My Stoic Friend

It happened quite a few days ago, but exams and suchlike have been on my mind. The thing is, that during bakreid, Jannagar Road turns into a khataal. Last year, i remember posting a photograph of a camel which was parked for qurbani under my house ( i know, ive recently realised this blog is more than one year old and that doesn't happen very often with me so i Keep harping on the fact ), and there are gorus from Australia who come over at this part of the year, so really, if you get yourself a bakra, you might as well sacrifice it in your bathroom.

Any way, this year, as has been the custom in the family for a few years now, came along a little khassi, as they call it. They come, they go. I am not really affected by it, i don't like fussing. There's no bond built, they usually know themselves that it's their last night before they get sacrificed. It's the way it happens, it's all a part of the food chain, the way the world works. But to be honest, this guy was a charming little fellow. I got him from khidderpore, he had black and white spots, and i knew he liked me from the moment i set my eyes on him. He never once moved left or right, never once shrieked, he happily trudged along wherever i took him, through fields and chaat walas, into the backseat of the car, and stayed there. He reached home, i left him in my room, and started watching tv. My mum commented on the fact that he Just does Not seem to have a vocal chord, and thus, bang on cue, to showcase to my mum what a lovely voice he had, the fellow started singing. So i came back into the room and asked him to chill it man, that she got it, and he obediently quietened down. And he stayed there, the entire night, sitting, and then getting up to get some exercise, eating leaves, letting out a yawn, or a sneeze and then going back to slouching. He was probably writing an autobiography in his head, it looked like that, but i couldn't be sure.

And then next morning happened, and i looked at him, and said, buddy, time up. He understood me perfectly, i could see it in his eyes. With no signs of any protest, he came along, quietly, let out a barrage of goat-potty Right at my front door, and then hopped down the stairs, i shit you not. The others were getting halaal-ed at that point of time, so i didn't let him see that, though i'm sure he would have braved it in his own unperturbed way, the hero. And so he came onto the playing field, and this is the part where people get violent. I couldn't bare to see it, of course, let alone chalao the knife across his throat, but they told me he didn't even twitch through it all, in a way that he was a convenient fellow, and had no 'badan mein phurti'.

Of Course, i thought. He didn't really belong to this world of gleeful violence, you see. Actually, to be honest, and i knew this all along, i really just thought that he was a bit of a stoner.