VIRGYMS Part 4 - I got your BACK

Of all the characters we met in the gym, this guy stood out. For some inexplicable reason, his face reminded us of a typical son of a typical 80s Hindi film villain. He was tall, thin and was around twenty years old, but in many ways still looked like an adolescent. The problem wasn’t him per say. He wore the tightest and the tiniest fluorescent blue shorts while exercising. It seemed to highlight the only portion that you wouldn’t particularly like an adolescent to display. Of course, as our luck would have it, we soon learnt that his favourite exercise was sit-ups. Shetty and I did speak to him occasionally, but tried to keep our vision above his eyebrows when making conversation.

That fateful day, he casually walked up to me and said “Hey, just climb on my back, will you?” Not even bothering to wait for an answer, he even more casually walked back to where he was exercising. Shetty and I kept looking at each other. “What is with walking away after asking a question?! It’s a question right? Wait for someone to answer, won’t you? Moreover, what is with this assumption that people would be fond of climbing on your back?!” One question of his raised multiple questions in our heads. Left with no choice but to follow, I left an open mouthed-wide eyed Shetty behind to watch the proceedings. I went up to him. The fluorescence of his shorts seemed to flash right in my eyes. For some reason, his shorts seemed tighter from that distance. Curling my vision away I managed a timid and confused “What?”

“Oh, I just want some weight on my back while I do my sit-ups”, he said. I tried hard to bring out the ‘No! I won’t do it over my dead body!’ out of my mouth, but to no avail. He sat down. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my hands around his neck. There, I was on his back! With the anticipation that this will be over soon, I tried to concentrate on other things. He got up; sat down again. I was doing a good job keeping my mind away from this hideously inappropriate posture that I was exhibiting.

I don’t think the gym gods were amused enough. Now would be a good time to mention that in addition to his fluorescent blue shorts, our adolescent villain also wore a skimpy AND slippery fluorescent yellow vest. Then, the inevitable happened. I started slipping. I was panicking in my head. My only intention in life at that moment was to stay on the yellow piece of clothing and to avoid the blue one at all cost. To my astonishing disappointment, I couldn’t. I was like sand in a fist. I was fast approaching the blue territory. I was yelling inside. I was crying inside. I was dying inside. ‘This can’t be happening’, I rued. With all the courage, determination and strength I decided to crawl back up – but how? I didn’t have much space to work with. I felt my nails with my fingers. ‘What a day to cut them off!’, I thought. If only I hadn’t listened to my mom for one more day, I would have been able to lodge them into his skin and swiftly come back up. I didn’t have much time. I had to do something out of the ordinary. There was only one way out. I awkwardly jumped back up and clutched his neck with a huge jerk. I closed my eyes tightly, lest he ridiculed me. He stopped, but only for a bit before continuing his wretched sit-ups or should I say, OUR wretched sit-ups. ‘It wasn’t his first time’, I concurred. For some strange reason I liked that. That meant I wasn’t the first one. He was surprisingly comfortable with the whole thing. It was almost like he was the Rani of Jhansi and I was the frightened kid. Thankfully, after some time the war was over. I descended. He thanked me. I don’t know why, but I apologized. 

I came back to see Shetty still frozen in the same expression. Open mouth, wide eyes, staring into eternity. I stood next to him and matched his expression. We stood there for about a couple of minutes. For the first time we left the gym disillusioned. We promised ourselves that we will learn the art of saying “No”, and we will learn it soon.

VIRGYMS Part 3 - Shetty's Final Countdown

There was one thing we were never able to decipher. Without exception, this instructor, Deepak, would appear out of thin air only when Shetty was on the penultimate repetition of his last set. We never managed to figure out where he would hide before emerging at that sensitive moment. This happened, almost always during Shetty’s shoulder press exercise, for which he would have dumbbells in both hands that would have to be lifted above his shoulders at the same time. We would normally do 3 sets of 12 repetitions each. 

