The Man with the Golden Boot

The cacophony of the whistle rocked my eardrum as the men in black and red started passing the ball. 

Within no time, a short but well built young man took charge and he had the reigns of the game in his hand.

It was hardly 30 seconds since the game had begun when he shot a direct goal from the halfway line. 

The crowd erupted with joy and exuberant exhilaration was on the air. Even the opposition was their feet, clapping for the amazing young man.

He ran around the field (a bit of exaggeration, well, the game was played in the basketball court) with his arms held high. After a small tilt of his head upward to thank the Almighty, he began eyeing for the ball. 

The ball's prayer to stay away from his hard hitting leg seemed unanswered as the sturdy leg thrust copious amounts of pressure to direct the ball to the goalpost yet again.

The man in black was doing it great for the men in black.

The timer was showing less than 180 seconds and the score was already 2-nil.

The men in red were running helter skelter just to block the man from getting the ball dribbling.

Soon, the nets felt the power of his boot again. The ball flew in with a rage enough to tear apart the net and the score board now showed 3-nil.

He was wreaking havoc in the enemy lines. He would appear in front of the ball at dubious points of time. 

Once the ball was in his clutches, the opposition members had to sweat it out really to get their hands (legs, yeah, of course) on the ball. 

Running up to meet the swiftness of his legs was tiring for all the men, including his own team playing there.

He led them to a glorious win.

The scoreboard was showing 4-1 at the end of the game with 3 massive goals under his belt and a clean pass that led to another beauty.

He is highly regarded as an unparalleled player amongst his peers. Classy stylish gentleman, he is. With the qualities for a manager and the agility of a footballer, let us wish him a wonderful journey ahead.

The Fight to Glory

The day had dawned and slowly was in the progress of reaching the dusk. Earth was still on its non-stop duty of rotating on its axis, while it slowly made its way around the sun. 

Dusk approached. Slowly and steadily, tints of black and hues of red were marching on to the ground that was supposed to be the venue of the much anticipated event.

The event was borne in the hearts of many for many a days. The iron will and sheer dedication was making a dream into reality.

Soon the venue turned out to be a sea of unprecedented joy and happiness . The colors that they had adorned to demonstrate their support was exemplifying the motive.

The basketball court was indeed speckled with black and red.

By the time, the dignitaries declared the event open, the gang of friends had parted ways to form coteries with only one goal- to lay their hands on the trophy that lay glistening on the table.

The speckled color combination moved to form multitudes of majestic red and glorious black to the left and right of the director duo with the other distinguished guests. 

The event or rather the battle of the brawns, brains and wits was declared open with ear deafening ovation.

The masses split into two energy packed huddles, showing off the diversity from within a united closely knit class. The air was humid with the exhilaration of the young managers-to-be as the ball kicked off for the first event- FOOTBALL.

Thus began the games. Friends taking on friends. Men of valor taking on men of might. Women of grace taking on women that outshine.

Friends to foes, 

Forever shall never remain the enmity

But lies within, the fire to cherish and

The glory to redeem

What we strive for 

Is to be unbeaten

We will remain champions

Despite the results that often takes sides

Never do we createth the divide

So do remain as friends

Forever one, forever strong

The spirit of the game burning within

Macroeconomic Distress

Thud Thud! 
Thud Thud!

Her heartbeats moved on from the usual lupp-dupp to a bombarding tone. Her heartbeat was in fact the only sound in the huge amphitheater classroom when I was asked a question by the stern looking professor. 
To buy some time, I asked for the mic to answer. In the mean time, my brain ran helter skelter to create some cock and bull story to pacify the blood thirsty like vengeance he had on the class. 
By the time the mic reached, I could hear my poor neighbor making frantic attempts to swallow spitballs and the breath was becoming paler. 
Was she on the verge of a nervous breakdown?
My heart had taken all the pains of getting higher up to my Adam's apple. With great difficulty, the vocal cords pushed out a weak gush of air and my voice came out as if my larynx had forgotten to fine tune it. But yes, I did deserve a pat on my back for letting out some amount of language come out of me. 
After my answer, I saw a pale looking lady smiling at me. The tension had drained all the color on her cheeks and she resembled a living corpse of what she was 15 minutes earlier.
An exhilarated exhalation of elation followed as she confirmed that the professor stopped asking questions and turned on to discuss ways of how world would turn to be an economically safe place to be in. 

