How he gay-ed
It was a hot and windy evening when Cwong woke up astonishingly from his routined 2 O`clock sleep after a heavy stuffed lunch in the Bhawan`s mess mess, bunking the afternoon classes. It sometimes makes me think why does he even ask every now and then, the reason of people calling him a Tondu. His immediate words were, "abe, maine bhoot dekha". Coincidently it was that 57 year old, white haired, short, pot bellied young man`s class having a very thin moustache which was still black. So more than 80% Janta was not in that monotonous class as that fellow never took attendence. He seemed no less than a lady who`d just delivered a baby.
His description was something like this, ''There was a face outside the window next to the door, with red glittering eyes and blood drooling out of its mouth. The face was attached to no body, instead it was floating over blood. I had closed the left sideboard of the wide window and had left the right one open, but now it`s just the reverse way. I`d been listening to the song Writtten in the stars (Greenday), and now when I woke up ........''.
We searched for that unapprehended, unascertained, uncharted, unrevealed thing starting right from the underside of his bed, all through the pathways, even inside the water-cooler, over his window-shed, found two suspicious pigeons but to our surprise, their heads were intact and there was not a single sign of blood. Even in this chaotic situation, Cwong never lost his original, accustomed conformation and kept repeating the incident to each and every individual who came along his way, to mess, back from the mess, throughout the stairs, every room he stepped into, even to a senior who met him once in the railway station.
The same evening, when there were 3 metal-heads in his room, having some chill-pill, sharing some fictitious horror stories creating an awkward unwanted environment, listening to some typical numbers, his laptop suddenly switched off automatically. Anticipating for an overheated processor shutdown, I pressed the power button. No response. We kept it upside down to go through a natural cooling process, and gave a try again. But all in vein. Cwong`s expression started to stiffle, as if some haunted spirit had started entering his body.
That night he never showed up even near his room, maintained atleast 30 feet distance, slept in the same couch as mine, kept doing some CENSORED actions all night. The next day, with the first ray of sun, he shifted in with me, same room but different couches this time. He also explained on demand, the CENSORED unconscious actions which he`d been doing since his early teenage whenver he dreamt of something breathe-taking. Now this lappy-less fellow spent all of his daytime, wandering and all of his night-time ........
He moved out only when the Finals arrived for the rescue of the angelic, numb fellow, making him feel like a Renaissance.
It was a hot and windy evening when Cwong woke up astonishingly from his routined 2 O`clock sleep after a heavy stuffed lunch in the Bhawan`s mess mess, bunking the afternoon classes. It sometimes makes me think why does he even ask every now and then, the reason of people calling him a Tondu. His immediate words were, "abe, maine bhoot dekha". Coincidently it was that 57 year old, white haired, short, pot bellied young man`s class having a very thin moustache which was still black. So more than 80% Janta was not in that monotonous class as that fellow never took attendence. He seemed no less than a lady who`d just delivered a baby.
His description was something like this, ''There was a face outside the window next to the door, with red glittering eyes and blood drooling out of its mouth. The face was attached to no body, instead it was floating over blood. I had closed the left sideboard of the wide window and had left the right one open, but now it`s just the reverse way. I`d been listening to the song Writtten in the stars (Greenday), and now when I woke up ........''.
We searched for that unapprehended, unascertained, uncharted, unrevealed thing starting right from the underside of his bed, all through the pathways, even inside the water-cooler, over his window-shed, found two suspicious pigeons but to our surprise, their heads were intact and there was not a single sign of blood. Even in this chaotic situation, Cwong never lost his original, accustomed conformation and kept repeating the incident to each and every individual who came along his way, to mess, back from the mess, throughout the stairs, every room he stepped into, even to a senior who met him once in the railway station.
The same evening, when there were 3 metal-heads in his room, having some chill-pill, sharing some fictitious horror stories creating an awkward unwanted environment, listening to some typical numbers, his laptop suddenly switched off automatically. Anticipating for an overheated processor shutdown, I pressed the power button. No response. We kept it upside down to go through a natural cooling process, and gave a try again. But all in vein. Cwong`s expression started to stiffle, as if some haunted spirit had started entering his body.
That night he never showed up even near his room, maintained atleast 30 feet distance, slept in the same couch as mine, kept doing some CENSORED actions all night. The next day, with the first ray of sun, he shifted in with me, same room but different couches this time. He also explained on demand, the CENSORED unconscious actions which he`d been doing since his early teenage whenver he dreamt of something breathe-taking. Now this lappy-less fellow spent all of his daytime, wandering and all of his night-time ........
He moved out only when the Finals arrived for the rescue of the angelic, numb fellow, making him feel like a Renaissance.
PS :: All characters in this post are purely imaginary. Any resemblance of names and/or location is purely coincidental.
Kyun jhoote post script notes likhta hain... jab ye kahani sab ko bata hi di hain to kya faayda hain iska... :D
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