Shetty would be on the 11^th repetition of the 3^rd set.  His muscles would be gasping for oxygen by then. He would have already pushed himself to get to this stage. Deepak would then spring out of nowhere and start yelling “Come on! Push…. Push…. 10 more come on!!” The expression on Shetty’s face could make Crime Master Gogo cry. Changing his expression immediately and dumbbells in both hands he would try and maintain a straight face as if he is not feeling the stress at all. Very courageously he would go for the 12^th repetition. “9 more! 9 MORE! GO FOR IT YOU BASTARD!! You a little girl huh!! Are you a little girl!!?” Whether Deepak really believed in Shetty or he was just the habitual sadist, is still up for the jury to decide. So Shetty went for another one. This time however, he cut a sorry figure in front of everyone. His right hand, which was stronger, went straight up above his shoulder, whereas his left hand refused to accompany it. Even after he gave everything he could, his left hand just wouldn’t budge. If you were to see this from a distance, you would probably think Shetty was trying to give Deepak the most unfashionable high-five. Deepak would walk back with an expression as if Shetty had just dumped his sister.

VIRGYMS Part 2 - The Inner Voice

Days went by and Shetty and I got more comfortable with the gym. We started getting better at our exercise routine – by our standards. Shetty especially liked the bench press. He would enjoy it thoroughly. The moment the gym gods realised Shetty enjoyed it, they sent in Rennie - stout, 5 feet 5 inches, pimples all over the face, curly hair and thick skin. He came in with a sense of royalty and familiarity. He wasn’t new to this. He had an air of achievement. One wouldn’t give him a second look if seen on the street but when in the gym he was all authority. We glanced at him and continued our thing. 

The moment our eyes turned away, we heard embarrassingly loud groans. With every repetition of Rennie’s heavy arm curl he moaned – “Yeeeeah, yeeees!” The problem was he didn’t stop there. It went to “Oh yeeeah, oh yeeees”. Shetty couldn’t believe this public display of audio porn. I was already flaring my nostrils to cover my smile. That further egged Shetty on. He signalled that he was going outside. I followed. After about 10 minutes of uncontrollable laughter we came back, only to be greeted by louder moans. We were shocked to see that no one in the gym seemed to be bothered by it. We tried to make our peace with it, and thought we possibly found it funny because it was our “first time”. We decided to kill the laughter and continue with the exercise. Shetty got under the bench press. I was waiting behind the equipment just in case as per Kenny’s instructions. Shetty started his repetitions. 1, 2, 3…6…

“DIESEL POWER!!!!”, Rennie the sex craved tiger roared. I noticed Shetty was losing his grip. I told him to concentrate. Shetty closed his eyes and scolded himself for being amused at something completely normal. He resumed – 7, 8, 9….

“BEEYAAAATCH!!!!!” Rennie orgasmed! Shetty’s right hand paralysed. I was down on the floor, literally ROFLing. Shetty half laughing-half scared screamed “Bhat, Bhat help help”. I crawled back up to support Shetty.

“BHEEENCHOOOD!!!!!!!!” Rennie was in no mood to stop. I fell back on the ground. Shetty’s left hand paralysed. With the weight inches away from his neck, Shetty didn’t seem too bothered about his life. Even if he was, you couldn’t have noticed it on his face, which was now red with laughter.

Thankfully Rennie put his weights down, which gave us enough time to recover from our mirth-induced coma. Shetty and I together had the energy of half a man. It’s amazing how much energy laughing takes up. We clumsily managed to put the bench press in place and headed straight to the changing room. Nerves in the neck bloated up to unimaginable proportions! We didn’t think we could stop. Well, we had to. Rennie walked in.

The nerves disappeared as mysteriously as they had appeared. Our colour faded to a dull red before becoming completely pale. Our tongues went dry. He didn’t look at us. He wasn’t here to wring our necks. ‘That’s a relief’, we thought. Hardly did we know then that relief comes with a shelf life. Rennie started undressing. Before we knew it, he was standing with his back in front of us. Even though we could have avoided it (which now concerns me a little bit), our eyes quickly glanced at the only piece of clothing that was covering him. The hardcore gym rhinoceros, made of steel and questionable cravings was wearing underwear that had daffy ducks all over it. Yellow and orange fluff adorned the testosterone filled clothing. We had to get out of there. Laughing in front of him could have been fatal. With our fists on our respective mouths we were out of the gym in no time. Our workout was ruined sure, but if you wanted to spot disappointment on our faces, you’d be disappointed.

