Backchodi band karo!

I am 22 over, and have seen two decades of this glorious life. Life, that according to Hinduism comes after 89Lac births. The same life that some live and others quit. I am not from the same house that you are from; but I behold the same go-through that you too have experienced. Coz we are the same, the juniors of the old couple forgotten with time and happenings: ‘The Ancient Humans’.

As I said we are of the same origin, so we also hold a hell lot of things in common. Things those are classified as nautankis, bewakufi, haramipan, kutiaapa, fuddu-panti and the most termed word ‘backchodi’. These words in the daily dialect of responsible and socially admired elites are replaced by ‘mischief, nuisance, fooling and idiotism’. What accounts most is that these ‘call-it-as-what-suits-you’ type activities are the most enhancing part of our life.

You must have heard, ‘Life is all about living to the fullest.’ Nothing else than mischievous acts and silliness helps in learning. Leaning is a process, and continual in more often cases. We learn from our actions, and new activities that we perform. Children are the most active learners ‘coz they fear nothing of the future. Being old now means to fall in a different class. Within the walls of our society, workspace and homes we are overlooked with an authoritative eye. That observance has so feared us that we have stopped living, and are only conscious of our fictive image that clouds their eyes.

A recent interaction with a bunch of school kids:

I spotted this lot kicking and splashing water on a main road. There were five of them, beneath the draining sky. I observed them from under a tarpaulin of a tea stall, conscious of every falling drop on me. The stall owner was an old man, dirty and un-bathed. He scratched his groin and served pakodis with the same ‘unwashed’ hands. ‘Aap kya loge..?’ he asked me with a wagging finger. ‘Kuch nai!’ I said looking at his dirt trapped nails, feeling disgusted. I thought how unhygienic it was. Perhaps too much! The course of hygienic awareness flowed in my veins. Either it was inherited from the ‘Health and Hygeine’ chapter of Science or from the ‘wash-your-hands-before-meal’ habit.

The five on the other hand were up with an unstoppable excitement and vigor in dirtying each other. From kicking the roadside water-streams they had started felling their friends in it. Along with their actions there were words, abusive in nature but baked with care and affluence of their relation. One by one, almost everyone tasted the water. They weren’t cared of the special ingredients that it carried in it: plastic sheets, mud, twigs, cow-dung, dogs’ faeces and what not.

I on looked them with numerous others. There was a different observance on each face. Children seemed amused. Teens seemed tempted. Girls impressed. Men bewildered and women regretful. However, there were old people who passed. Some didn’t care to notice, others who did passed on disgusted and twisted facial expressions, commenting harshly. But, they were unaffected of all notices and were enjoying it to the heights of pleasures.

Those who looked at them and gave profound remarks just saw the outer picture. They surely missed the guts that the boys had inside them. To gain attention on a main street is no less than crossing a Mumbai street blindfolded. After the dip-and-lick they brought their bikes and scooties and stunted. Their burnouts splashed water on a 360⁰ turn, gaining more attention.

It was all to gain more attention. The shirts were now torn reveling their bare chests and sacred strings. The pockets hung open, buttons missing and vests exposed. But they were uncared. It was like their courtyard. This can be a highly negative example of social conduct, but what I saw from another perspective was freedom, fearlessness, vigor and courage.

It was no doubt their strength to care not to think of all odds: What the passer-bys might think? What if they were hurt? How they looked? It was rather just freedom of thoughts and actions. It was confidence to do what you want, and express how you feel.

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A policeman appeared a few minutes later and said something. I wonder he must have been sent over by some informer; else he would have hardly cared to wet himself.  His words were distinct and clear, aloud and bold. That made them steer their bikes and bugger-off!

As they left, the same gloominess adorned itself. Everyone got back to work and the same non-adventurous life rolled back on its wheels. It was as monotonous as ever, but no one seemed to realize.

Had the cop not appeared, a few more souls would have been tranquilized by their enthusiasm. Had he not said those words, they would have continued with their business. But those words were influential, affective and firm; so he chose them. He spoke in their language to convince them early. He said what they understood best, what they longed to hear amidst their game. What probably each of them were saying to each other. What exactly the cop said was:

‘Backchodi band karo!’