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 20th 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!)