The Model Student

Teen Blunt was in Class 10. For the uniformed, the Class 10 exams are a major milestone in the Indian student life. One is expected to score good marks there in order to secure admission into further good schools, which in turn would help one to get a good job, which in turn would help one to find a good spouse, which in turn would help one to produce offsprings, who in turn would have to go through the same cycle. Welcome to India. And yes, we’re a weird lot.

So Teen Blunt wasn’t doing well in Class 10 up until the model (preparatory) exams. The model exams were just a few days away, and that would be followed by a Parents-Teachers meeting. After that, the month-long study holidays would start, which would culminate with the dreaded Class 10 exams. The model exams question papers were designed by a third party institute. The same institute was providing question papers to other schools that followed the same syllabus.

About the Parents-Teachers meeting, Teen Blunt was sure the teachers would rip into him for the simple reason that he hadn’t done well all year. He didn’t want the grief, and he was almost actually considering studying well to avoid it. Fortunately, he was spared of the trouble when one day, his classmate A came over to him and his friend SP.

A: “Wanna score some model question papers?”

SP: “What?” *gasps*

Yes, SP was a wimp.

Teen Blunt: “Sure. Which subject?”

A: “Maths.”

Now, Maths was Teen Blunt’s Kryptonite, the one subject that could single-handedly destroy him. The thought of getting his hands on the question papers beforehand and at least getting through the model exams unscathed delighted him.

Teen Blunt: “Great. How much would it cost us?”

SP (looking at Teen Blunt): “Are you seriously considering this?”

A: “Nothing.”

Teen Blunt: “Nothing?”

A: “Yeah, nothing. Just tell me the answers to all the questions.”

Teen Blunt: “So you came to us because you don’t have the answers to the questions?”

A: “Yup. Do we have a deal?”

SP: “No way.”

Teen Blunt: “Hell yeah!”

So A gave them the paper, they made copies, figured out all the answers, made copies of those also, gave one to a very happy A.

*Cut to exam day*

Teen Blunt: “So remember, we aren’t absolute champs. So don’t aim for a 100. It might raise doubts. Go for a reasonable number. I’m going for 85. You guys also be smart about it.”

SP/A: “Okay.”

The exam goes off well for Teen Blunt, and the others are also happy. They don’t talk about it till the day the marks are announced.

*Cut to the day the results are announced*

The Maths teacher walks in.

Teacher: “So first of all I want to congratulate SP for peaking well just before the finals.”

SP: *unblinking stare at the teacher*

Teen Blunt (thinking): “Uh-oh. Please don’t be a 95+.”

Teacher: “What impresses me most about SP is that how little mistakes he has made in the paper. Even for complex calculations, he doesn’t have any striking and re-writing.”

SP: *unblinking stare at the teacher*

Teen Blunt (thinking): “Okay, we are dead.”

Teacher: “He has scored 97, and I want each and every one of you to go through this paper and treat it as a reference on how a perfect Maths paper should look like.”

SP: *unblinking stare at the teacher*

Teen Blunt (thinking): “Kill. Me. Now.”

Teacher (chuckling): “The paper is so flawless, that if I didn’t know SP better, I would have thought that the question paper had leaked.”

SP: *makes a whimpering sound*

Teen Blunt: *starts planning what his tombstone should read*

Teacher: “What was that? What’s wrong SP?”

SP: *looks down and doesn’t say a word*

Teacher (raising his voice): “SP! What is it? Did you get the question paper beforehand?”

SP: *makes another whimpering sound*

Teen Blunt (thinking): “Tombstone done. Now let me start planning my will.”

Meanwhile, the teacher has walked up to SP, who sat just next to Teen Blunt. SP had stood up, and was looking down, unable to face the teacher.

Teacher (in his loudest voice): “SP, for the last time, did the question paper leak?”

SP: *makes one last whimpering sound, and nods his head in the affirmative*

Teacher (absolutely livid): “I can’t believe this. We teachers trust you and feel proud when you do well, and you don’t even stop and think once before stabbing us in the back. Who else got this leaked paper?” *starts looking around the class*

A deafening silence engulfed the classroom, and suddenly A stood up.

Teacher (with a puzzled look): “You? But you just scored 58!”

A (ever so casually): “I wanted to score above 50.”

Yes, A was an absolute bad ass.

Teacher: “Anybody else?”

Teen Blunt had made up his mind to not surrender, but he could feel SP’s gaze on him. After what seemed an eternity, he looked up. SP was staring at him, so was A. He looked around, and realized the teacher and the entire class was also staring at him.

Blunt (thinking): “F**k.”

