Durrty Baayz II
“As I already told you,…” started Mrs. M, our history teacher. Nothing wrong with the opening line, except that it was a little confusing when she said it the first thing on the first day of classes. The frontbenchers were in a frenzy – what did she just say that we missed? Maybe it’ll appear on the test, maybe I’ll fail, my family is sure to disown me, I’ll end up being a mechanic, oh my god, I can hear Ahmed screaming at me “aye chotu, navva-dassa spanner la re”
The balcony seat occupants were seen scratching their heads – man, this high school stuff flies right past you. Couldn’t register a word of what she said. Maybe I should just quit all this and be a cool mechanic. Wonder if chicks dig mechanics...
Math followed history, and Mrs. KV did a splendid job of restoring faith in the frontbenchers, and reinforcing the mechanic idea in the balcony seats. Mrs. KV was an awesome teacher, and usually had people come up (in the order that they were seated) to the blackboard and work out math problems. Shyama was busy counting heads to see when it would be his turn so that he could fall sick and take the day off, while R planned a covert relocation operation to join those who had already passed through the pearly gates. Shetty was giving a crash course to those around him, and R's long-range vision scanned the girl’s notebooks for solutions. When the bell finally rang, it was drowned by the sound of our collective exhalation.
Break!! Time to have fun, and get durrty!
Kulla, now unshackled, ran in the hallways like a bull on steroids – goring juniors, breaking switchboards, bulbs, holders…singing “tan ki shakti, mann ki shakti, Bournvita!” Now, if only the building maintenance would've made the connection, they’d have saved thousands of rupees by advising his folks to go easy on the Bournvita dosage!
Whenever A stepped out of the classroom, the durrty baayz worked with S.W.A.T. efficiency. Every worldly possession of A's that he dared to bring to school would vanish in seconds -his lunch box in someone else's bag, his book bag on a bungee cord outside the window- genius!! Another durrty baayz original, along with the case of the missing attendance register – you’ve got to hear this:
The balcony seat occupants were seen scratching their heads – man, this high school stuff flies right past you. Couldn’t register a word of what she said. Maybe I should just quit all this and be a cool mechanic. Wonder if chicks dig mechanics...
Math followed history, and Mrs. KV did a splendid job of restoring faith in the frontbenchers, and reinforcing the mechanic idea in the balcony seats. Mrs. KV was an awesome teacher, and usually had people come up (in the order that they were seated) to the blackboard and work out math problems. Shyama was busy counting heads to see when it would be his turn so that he could fall sick and take the day off, while R planned a covert relocation operation to join those who had already passed through the pearly gates. Shetty was giving a crash course to those around him, and R's long-range vision scanned the girl’s notebooks for solutions. When the bell finally rang, it was drowned by the sound of our collective exhalation.
Break!! Time to have fun, and get durrty!
Kulla, now unshackled, ran in the hallways like a bull on steroids – goring juniors, breaking switchboards, bulbs, holders…singing “tan ki shakti, mann ki shakti, Bournvita!” Now, if only the building maintenance would've made the connection, they’d have saved thousands of rupees by advising his folks to go easy on the Bournvita dosage!
Whenever A stepped out of the classroom, the durrty baayz worked with S.W.A.T. efficiency. Every worldly possession of A's that he dared to bring to school would vanish in seconds -his lunch box in someone else's bag, his book bag on a bungee cord outside the window- genius!! Another durrty baayz original, along with the case of the missing attendance register – you’ve got to hear this:
What do the durrty baayz do when they run out of headache, fever, cold, cough excuses? You just can’t afford to miss cricket matches, can you? OK, here goes plan A: Jump the wall guarded by Bahadur, who should actually be head of security, Tihar Jail. Man, he had the eyes of a thousand hawks. He could pick out the fly that crossed the wall from a lineup. No, not gonna take that route.
Plan B: Proxy? Wouldn’t work. Our teachers knew our voices, our siblings, our parents, our addresses, our neighbors, our pets…hmmm, not gonna fly!
Plan C: Idea! How about just missing classes and taking care of the attendance register later on? Hehehe, brilliant! Cruel grins on the durrty devils. Nobody will know, NOBODY!!!
Of course, they won’t stupid, we’re gonna just fling it outside the window and the elements will degrade it as seems fit. All nasty things must come to an end, right?? Maybe!
Of course, they won’t stupid, we’re gonna just fling it outside the window and the elements will degrade it as seems fit. All nasty things must come to an end, right?? Maybe!
If only we knew about projectile paths, factored in drag, expected drastic changes in the path due to the pages flipping, terminal velocity…the task would’ve been, er...dropped. Too late now! The durrty baayz watched in horror as the evidence did its victory flips, laughed mockingly at the dozen big round eyes peering out of the 4th floor window…and landed on the neighboring roof, which as luck would have it, was a slanting asbestos roof. Yes, Murphy’s peg broke its fall and there it was for the whole school to see - the register in a hammock, sipping expensive champagne in its own private island.
Nobody will know, NOBODY!!!
Coming soon: Durrty Baayz III
Nobody will know, NOBODY!!!
Coming soon: Durrty Baayz III
