And Now Comes The Delhi Belly... Fortuitous. But Has It Really Happened ?

"The first rule of the fight club is..... " Remember Tyler giving us the rules in Lou's Tavern ?
Every disenchanted man's guide to rebellion against the establishment,hospital, carwash or the office as the case may be ?
More on that iconic discourse later. (When I am in one of those moods which have mercifully not visited me since my days as a cyber c _ _ lie got over.)

Ahem,.... I digress.
Well the first rule of ABCD is ... Hang on, we start from -1 here.
"Rule No. -1: A Senior Is A Senior Is A Senior! (120 db, or else you are here forever)
Rule No. 0: All girls at ABCD are my sisters!
Rule No. 1: I have not come to ABCD for placements!

Tyler gave 8, we got [-1,0,1].
Unlike in the tavern, where we fought till we felt saved and told the boss "I fell down some stairs", things here are rather pleasant. There is a govering body with five people with diverse backgrounds and duties. They do very important stuff. And then some more diverse bodies that function under the umbrella and do more important stuff.

Some are high on mo-jo, some maybe a little less so. There are all types, the regimental sargeant-major type whose voice might rip you a new hole, a couple of toughies who lurk menacingly and peer into the the huddled, worried, cross - legged mass on stage from terra firma, the silent knights who move decisively and nail their quarry - "give me the names of all your batchmates, all committee members of the super body, the umbrella bodies, the guys over here, there; entire background on our "boss", the inside scoop on your "buddy" from the senior batch, his likes, dislikes and major and major embarassments over the last one year etc etc.

It worries, but once you get out you feel the cool rush of the hot humid delhi air engulf you and for a couple of seconds your sweat from the session dries off.

The we tab back to the mess, where rules mean we eat our meals in formals. All three of them. Then if your luck is not out, which is once a week when the water in the tank runs out, you have a cold bath.

The shirts and shoes go. My roommates and I are in a tearing rush. Socks. Shoes. Belts. All Follow.

The balcony door cannot be opened because the flies would come in. It has just rained yesterday. Those wretches feel like fornicating and having a good time too. Can't blame them. There is a real danger their kids might exact their pound of flesh. The very next night.

Esp. near the eye. Harish has a love bite from them. He forgot to swat the sucker who took a rather long lick.
Giri's back is gone for all practical purposes. He played an hour of volleyball, as part of a batch video depicting life at ABCD. The clock did turn back, but the back, alas, did also turn.
Harihar and Gaurav are medically ok but a little peaked. We all are. G S has managed to wriggle out; more power to you mate!

And this brings the focus well and truly back onto me.
I have the Delhi Belly. The dreaded scourge of the pakka sahibs from our collective colonial past. It means that tonight's gruel may not be brought by a flaxen haired beauty, but to put not too fine a point to it, necessarily be biscuits. G S is concerned. There is a litre and a half of squash below the bed. We are all swigging.

The others have left; so must I.