Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Stamping Feet

 When we were in school, we used to play a game we used to call Stamping Feet. The object of the game fairly simple and the rules were subject to change on the fly. It was basically a single player game and one person was considered out, a decision which we would come to based on “claps”(a complex method of eliminating and finding one random person in a group). The person who is out became the "catcher" and had to, with his shoes touch one of the other's. On success, the stamper would become the catcher and the stampee would join the rest of us and thus and the game continued. It was not really restricted to mere touching, it could also be stamping ( hence the name of the game ), kicking, tripping, anything that involved in contact between two things - one of them the shoes of a well fed, constantly sugar high, 15 year olds.

 On week days the bullies made merry. Thanks to the leather shoes which we were forced to use, the cheaper the shoe, the heavier it was and getting kicked by one was not a pleasant experience. No one really messed with the bullies. On week ends it was PT day and we were supposed to wear white canvas shoes. On these days, the game was quicker and it was more about technique and swiftness. Saturday games were more glamorous and usually included extra audience, the ones who were late and couldn't get their hands on the 1 basket ball, 1 volley ball and 4 shuttle rackets that were the only possessions of the PT department.  So with people(girls) watching and things like fame, name, 2 chewing-gums etc at stake the guys with the right body / brain / attitude for the game excelled and entertained. No one messed with the bullies on Saturdays too.

 The rest of us got fucked every day.

 The bullies went on to become politicians and real estate agents and the really rich people with loads of black money.

 The "body and brain" ones went on to become movie stars and sportsmen and entrepreneurs.

 The rest of us are still getting fucked every day.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Cat – os – Trophy - 2

I hate doctors. My history with them has been horrible. The two vets I have met so far have both ruined my life, each within 15 minutes of meeting me.

The first vet I went to was a very creepy man. He seemed to be lost in his own world, and I believe he was either mentally special or some one had hit him very hard on his head. As soon as he saw me, he pulled up my tail and declared to them that I was female. I was too young to realize what that meant for me but being a cat with an unsophisticated brain, I accepted what was told. This resulted in me being called "paru" for the first couple of days there after. Soon people who thought paru was a boring name came up with their own. I came to be called "mitai" "shreya" "tittu" "chitti" and their variations.

The next few days went away in shaping myself into an ideal woman. I was bought a pink basket which I could move around out of home. I was trained to keep my legs together and behave gently like how women are expected to. I was for sometime pedicured, nail polished and bathed twice every week. Something started developing between my legs but I ignored it. With time, the first vet was done away with for his stoney behavior because each time I was taken to him, he had to start all over again, starting from figuring out how old I was to looking what shots I was already given. I was more than glad that I didn't have to go there anymore because his clinic smelt of a stinky dog.

The second one turned out to be worse. The moment he saw me he confirmed that I am male. He also confirmed that what was growing between my legs were actually testicles and that I was going to hit "heat" soon. In about 3 minutes from then, I was given an injection that had a strange impact on me. I completely lost it. I could see and hear what was happening around but could not register a thing. I could not move. After what felt like a few cat days, my senses started falling in place. I could slowly move only to realize that there were stitches in the place where balls previously existed. He drugged me and cut off my balls. That basturd!

I am now stuck with the pink box, girly names and no balls.

On the positive side, I don't get to bath as often. I can be smelly and no one cares.