VIRGYMS Part 1 - The Initiation

So Shetty and I decided to join the gym. 2 days later we were there. This was the first time we had enrolled for any such activity. Yes, we were gym virgins – and we didn’t do a good job hiding it. While Shetty was always the athlete in school and good (read: exceptional) at whichever game he took up (unless carrom and chess count), I was more the average Joe. Both of us were around 6 feet tall. We didn’t look completely out of place, our eyes did.

It wasn’t difficult to spot our very first gym instructor. This gargantuan giant, the monstrous monster introduced himself – “Hi, I am Kenny”, he said in a voice as deep as Ankit’s man-boob cleavage. Realistically speaking he was about 6 feet and 4 inches tall and maybe as broad, sported a french beard and his stance lodged him into the earth with ruthless certainty. Shetty looked at me. He noticed I was pointing towards something with my eyes. After about 5 seconds he realised there was a huge iron like pillar pointed towards him. After another 5 long seconds he realised it but obviously was Kenny’s arm offering a handshake. Shetty gave in. He raised his arm by the elbow and uncomfortably placed it in front of Kenny. Completely overshadowed by Kenny’s presence, he placed the middle portion of his arm near Kenny’s gigantic palm. Kenny mercilessly grabbed whatever was offered to him. This sort of awkwardly pulled Shetty towards Kenny. Released from his clutch, Shetty stepped back trying to decipher what just happened. It was my turn. I was prepared. I had learnt from Shetty’s mistake. I inhaled as much air as I could. I puffed up my chest. Meanwhile, Shetty was trying hard to get rid of all the jokes that suddenly popped into his head. I looked at Shetty for approval with a confident smile. Shetty in response closed his eyes and shook his head. I saw myself from the outside and it dawned on me! All the jokes that Shetty got rid of a few seconds back hopped into my head. Shoving them away, I exhaled all the air I had taken in only to realise that it really made no difference to my physique. Still, I was very much in the game. I placed my palm exactly next to Kenny’s extended arm. That would do it I thought. Kenny engulfed it with his. I thought this would be a good time to introduce myself – I am Adit… aa…aa.. an ultrasonic squeak spread around the gym. I was in pain. Serious physical pain. Kenny let go off my hand after 2 excruciating seconds and I silently thanked global warming for killing humans slowly. Shetty on the other hand thanked the beauty of relative misery. Compared to me had done extremely well!

So, we were in. Kenny explained what needed to be done, what to look out for and what not to. He gave us a chart which drew attention to our exercise routine. We were feeling more at home and were slowly getting accustomed to the equipment. The bench press, the dumbbells, the leg curls and all the works. We settled in. A week went by. We surprised ourselves by going in for 6 days at a stretch. While we were minding our own business, on the 7^th day the unthinkable happened. Kenny walked up to us. Immediately springing to attention Shetty and I thought of lifting the heaviest dumbbell which was kept on the stands, but gave up the idea for the love of our intact toes. “Come on guys. Let’s take measurements”, Kenny ordered. Wow, he is funny too, we thought. He turned back and started walking. He was serious.... he WAS serious! We had no option but to walk on his guided path with drooping shoulders. We knew what was coming. Kenny would get a measuring tape and measure our arms, chest and other such physical attributes that we weren’t particularly proud of and weren’t particularly fond of measuring. Before we knew it, we were in the changing room, which seemed like the most inappropriate place for performing this ritual. Kenny decided to shoot me down first. “Stretch your arm in front of your body with your palm facing upward”, he said. I did. Kenny wrapped up a measuring tape around my blushing bicep and wrote down 9 inches. Flex your arm he commanded. Now I had only seen people flexing their arms in movies. I got both my arms on either side and placed them at a right angle. I wanted to get the posture right. The last thing I wanted to do was look like a fool! I then flexed as hard as I could. Kenny for the first time emoted through his rock face. His eyes were filled with disgust and ridicule at the same time. In the most dry tone ever heard he questioned my move.