Yes, the Parents-Teachers meeting was a major disaster, but Teen Blunt stuck to his version that he got a random question paper, and being the good student he was, he solved it to hone his skills, and realized that it was a leaked paper only after the exam. And that continues to remain the official story at his home. Till today.

Love, Lies and More

He knew it was time. He looked at her as she hugged him tightly. It almost seemed like she was scared to let him go. She was saying something about his stubble. She did this thing where she would talk about a random thing by herself, smile, and then hug him even tighter. He smiled, but he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

They had been together for a little over seven years. They lived in different cities. He hated the fact that they spent very little time with each other, and hoped that one day it would change. That one day the distance between them would disappear for good. That one day they would be able to enjoy time with each other without the fear that one of them has to leave the next day. That one day their story will enter the happily ever after phase.

He looked up at the ceiling. He didn't know what to do. She was animatedly talking about something that happened at work. He knew he was lucky to have her in his life. He didn't want to lie to her, but there was no way out. He couldn't tell her the truth, and the wait was killing him.

The last time they had been together was more than a year ago. If the distance between them had any positive aspect, it was that they still behaved like they were in the first stages of a relationship. It was funny how every time they met, he would be very nervous. The long gaps between each of their meetings always played on his mind when he was just minutes away from meeting her. And then the first hug after those long waits seemed like the best thing in the world. That hug when neither would let go and they would just soak up each other’s scent and their being. She would bury her face in his chest, and he would smell her curly tresses. She would smile without realizing that a smile was plastered on his face also. Not a word would be spoken between the two for a long while. Just the fact that they were together and in each other’s arms would be reassuring. She felt secure in his large arms, while he felt immensely fortunate to just be with her.

He snapped back to the present. He had already waited longer than he should have. He realized she had drifted off to sleep. He slowly slid his hand from underneath her head. He checked again if she was still asleep, and stayed still for a minute. Then he slowly took her hand from his chest and placed it on the bed. Again he checked if he had woken her up. No, she was still sound asleep. He again waited for a minute before he made his next move. He slowly got off the bed. The cot made a creaking sound as he got on his feet. He stole one last look at her, and then tiptoed out of the room.

Once he was out of the room, he rushed to the main door. He opened it as slowly as he could, and stepped out, and closed the door behind him. He looked around to see if any of his neighbours were around. No one was in the hallway. He braced himself to do it.

Parrrrrummprrrrrrrrrrrumprrrrrrrrrummmmparrrrrrrrrr!

He let it rip like there was no tomorrow. He had been holding it in for almost an entire day, and it was just about killing him. Relieved and happy, he opened the door, went back into the room, slid beside her under the blankets, and smiled as he kissed her.

“Why are you smiling so much?” She asked groggily as she awoke and turned towards him.

“Just happy that you’re here”, he said as he smiled again and took her into his arms.

Title Suggestions, Anyone?

It was the night of Saturday the 14^th. Yeah I know Friday the 13^th is supposed to be the big deal and all, but I’m coming up with this new thing where Saturday the 14^th will be the real thing.

So it was the 14^th and not having any definite plans for the night, I called up my friend S. We used to be roomies once upon a time (read a little over 4 years ago). Then he had moved out, had lived abroad for a couple of years, had come back, got married. But somehow we had never met. We had planned to catch up on New Year’s Eve, but even that plan fell through.

I called him up and we decided to go to this upscale watering hole, but before that we planned to meet up at this low-scale place. Let me explain. Like every financially challenged Bangalorean who likes to go to swanky pubs, we too followed a plan whenever we wanted to get hammered. We would first go to a economically friendly place (read a cheap bar), down a few drinks, and then head off to the happening place, where we would be more than glad to settle with just a couple of drinks and a few eats.

We met around 8pm and after gulping 5 neat whiskeys, S said, “Let’s head to the other place. My wife will meet us there at 9.”

Me: “Errr...what?”

S: “At 9.”

Me: “You invited your wife?”

S: “Yes. Is it a problem?”

Me: “Of course it is! I’ve downed 3 drinks...”

S: “It’s 4 actually.”

Me: “Yeah exactly! I’ve downed 3 drinks and I can’t meet her now!”

S: “It’s ok buddy, she isn’t gonna judge you. I’ve myself had 4 drinks...”

Me: “It’s 5 actually.”

S: “Yeah exactly! I’ve had 4 drinks, and if I don’t have a problem meeting my wife after that, I don’t see any reason why you should.”

