters-in-law threw in,how their scheming sons used to cunningly sneak out their pension-books and draw out money,how soon would their medicines get over and stuff before breaking into a melancholy.

So where was I? yes TDS.Such sights worsened our moods.Being honest,the thought of these senior citizens aggravated mine.I was in my all time low maybe.Somebody among us started crying,don't rememeber who.I didn't care.(NO!!..of course,it wasn't me!!)

"Dude...whatever respect i had for XIM,i just lost it an hour ago.",Casanova said Patel as he took a sip of his Lemon-soda."Point...","So toh hai..", Me and Ahmed replied in reflex.Nobody had booze that night because we were not in a mood to.

Something needed to rescue us.....SOMETHING,SOMEBODY.

Then played a track called "Right Round->Flo-Rida|OST-The Hangover".All of us jumped off our chairs and headed towards the floor,our lemon soda glasses in our hands intact.It was just five of us there,yes we were the 'crowd' tonight, everyone's 'entertainment' tonight.The DJ had RESCUED us.A guy with his son,a 4-5 year old kid joined us.This kid a few minutes ago had snatched his dad's vodka peg and when denied,he started crying.It took his mother's all emotional strength(emotions again!!) to calm him down.Kids you know.

And all that it took to lift our spirits was this track.All the 5 of us love this track in particular and i guess i don't need to say anything about the movie.Ahmed has watched the movie a good 39 times.Still if i sound nuts to you people, please take the pain of you-tubing "The Hangover-Theaterical Trailer".One of my fav movies ever.Watch the teaser if you haven't yet...its worth every mb downloaded.

More emotions??Anyone??

AUTO AUTO!

"bhai, lewis road?? "

thirty minutes ago pa had called up and he had forgot his laptop back at home and he needed it asap. a friend dropped me at rajmahal square and from there, i had to take an auto to his office. it was three-thirty in the afternoon and a hot(and humid)April day when i was standing in the corner of the chowk waiting for an auto. There were autos parked beside the pavements, some were bereft of the waallahs while the drivers of some were enjoying their afternoon siestas. Thus, no running auto was plying. 16 calls from pa and twenty minutes later, i caught hold of one.
Autorickshaws(and their autowaallahs) are really special to the city of Bhubaneswar. Its like the majority of the citizens here depend on them. One day there are on strike and then its kind of a public holiday. The autowallahs are even more colorful than their lives are.Their colloquial accent, their street attire and the Oriya numbers they play in their vehicles, its just fab, its awesome, its Orissa !
Not just the lower classes of the society, there are many people in the city who do jobs as an autowaallah to eke out a living.I've seen a student or two riding autos to pay their university fees. Its like, every Munna or Raaja or surendra bhai has a story to tell. Even I've met a pink-slipped engineer who used to work for a small firm in the city now riding an auto for a living.
ten minutes later i was at the reception of my dad's office.

I: "Mr.Acharya please?"
an intercom call and a moment later
R: "he'll be here any moment now..ah! there he is"
I: "thanks! "
R: "good day!"



this post in a tribute to surendra bhai. Surendra is a autorickshaw driver in my locality currently pursuing his LLB long distance from utkal University. He dreams of becoming a good lawyer and supporting his parents who were ditched by his two elder brothers.

A month ago, he appeared his final exams and hopes that he will clear it with distinction.

Surendra bhai! Peace to you...

IPL

Now its official-The cash rich cricketing spectacle of the year- Th DLF Indian Premier League is gonna be held in South Africa.
All happened because of two greatest religions of the country locked horns with each other. The general elections, that come once in every five years are scheduled to be held during the time of the Premier League. When the Central Government & some State governments lifted hands when the issue of the event's security was raised, it clearly seemed like the event not being held this year. Even it got postponed, the organizers needed a window of 4-6 weeks after the elections which wasn't possible because the English summer that is the international cricketing season would have started by then. The Australians and the English would be busy fighting for the ashes and then there is the ICC T20 world cup following it. So postponing the event would not have been possible which would have meant cancellation of this year's edition, billions of advertising money going down the black water and sad but true, SET,the official broadcasters closing shop in the country. Even the likes of Shahrukh Khan, VIjay Mallya,Shilpa Shetty would be bleeding financially.
Thanks to the man called Lalit Modi who happens to be the commisioner of IPL, cricket hungry fans across the country would be surely getting a dose of their dearest 'karmayuddhh' this year.
Few weeks ago, it was IPL vs. IPL battle, yes the indian premier league vs. the indian political league.
guess who turned to be the winner?

IPL- INDIAN PHOREN LEAGUE!

Realize 'n' Screwed!

Today I realized that whatever i do now decides my tomorrow...this ain't philosophical....few days back i screwed up my maths board paper....i told about it to mom....she scolded...ignored it.
But all my dreams of studying at DU and other desi ivy league colleges are shattered.

Actually it is like this that i have attempted all questions but not sure of a major part of it. I have assumed it to go bad..really bad unless my paper falls into the hands of an alcoholic examiner. Just fingers crossed for now.