I think all seats should get an attached spygmomanometer that monitors the real time BP continuously. The meter is sure of getting dizzy on seeing the readings.

He was letting hell break loose. Loading us with assignments and unscrupulous deadlines, he was making life miserable in all possible ways.
It seemed the whole of the trimester was earmarked for just one subject and I seriously doubt even by continuously burning midnight oil, there was no chance of you getting anywhere near he wanted you to be or anywhere near the other subjects.
But, I seriously doubt. Was he in a way trying to make us learn economics? Was he gearing us up for what the ruthless merciless world had to offer?
Instilling fear and building a foundation on it to make us know the economy, the way it is and the way it ought to be, was he on the right track?
Only God knows!! But in this case, only he knows!!!

Fingers crossed!!!

Hamari Rastriya Basha!!!!

The laughter around me made me realize that I, too should at least smile.

The professor cracked a 'wise' joke and all my classmates were laughing their lungs (a**) out.

Just to join the company, I let out a sigh and forced my lips to curl to a absurd grin.

For the professor to understand that at least 1 sentence in the last 60 minutes had gained access to a 100% efficient response from the class, I had to join the party. 

I looked around as the people around me were trying hard to control the fits of laughter. 

The sight around me was that people were draining out the streams of joyous tears that left salty marks on their cheeks.

Now it was my turn to put up an artificial but authentic looking smile. 

The reason of me being left out was not that I was sleeping.  

I was sitting in the second row and for the very first time in almost a month, I was on the winning side in the battle with my eyes that were forcing to close to take me to the distant land of dreams.

The reason was simple: my lack of knowledge in Hamari Rastriya Basha, Hindi.

I leaned to the chap sitting next to me to translate the joke.

Reported speech never carries the zeal and vigor of active speech.

The joke just brushed through my senses, only able to initiate a small curve of my lips and failing to reveal the dimples hidden amidst the flabs of fat.  

Just the very moment, the professor started the monotone balderdash and the class was left to reel into the world where they would best fit in.

I never knew Hindi would play an important in my life. 

Accha, Teek Hai, Main Zaroor Hindi Sikhunga!!! 
Never mind.

The Love Aftermath

Have you ever fallen in love?

Or ever felt that you wanted to fall in love?

If its a 'Yes' to any of these questions, have you ever thought of its aftermath, the pros and cons of loving?

The girl whom you love, walks, talks or even smiles at another boy, ( Man, u gotta be kidding) well, I am not. Cross ur heart, you'll feel like thrashing him up, bullying him or even drowing him in the Arabian ocean (Sea, i know it, alright). Maybe, he is an angel at heart , but mind you, you are never going to forgive him, luring your heart out of the body's reach . For gals, if the guy who stole your heart is doing the same, its all swollen eyes and damp cheeks.

Furthermore, is there something called true love? Or is just the lust or infatuation?

When you say ' I love you' to a gal, do you really mean it? Or is it just for the sake of having fun? And my dear gals, please mean it when you do the same. Don't be mean.

The heart says to approach any girl just because of the fact that a look from her gives you butterflies in your stomach.

The brain warns you that butterflies will fly away, but the lump of sorrow will remain forever.

Love often tends to go the heart's way.

Mind you, being emotional rather than being rational will be one heavy price to pay for.

And if your response to me is 'Mind your business, fatty. I know how I am and she'll come to me if my love is true', my reply will just be a wry sly smile.