“What are you doing?”

“I am flexing”, I said with a strained voice as my energy was utilized in keeping my bicep bulged. Kenny held my hand with his little finger and moved it gently to its initial position. I was surprised as I thought I had positioned it quite firmly. Kenny then just bent my elbow towards my body (again, with one finger) and wrote down 9.5 inches. It couldn’t get worse than this, I thought. However it was all going to be over soon and that was my only ray of hope to live. The ray of hope soon manifested into a sting ray. “Remove your shirt” Kenny instructed. Shetty handed me a handkerchief noticing a small tear forming around the eye. He took it back as quickly on second thought as he knew he would need it soon. It now made sense to perform the ‘vastraharan’ in the changing room. And the rest as they say was human geography at its worst.

What did Tendulkar do?

I have read more articles on Sachin Tendulkar’s cricketing skills than the number of times Inzamam said ‘is’ in his illustrious post-match presentations career (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xK70NhcmQws). None of those articles have been able to do justice to Tendulkar as a sportsman. Let me clarify that this was not in any way a reflection of the writers' inadequacy. Not in the least. It is because he truly is unfathomable in words. And while I am at it, let me also declare right away that the following words are not going to do justice to him either. Not in the least.

I’ve shamelessly day-dreamed about Tendulkar more number of times than the number of hundreds and fifties he has scored in international cricket. In my head, I’ve replayed each of his innumerable impactful innings, ball-by-ball, run-by-run, four-by-four, six-by-six and goosebump-by-goosebump. This was way before YouTube privileges. He’s had the same effect on a lot of people I know and admire. Tendulkar has meant more to us than the sport itself. It’s not about numbers. Not about statistics. Rather, it’s not JUST about that. Tendulkar has unassumingly groomed my generation. We were teenagers, unsure of a lot of things. We were uncertain of our likes, our dislikes, our vocation, our looks, our sense of humour. The list is really endless. But Tendulkar ensured that we were sure of him. He has been the constant among all the other mercurial variables. When faced with situations where I could have chosen one of many paths, I’ve consciously asked myself “What did Tendulkar do?” The answer has never disappointed.

“He is quite the Tendulkar fan”, said my Dad, referring to me as the conversation drifted to sports. He was talking to Mr Murthy, a South Indian friend of his, settled in Delhi. My Dad had taken Mr Murthy out for dinner when he was visiting us, when the ‘13 year old’ I tagged along. Now Mr Murthy was a pleasant guy, but he saw this as a harmless opportunity to fluster a boy just entering teenagehood. “Tendulkar”, he said matter-of-factly, “is not the greatest batsman in the world”. He was looking at me with eyes filled with mischievous anticipation of a debate that would perturb me. I looked at him. I smiled and silently asked myself ‘What did Tendulkar do?’

A few days ago, a reporter had asked Tendulkar what he thought of a gentleman who had criticised him. Tendulkar had smiled his boyish smile and replied “It is his opinion. That’s his job and I respect it. My job is to play cricket”.

Mr Murthy was still looking at me. “It’s your opinion, Uncle, and I respect it”, I said. The resemblance between Mr Murthy’s ‘pleasantly surprised’ look and that of the reporter’s was uncanny.

