The Power and the Glory

Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do???

whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

The day starts as any other, in office.

Enquiry. Booking. Conformation. Event!

Issue - Nobody around to conduct the game.

Solution - The Dragon moves into gaming.

So here I am sitting in the front seat of my car, enjoying the barren, sun-burnt landscape of the heartlands of jaat-land, on my way to the gaming zone. Ajay’s in charge of the red steed, where he belongs, content. Four little piggies in the back seat, lambs on their way to slaughter. Fun times await.

We’re about ten minutes away from the destination. The road is long and narrow; traffic is single file. Only there is no traffic at this moment. There’s only us. I’m lost in the scenery, secretly yearning for a life where I won’t be required to do anything except Live. Close to nature, answerable to no-one, and with nobody waiting for me. Just my books, and my guitar. My profound escapist thoughts are abruptly clipped as Ajay swerves to the side and slams on the brakes. I look up, startled. A white Scorpio has cut us off and stopped diagonally across the road. I see a little Indian flag on the bonnet, fluttering vigorously in the wind, trying to cut loose and get away - from something it detests. As though it actually can. The fate of our nation. Politicians.

This view is also promptly disrupted as my attention is more than taken up by the five men jumping out and walking up to my car. Now, if something like this happens on a regular day, it really doesn’t perturb me too much. The only thing I can’t understand is, “Why the Fuck are they carrying sticks?!” A second later one stick comes crashing down on my window, and I open my door. I try to ask them what the problem is. In Haryanvi, they tell Ajay and I to get out of the car. We comply. They get in and start hitting two of the boys at the back. No explanations. But then, when you’re at the receiving end of someone’s love (being displayed in the form of a knuckle sandwich), not too many explanations are required.

Ajay and I try to get them to stop, but they won’t. Neither will they hit either of us. It’s more than weird. Finally I manage to pull one jaat off the boy in the back seat. Apparently not a brilliant move.

I’m looking him in the eye. For over a minute. I don’t move. Maybe it would’t be advisable.

The Reason - He has a revolver plastered against my forehead.

He’s screaming at me in Haryanvi, but I don’t listen. My attention isn’t quite on his unceasing flow of profane eloquence. He’s getting more and more furious at me. I still don’t speak. His anger changes to bewilderment. I think I know why. All through the last minute, I’ve been staring at him, smiling. Unafraid. Stupid.

Thankfully for me, Ajay intervenes and talks to him. He reluctantly moves away from me.

Flabbergasted as he is, he manages to stutter-spit out two words of english before departing. “Plea Shit” he says, pointing to my car seat. And he leaves with his men.

And once again, it is over.

Humans…