I grudgingly agreed. We reached there, and around 20 minutes later walked in Mrs.S. Now normally as a rule, I don’t letch at my friends’ girls. But this...I mean that...I mean she...was something different. It was very tough to not notice how ravishing she was. And then there was the added pressure of having a decent conversation with her, without being too apparent with the staring. But somehow I got through that (by focussing on the other pretty young things in the place of course).

As time passed, I realized she was not just about the looks, she was pretty cool too. She was getting my jokes and cracking up some good ones herself too. After a while, I excused myself and went to the loo, where I tried to convince myself that she was off limits by coming up with 10 reasons. I got only 5. They are:

1.    S will kill me.

2.    S will kill me.

3.    S will kill me.

4.    S will kill me.

5.    S will kill me.

That not having helped much, I stepped out of the loo and headed back to our booth. When I got there, I saw Mrs.S sitting there with a confused and nervous look on her face and S was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened? Where’s S?” I asked, and turned around to see where she was staring. S was involved in a scuffle with two guys. I immediately rushed over, and pulled them apart, and got one blow on my shoulder as part of the deal. One of the two was wearing a tee that shouted “PERFECTIONIST”.

“Meet me outside if you have the balls!” yelled the Perfectionist as he headed out with his friend.

Not knowing what was happening, I turned and looked at S, and realized he was already on his way out. Drunken brawl Rule 1: “When your friend gets into a fight, you get into it too”.

So off I followed after S. The three had already started exchanging blows. I pulled away the Perfectionist and punched him across the face.

Drunken brawl Rule 2: “You never hit a guy in the nuts, not unless you are outnumbered.”

I was prepared for a right handed-punch, but unfortunately he was a left-hander and I got one on my right cheek. Before I could reel from the after-effect of the punch, I got a low-power kick on my right thigh. I was finding it funny that this guy who looked pretty huge and all couldn’t come up with a decent kick. Before I could chuckle at the thought, I got a pretty strong kick on the right side of my stomach. Trust me; a left-hander kinda upsets the rhythm of the fight.

Finally I managed to take a swing back. I aimed for his nose, and hit bullseye. He went off balance clutching his nose, and sat down on the sidewalk. With one of them out of the equation, I headed off to S’s aid and pushed the non-perfectionist away from S. He was stunned and turned to see that his ally was already down. Realizing he was out-numbered, he immediately put up his hands saying, “Ok ok I give up”.

I was confused. Do we continue fighting, or is it over? I looked at S, who was still spewing anger. I put my hand across his shoulders and guided him back into the pub.

Drunken brawl Rule 3: “The winners always go back into the bar, the losers to the hospital, or home, or to their Mommas”.

We went back in and Mrs.S was relieved to see us with minimal injury. S had a bleeding lip and I had no outward sign of having been in a fight. S told her what happened. She hugged him and my “And I get nothing?” was met with a customary chuckle by all.

S went off to the loo to wash up. I ordered a repeat of my drink, and that’s when Mrs.S said, “Thanks”.

I looked at her and smiled. She leaned over and hugged me, and the 5 reasons that I had listed earlier on why she’s off limits went off like a fire alarm in my head!

PS: Did anyone notice that I never mentioned the reason for the fight? ;)

The Transporter

He looked at his watch. He knew how much time he had. But it wasn’t entirely in his hands. “They” had to do it. He was just the transporter. He liked calling himself the transporter. True he wasn’t half as cool as Jason Statham, though he knew for sure that he had lot more hair than Statham could ever dream of. Well apparently they have these new hair transplantation thingies where you can grow your mane again. If Statham went for that, he would edge out this transporter in the only area where he was superior.

He looked at his watch again. Damn! It was almost time. What on earth were they doing? But he didn’t have the power or the authority to ask them anything. He was just the transporter. He got the package and was told the drop point. And he, well transported.

Another glance at the watch. Another sigh of exasperation. Are these people competing with a snail, he wondered. The recipients wouldn’t care whose fault it was. He can take the yelling, but what if they refuse to make the payment. The higher-up bosses will certainly catch his throat. No one would care enough to find out that he had got the package late!

Before he could sneak another look at the watch, they handed him the package. He rushed out. He had very little time left. He kick started his bike and raced away. There was a fair amount of traffic on the road. He expertly whizzed past it all. He knew he was riding faster than he normally is comfortable doing, but desperate times call for over-speeding. He chuckled at the quote he had come up with. “Desperate times call for over-speeding” was cool. Wonder if Statham could ever come up with something like that.

He realized he was almost there, as he looked at his watch. He took the last turn before his destination. Maybe he would make it just in the nick of time. That was the last thought that crossed his mind as he rammed into a parked van. He had taken his hand off the handle and his sight off the road to see the time, as he turned the corner, and had not seen the van parked there.