I’ve seen Shetty, being a gifted sportsman and an extraordinarily funny guy, receive innumerable compliments from several people. I’ve also seen Shetty being the epitome of modesty and humility to the extent of sheepishly struggling to accept these compliments. If I may take the liberty to speak on his behalf, it most certainly roots from a Tendulkar influence. So what did Tendulkar do? Tendulkar had just scored a truly magical hundred in Australia. After the match, Tendulkar was hooked up with an ear piece for being interviewed by Harsha Bhogle, Ian Chappell, Sunil Gavaskar and Navjot Singh Siddhu. Now these guys were more than aware of Tendulkar’s discomfort towards direct praise, when they playfully decided to shower him with embarrassing compliments, just to have some good-hearted fun. Tendulkar managed to evade every accolade, every praise with his signature “The ball was coming nicely onto the bat”. This was when his idol, Mr Gavaskar, cornered him with “Sachin, I am so fortunate to have witnessed your hundred today. I can proudly tell my grandchildren that when Sachin scored this magical hundred, I was there!” Everyone was waiting to see how Tendulkar would wriggle out of that one. After an awkward pause, a smiling sheepish Tendulkar touching his ear piece went “I am sorry, there’s too much wind, I didn’t catch that!”, only to be at the receiving end of prolonged laughter.  

Only very recently, I had to go through the rigorous ordeal of facing my PhD viva. Although thoroughly well prepared, I was expectedly nervous. ‘What did Tendulkar do?’, I thought. It is common knowledge that just before walking out into the stadium, where he not only encounters the wrath of the opposition team bowlers, but also the unimaginable expectations of the crowd and the cameras, Tendulkar sits in his chair in the pavilion, puts his headphones on and visualizes. He visualizes getting up from his chair and walking on to the green turf. He visualizes looking up to the skies and letting his eyes adjust to the light. He visualizes stepping on to the pitch and taking guard. And then he visualizes himself bat. The cover drives and the square cuts, the hooks and the pulls, the leg glances and the straight drives. He visualizes it all. He visualizes winning the game for India. When it’s his turn to actually get up and do the thing that he does best, he is effectively doing it a second time around. Hence, lesser nerves and better focus leading to a more controlled and relaxed performance.

And so I tried what Tendulkar does. I sat in my chair. I closed my eyes and I visualized walking up the stairs and entering the examination room. I visualized taking a seat after greeting the viva panel and providing a summary of my research. And then I visualized the panel asking me all the probable questions and me answering them. I opened my eyes and effectively walked up to the room a second time, thus helping me focus on the task at hand and keep away those proverbial nerves. The fact that I decided to NOT do the characteristic Tendulkar ‘groin twitch’ at the very last minute must also have surely helped.

Considering the simpleton that I can be, there have been several times when I’ve been outsmarted, outwitted, or simply outperformed by a person or situation at a given moment. The question has always been how should I react at that specific moment? More importantly, what did Tendulkar do? Shoaib Akhtar, the new kid on the block, runs in and bowls Tendulkar out, clearly outclassing him with sheer pace. In that fraction of a second, when I felt nothing but pure hatred for Mr Akhtar, Tendulkar chose to acknowledge being outsmarted by that particular ball – with a subtle yet sure nod of the head. It was almost as if he was coaxing me to acknowledge it as well. He hated that he was bowled, but he loved the game more. That doesn’t mean he accepted defeat. He has played the same bowler several times over and what he did to him in the 2003 World Cup was nothing short of poetry. However, it was important to acknowledge that particular ball, and he did. He acknowledged it, absorbed it, got better and came back wiser.

This ‘What did Tendulkar do?’ saga can run for as long as he has in his career spanning 24 years. The fact that he never visibly engaged in a rebuttal with the attempted sledging tactics of the many menacing fast bowlers he faced; the fact that he reassuringly stated that he loved Mumbai, but he was an Indian first, when agenda-ridden politicians were suggesting otherwise; the fact that he counts his toes even today in the presence of yesteryear greats like Sunil Gavaskar or Viv Richards, the fact that he did not react when some comments made by his friend Vinod Kambli about him on national television were misconstrued/blown out of proportion by the media, the fact that he never had to pay a fine for arriving late at team practice sessions for 24 years – the list could go on.