Two months from now I visualize myself sitting in a dingy hall at the counseling of an entrance exam. Right from day 1 i hated engineering. i never wanted to get into all those limits, mechanics shit. i suck at them, heck i just love to hate engineering. Its just a compulsion that i have to pack my bags to hell few months later. I always wanted to study B.Com in the likes of Stephens,Xavier's,Loyola,Osmania...but all gone..long gone..wish i had put a bit more effort for maths..i wud have passed off...even if i wud have managed to to better, at the end of the day its my board-The Bloody Council Of Higher Secondary Education sucks the shit outta u. You try to climb up and up and it just pulls you down in one shot.See so easy like opening a can of beer. Hell raise upon it.

With my Desi Ivy dreams on the verge of ruins i just sit staring the empty wall opposite me searching for....

A Society Of Errors

The boring physics classes had got over. I jostled through the weekend night city traffic to reach my residence located in the suburbs of Bhubaneswar. On reaching home, without saying a word to anyone i shot off to my room and closed the door. i didn't bother to switch on the cd player and turned the radio on instead. The local FM station played the track "alvida" as the chill of the water of the shower hit my bare back. I felt nothing as i was all numb. Saurav had slept off while studying. I went downstairs on mom's call for dinner. Roti and Paalak paneer never tasted so bad.
Mom got worried on seeing this side of me. She asked me what was the problem. I said her all...

I was waiting for buddy Sohail. We used to go to the same tutions and he used to pick me up and we use to go together. He start complaining about the assignments that were due to be submitted that day. As we rode chatting, we saw crowd on the midst of the road. It seemed like some bloody serious accident might have occured. As we neared to the spot i saw a bicycle totally bended from the frame as if it was crushed by some monster truck shit. A closer look revealed that the cycle resembled the one that my sibling saurav had. A cold shiver went through my spine. I ran towards the crowd and made my way through it. A kid lay there with his head rested on the divider of the road which was by now painted red with the blood from his wound. People had gathered around him. He wore a school bag which was now tattered and was on his way to his tutions i presumed. His legs were badly bruised. He lay there motionless. People were talking that it was a hit and run case. Some DiI was waiting for buddy Sohail. We used to go to the same tutions and he used to pick me up and we use to go together. He start complaining about the assignments that were due to be submitted that day. As we rode chatting, we saw crowd on the midst of the road. It seemed like some bloody serious accident might have occured. As we neared to the spot i saw a bicycle totally bended from the frame as if it was crushed by some monster truck shit. A closer look revealed that the cycle resembled the one that my sibling saurav had. A cold shiver went through my spine. I ran towards the crowd and made my way through it. A kid lay there with his head rested on the divider of the road which was by now painted red with the blood from his wound. People had gathered around him. He wore a school bag which was now tattered and was on his way to his tutions i presumed. His legs were badly bruised. He lay there motionless. People were talking that it was a hit and run case. Some Di$&heads talked about this being a deliberate murder. Nobody knew what had happened.They just talked and they talked bullshit.Many cars drove by, but nobody even bothered to stop and help the guy. I was totally scared at that moment. Sohail advised me that we go to the nearest police station and report the case. I made frantic calls to the PCR to no avail. They said they would take thirty minutes to reach the spot. The cops of Bhubaneswar really suck. They are no good when it comes to emergencies like this. They spend most of the day collecting fines( and bribes). The kid was almost dead when they reached. The police then started to clear the area. They were pretty reluctant to take the body to the hospital as they said he was already dead. The public present started venting its anger against the cops by pelting stones at them. By then a van arrived which seemed to be from a local tv channel. A very pretty lady emerged out of the vehicle and started talking the nonsense that she's was being paid for.
amp;heads talked about this being a deliberate murder. Nobody knew what had happened.They just talked and they talked bullshit.Many cars drove by, but nobody even bothered to stop and help the guy. I was totally scared at that moment. Sohail advised me that we go to the nearest police station and report the case. I made frantic calls to the PCR to no avail. They said they would take thirty minutes to reach the spot. The cops of Bhubaneswar really suck. They are no good when it comes to emergencies like this. They spend most of the day collecting fines( and bribes). The kid was almost dead when they reached. The police then started to clear the area. They were pretty reluctant to take the body to the hospital as they said he was already dead. The public present started venting its anger against the cops by pelting stones at them. By then a van arrived which seemed to be from a local tv channel. A very pretty lady emerged out of the vehicle and started talking the nonsense that she's was being paid for.
Sohail and I finally managed to get out of the scene. I was worried about what had happened to the boy. Was he still alive or not?? questions popped up. Hell no answers were found. Sohail stopped the bike a few kilometres away from the spot near a Paan-shop.Both lit a fag each which was pretty much required to calm us down. We debated whether to go to the classes or not. Though we were late we still went to the tutions. Sir gave us dirty looks. I was feelig like pelting a stone on his face.
After telling this story to mom, i slept off.

I woke up at 5 am next morning. Never before i waited for the newsapers in this manner. From the terrace i saw Mr. Mishra ,my immediate neighbour instructing his servant who was in our garden for flowers. Yes i really hate this habit of the oriya people always having their eyes on other's possessions. This is the same Mishra who had won the award three years in a row for the best house garden of the colony. I really hate him. The papers arrived but i found nothing about the yesterday's incident. The next day happened to be 14th november ie. children's day. I found out that the boy who met with the accident had died and this was put up in the obituary columns of the daily that day.
Now guess what the headlines of that day read???

" Australian doctor arrested in Puri on charges of sexual abuse to orphanage children"

This is the society and the system where we exist.