Less than 200 meters away, I looked at my watch. “Ok this is a first. It should have been here by now”, I thought. I picked up the phone, called them up, yelled, and within half an hour, was munching on my free pizza.

Who The @^*% Is Blunt Edges?

Recently I got a mail from someone who I presume had been at my blog, which read:

"Dear Blunt Edges,

Who the @^*% are you?

Regards,

X"

It was said in good humour, or wasn’t it?!?! We exchanged a couple of mails, and then I thought why not answer X here instead.

I’m a terrible blogger who surfaces once in a blue moon, and is unapologetic about it.

I’m not your guy next door, unless of course you’re actually my neighbour.

I’m the younger brother, who was jealous of his “better looking, better at sports, better at studies” elder brother his entire school life.

I’m the cricket fanatic who screamed his lungs out when India won the world cup.

I’m the guy who knows it’s not gonna be happily ever after with the love of his life, and has made his peace with it.

I’m the optimist who lives in the hope that the 2012 prophecy would be true.

I’m the guy who knows he’s definitely gonna get a dog one day and call it Kibber.

I’m the biker who gets pissed when someone calls his Avenger an Enticer, but beams when some kid in a rick at the signal points at it and shouts “Terminator ka bike”.

I’m the lazy ass who can hit the bed at midnight, sleep till 2 in the afternoon, and then start yawning around 4 in the evening.

I’m the IT guy who does zero exercise, even though he’s worried about the extra pounds he’s putting on.

I’m the sms addict who rarely sends out a text these days, coz his chat-friend isn’t in town anymore.

I’m the movie buff who still gets goose bumps when he’s watching Pulp Fiction.

I’m the reason Dominoes brought back the cheese burst pizza (or so I’d like to believe).

I’m the aspiring writer, who dreams of getting a call one day from some publisher asking him to write a book or some newspaper/magazine offering him a column (and a kick-ass pay of course!)

I’m the TV magnet who cringes at the sight of “reality shows”.

I’m the guy who was always approached by his friends in school to write love letters for their girls.

I’m the blogger who never finds the time or drive to blog, but suddenly gets tempted to do it, when something far more important demands attention.

I’m the guy who skips breakfast on most mornings for lack of company.

I’m also the guy who more than compensates for it during lunch and dinner.

I’m the bored reader who thinks I have just penned a load of crap.

I’m the employee who spends his week counting down to the weekend.

I’m the reason my Dad’s car has a major scratch on the rear left.

I’m the weirdo who hasn’t yet watched LOTR and Twilight for the simple reason that it didn’t appeal to him, and also the one who watched Avatar and Inception coz of all the hype and was bored within the first 30minutes.

In the words of the stupid common man, “Bheed toh dekhi hogi na aapne? Usme se koi ek shakal chun lijiye, main woh hu” ;)

I dunno if X would prefer this, or would just rather be content with my name and a link to my FB profile. Trust me buddy, you would never have got to know this much about me there.

PS: I’m also the blogger who hates seeing “0 comments” under his post! ;)

Time Travel

A promo of a recent movie screamed out “If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?” (Oh come on MS Word “would it” sounds more correct than “it would”!)

This got me thinking. What would I wanna change if I were to travel back in time? And then it struck me!

*Rewind to the time when Blunt was somewhere in the 3^rd or 4^th grade*

Li’l Blunt was playing cricket at the base of his building. Now there’s something you need to know about Li’l Blunt. Like majority of the children, who played cricket in India, he too hated fielding. Hand him a bat or a ball, and he’s the happiest guy around, but ask him to field and he gets all grumpy.

So there he stood all sulking and grumpy, when the batter hit a shot past him and he was expected to chase the ball, which of course had crossed the boundary line, but still had to be retrieved nevertheless.

“BLUNT!” The bowler had yelled the moment the ball was hit. Like every other bowler to have ever played the game, this one too didn’t like it when he was hit for runs and inadvertently found fault with the fielder or the pitch or the weather conditions or luck or the quality of the ball or …(you get the drift right?)

Bottom line: It’s never the bowler’s fault!

“Not again!” Li’l Blunt muttered under his breath as he ran behind the ball. And then he saw it. The ball had hit the door of a cab parked there. The cabbie was washing his vehicle and looked pissed. Now you must realize that kids of this age, playing near their buildings used to play with rubber balls, the kind that didn’t cause much harm when it hit a cab.

The cabbie had picked up the ball and was staring at Li’l Blunt, anger venting out profusely from his eyes.

