JUST SEVENTEEN, OR…

Girls, they say, are fascinating creatures at seventeen. Not quite a woman, and not quite a child, but an exciting mixture of the two.

But, from the viewpoint of this analysis, a 17-year-old  boy is a far better specimen.

We notice here too the combination of child and man. The only difference is that the 17-year-old boy is absolutely convinced that he’s a real MAN, while the girl, being a girl, might play up and act a little less than her age (mentally)—if that is possible.

Common Traits

Being individuals, people differ, but one finds some common characteristics in the ‘seventeen’ age-group.

Witness a typical day in the life of one of its members. Let’s call him ‘Anil’, though he prefers to be called Bongo. That, in the first place, is hardly our idea of being ‘manly’.

Our specimen wakes up around nine in the morning, the time varying with the hour of his late night achievements the night before.

One would be sceptical of the truth of these all-night orgies. More often than not, it is the age-old affliction of impressing the females and high-pressuring daddies.

Parents’ Threat

Bongo proceeds to wash. This is a rather elaborate process, as new harvests in the pimple crop have to be carefully detected. Being a product of the 20^th century, he refrains from reaping the harvest, and sophisticatedly dabs on some lotion.

Bongo shaves. A very ‘square’ threat from his parents to cut off his allowance if he didn’t……

Breakfast is a swallow of milk, and a disgruntled chewing of whatever else is aimed defiantly at him by parents who are worried about growing children.

Till 4 p.m. he attends college, or pretends to attend, as the mood takes him. The professors feel much safer and more normal when he stays away, for when he attends, more work gets undone than done.

Schemes to sabotage lectures vary from paper to paper, generally it is done by asking silly questions meant strictly for laughs.

Home again. Tea. Bongo roars, “Where is my tea?” This ritual being over, Bongo decides to visit a friend. Examinations are far away, so why study—the more you study, the less you know—and all that jazz, as he puts it.

Day’s Events

At his friend’s place the events of the day are religously reviewed and interpreted, ranging from the pretty ‘babe’ in First Year Arts to the latest dances, the latter being very expressively (or explosively!) demonstrated.

This session is charmingly interrupted by the arrival of his friend’s sister and the sister’s friend.

The latter looks like a real cool “bird” and our hero’s heart goes flap, flap. But being a disciple of the ‘I-don’t-care-a-jot’ technique, he ignores her and pulls at a ‘fag’ with the perfect bored expression on his face.

This lethargic situation goes on till the ‘bird’ innocently chirps: “Boys who can foxtrot these days are so rare.” A real-attention-catcher, this Bongo asks the ‘bird’ to ‘fly.’

Whereupon she giggles, and condescends to dance. Bongo is not even a mild version of Govinda or Prabhudeva.

Some Dancing

After a few sessions of stepping on delicate toes and spouting equally delicate apologies, the ‘bird’ screeches: “Are you a horse?”

The reaction is deliberately lazy: “Maybe.” But this ‘bird’ can go back to the ‘nest’ she came from, he seethes, inwardly.

Needless to say, the thoughtless remark ruins his sleep for many nights. His sensitivity sorely injured, he plunges into a murderous mood.

Dinner is a strained meal from all angles. Left hand upon nose, Bongo sits and swallows, or rather, picks at vegetables brimming over with sadly contrasting vitality. Bongo is a broken man.

But weep not, for ‘where there is life, there is hope’. Moreover, Bongo is 17—remember? A few days pass by, and Bongo’s mind is teeming with unholy thoughts of revenge.

He’s heard that it is the “bird’s” birthday the next day. Persuading his pals to aid and abet his ‘operation revenge’ is an easy task.

Sweet Revenge

And the dawn breaks. Bongo rushes around with speed putting hurricane ‘Besty’ to shame. The moment arrives. The lady arrives. As she non-chalantly drifts through the college gate, she is greeted by an insistent ‘neigh-neigh’; shouts of ‘Here comes the nightmare’ are chanted to the tune of ‘Here comes the bride!’

Someone asks how old she is and is told to get it from the horse’s mouth.

The lady retreats….silently.

After all this, Bongo expects everyone to believe that he is grown-up, a man-of-the-world with and air that would make Shah Rukh Khan and Sunny Deol retire (permanently).

Reebok, Puma, Tommy Hilfieger, Pulsar, Harles Davidson, BMW, deadly “dames,” the quicksilver red sports-car—you name it, Bongo’s got it…that’s what he thinks, or what is more likely, dreams about.

Perhaps it’s because men are only boys at hearts.

(This is not a diatribe against men. After all, seventeen-year-olds grow up one day; and then what would girls do without them!)