Hungry as hell.. Hell, hungrier!
It was Ramzan, The month of fasting for all pious Muslims. And one rebellious one: Me. All of seventeen, it seemed to me that all my friends were either partying, or eating. Don't get me wrong. Ramzan was always a very exciting month, too. After sunset.
That day in school, I sat glumly. Class eleven, was otherwise a lot of fun. A small group of the most like minded girls you ever saw. All of them, in todays words, wacky, fun loving. That day after school, we were having a party, an impromptu one, as a kind of pick me up for the next day's physics test. The last period, math, was troublesome for me: I fell asleep, even as the teacher went into paroxysms of rage over my mild snores. Disgruntled, grateful for the timely bell, I escaped.
Tiredly I sloped into the next classroom, where my classmates were having an eatathon. Abusing them roundly, I turned to go home. Some unseen signal flew over my head, and I was pinned to the door by two of my sturdy 'fiends', while the rest dangled bottles of thums up, (Yes, the everybody's feeling great on thums up!,one) and cakes and leftover tiffins in front of my face. Stoically, I stared, calling upon every ounce of will power to resist them. Changing my strategy, then, I lunged for the bottle and grabbing it, raised it theatrically saying, " on your heads be it, you b------." Horrified, they now went into reverse mode, grabbing the bottle right back. Triumphant smile in place, I tucked my errant blouse back, and swaggered out.
Wiping my forehead with relief, trembling with thirst, I was sure, today was the day, I would, for the first time in my life, commit the sacrilige and break my fast. Nearing the gates, a small hand slipped into my hand. 'Oh no,! ' I groaned inwardly. It was my little neighbour, a little hero worshipping thing, whom I escorted home every day from school. In no mood to bear up with her chatter, I stumped along, in a haze of murderous thoughts, when what she was saying, penetrated the haze. "You are so strong, Bhen," said she, munching contentedly on a biscuit. "I couldn't ever fast and go to school as well. I want to be just like you when I grow up."
Kids! They say the darndest things. One has to live up to them. That fast had to be completed.
It was Ramzan, The month of fasting for all pious Muslims. And one rebellious one: Me. All of seventeen, it seemed to me that all my friends were either partying, or eating. Don't get me wrong. Ramzan was always a very exciting month, too. After sunset.
That day in school, I sat glumly. Class eleven, was otherwise a lot of fun. A small group of the most like minded girls you ever saw. All of them, in todays words, wacky, fun loving. That day after school, we were having a party, an impromptu one, as a kind of pick me up for the next day's physics test. The last period, math, was troublesome for me: I fell asleep, even as the teacher went into paroxysms of rage over my mild snores. Disgruntled, grateful for the timely bell, I escaped.
Tiredly I sloped into the next classroom, where my classmates were having an eatathon. Abusing them roundly, I turned to go home. Some unseen signal flew over my head, and I was pinned to the door by two of my sturdy 'fiends', while the rest dangled bottles of thums up, (Yes, the everybody's feeling great on thums up!,one) and cakes and leftover tiffins in front of my face. Stoically, I stared, calling upon every ounce of will power to resist them. Changing my strategy, then, I lunged for the bottle and grabbing it, raised it theatrically saying, " on your heads be it, you b------." Horrified, they now went into reverse mode, grabbing the bottle right back. Triumphant smile in place, I tucked my errant blouse back, and swaggered out.
Wiping my forehead with relief, trembling with thirst, I was sure, today was the day, I would, for the first time in my life, commit the sacrilige and break my fast. Nearing the gates, a small hand slipped into my hand. 'Oh no,! ' I groaned inwardly. It was my little neighbour, a little hero worshipping thing, whom I escorted home every day from school. In no mood to bear up with her chatter, I stumped along, in a haze of murderous thoughts, when what she was saying, penetrated the haze. "You are so strong, Bhen," said she, munching contentedly on a biscuit. "I couldn't ever fast and go to school as well. I want to be just like you when I grow up."
Kids! They say the darndest things. One has to live up to them. That fast had to be completed.
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