“Sorry” Li’l Blunt said meekly as he reached near the cab.

Cabbie: “Why did you hit the ball on my cab?”

Li’l Blunt: “My friend hit it here. I’m just fielding.”

Cabbie: “Don’t give me answers, when I’m talking!”

Li’l Blunt: “But you just asked me a question.”

Cabbie: “Shut up!”

Li’l Blunt: “I’m sorry. Can I have the ball back?”

Cabbie: “It’s not your father’s cab, that you can just come, hit it and go!”

Li’l Blunt: “Why you dragging family into all this? I said I’m sorry!”

*Whack*

The cabbie slapped Li’l Blunt right across his tiny face.

Li’l Blunt (holding back his tears): “Why did you hit me? I wasn’t the one batting, I just came to fetch…” (His voice broke away as tears started finding their way out of his eyes)

Li’l Blunt’s friends had by then gathered around him and were pacifying him.

“It’s ok buddy. Let him keep the ball. We’ll go back” They said.

“BUT WHY DID HE HAVE TO SLAP ME?” Li’l Blunt yelled over his tears and looked at the cabbie with all the anger his little eyes could conjure up.

“DON’T YOU DARE STARE AT ME!” That was the last thing Li’l Blunt heard before another *Whack* sound blared into his ear. The cabbie had slapped him again. And Li’l Blunt was crying non-stop. His friends dragged him away as he howled uncontrollably.

“I’ll go right away and tell my Dad about this and he’ll come kick the cabbie’s ass” Li’l Blunt told his friends when they were at a safe distance from the cab and the monster who drove it.

“No no. It will just create more problems. Let it be Blunt. It’s alright. You’ll be fine.” They said.

And Li’l Blunt just kept crying.

*End of Flashback*

And for some reason, this incident stayed with me all these years. And if I could go back in time and change it, I might have wanted the ball to break the windshield of the cab, or ram into his nuts, or maybe both.

PS: Haven’t been around that much and don’t even have an excuse for the same. Just plain old laziness and boredom creeping in. And I know this ain’t the kind of stuff I normally write, but it’s been 5 months since I last posted, so obviously I would be a li’l rusty :)

The Top Ten Blunt Edges' Pickup Lines That Never Work

1.       At a place of worship:

When she has her eyes closed and is in deep prayer, jump right in front of her and shout:

“Ta da! Your prayers have been answered!”

2.       At the movies (Watching a sob-fest):

When she lets her tear glands loose, put your arm around her and in comforting style say:

“Though he is going away from her in the movie, I’m sure they are doing it off screen.”

3.       At the movies (Watching a horror flick):

Shriek and cling on to her when a funny-looking ghost pops up on screen and don’t leave her for at least 5 minutes and keep asking:

“Did it go? Did it go?”

4.       In a lift:

When you are stuck in a lift and you happen to have a travel bag with you, open your bag, take out your spare underwear, put it on top of your pants, and wrap your towel around your neck like a cape and say:

“Why fear when I’m here?”

And then press the “HELP” button.

5.       At a bar:

You see her. She sees you. With a cool swagger, go up to her and ask:

“Do you dance here?”

6.       At a bar – 2:

You see her. She sees you. With a cool swagger, go up to her and ask:

“Yikes! What is that smell? Is it you?”

7.       At a bar – 3:

You see her. She sees you. With a cool swagger, go up to her and ask:

“Seen any hot chick around?”

8.       At a hospital:

Jump right in front of her and with a sigh of relief say:

“Finally you decided to get the b**b job done ha?”

9.       At a restaurant:

Seeing her at the opposite table with a group of friends on a binge night, get on your knees and act as if you are searching for something underneath your table and ensure you make enough of a scene that she, and better her entire group, notices.

Have your friend ask you: “What you looking for dude?”

Your answer (as you turn to the girl gang): “A weighing machine. Anyone seen one lately?”

10.      Anywhere, anytime:

“I'm Blunt Edges’ friend."

Or better still.

“I'm Blunt Edges."

PS: The idea and the title for this post came from a random comment by Grayquill a while ago. So even though it was a completely sarcastic remark by one of my most elderly friends, I still wanna thank him. So thank you Mr. Grayquill :P

PPS: I know I haven’t been active in the blogging world for some time now. I haven’t even been over at your blogs and I have like a million tags pending against me. I’ll surely try to catch up slowly. And a huge thanks to all those who kept enquiring where I had disappeared. It feels good to know people noticed  :D

PPPS: Wish all of you a very very happy Friendship Day :D

PPPPS: 115 followers? Unbelievably awesome! :D