There truly have been innumerable instances when Tendulkar taught my generation solely by example and not words, which probably is the reason why words don’t do justice when used to describe him. As a Tendulkar fan, I say this with a dose of hesitation yet pragmatism. There may be better batsmen to come in future. His records and numbers may also be overtaken. However, there is not an ounce of hesitation when I say this. There won’t be another Tendulkar. As Gavaskar rightly put it, “When Sachin scores a run, every Indian feels he/she has scored a run”. He somehow makes you feel that those alarming number of runs are yours. Tendulkar’s career wasn’t meant to be seen, heard or counted. It was meant to be felt. I certainly did.

Fact scarier than fiction

You know we've erred, when your eyes frantically search for a word,
That could describe the opposite of a Utopian world,
Dsytopia, you learn, is a society strictly fictional,
That is in some important way frightening or undesirable.

You know we've erred, when dystopia as a word,
Fails miserably at describing what your society recently offered,
When it seems obsolete and disease-stricken,
When it doesn't grasp the graveness of the situation.

You know we've erred, when reading a story clenches your teeth,
When your lungs hold back a silent scream underneath,
When you watch your heart quietly grieve,
When you close your eyes in disbelief,
When neither the story leaves you long after,
Nor does the helplessness or the anger.

You know we've erred, when a girl is raped in the capital of our country,
When daylight seems feeble in protecting her dignity,
When she pays for nothing but her existence,
And when deeds performed with hands and feet,
Seem worse than those by bombs and guns.

As she battles for her life on that woeful hospital bed,
It wasn't really her who was to be dead,
As she was struck with that shameful iron rod, it can surely be said,
'Twas humanity that took a mighty blow on the head.

You know we've erred, when you can't possibly feel her unavoidable pain, her undeserved shame,
When any penalty seems a little too soft, a little too lame,
When peace loving eyes are filled with aggressive disappointment,
When they unflinchingly suggest a solution in capital punishment,
You know its time to not feign, but accept this predicament,
Yes we have erred and it is our responsibility,
Dystopia can no longer be a reality.          

SAVE ME - Volume 1 - "What a shoRt"

So. The situation is simple. An average day. Chirag, Shetty, Ankit and I hanging out at Chirag's place. Normal. Right? Think again.

"I'm bored dude, let's play cricket", said Chirag. Ankit lazily switched on Chirag's computer. Chirag even more lethargically said, "Not EA Sports Cricket dude....The real thing..."

As soon as Shetty heard Chirag utter those words, he sprung up from his half asleep state, wiped the drool off his face and whizzed passed us with a bat, ball and three stumps in his hands. The mention of sports changed Shetty's nonchalant, unassuming and forgetful personality to an agile, sharp and energetic self. Ankit and I followed him.

"Aren't you coming Chirag?", I asked.
"I'll join you guys in a minute. I'll change into something more comfortable. You go ahead", he said.

Even before Ankit and I reached downstairs, Shetty had rooted the stumps, placed the bat next to them, taken his run-up and was ready to bowl. Ankit took the bat in hand as I diligently stood behind the stumps. Shetty bowled the first ball and Ankit managed to beautifully place it back to Shetty. Shetty collected it, Ankit took his stance again as Chirag arrived on the scene, wearing something 'more comfortable'. The three of us looked at him at the same time, froze for 2 seconds and continued with the game. Chirag was  wearing shorts. Tight shorts. Short shorts. Shorts that moved up his thighs with every step he took. After 5 steps, they became really short shorts. Chirag as usual couldn't care less. To make things worse, his strides became longer. If only his shorts could do the same....

Chirag stood next to Shetty, so that they could bowl alternatively. I could see Shetty fighting to avoid eye-contact with the ever-shrinking piece of cloth and the glory that it was now struggling to cover. He bowled the next ball, obviously with a much disturbed concentration. Ankit swung hard, only to send the ball sailing over the 6 feet wall to his offside, to the next society.

As soon as Shetty saw the ball fly, he ran to the wall and in one swift motion, placed his left hand on it and jumped across to the other side like a samurai. Ankit and I followed him. Obviously, our jump was not as graceful. We used our left hand to catapult us to the top of the wall as well, but had to take support with one foot before jumping off of it. We started looking for the ball when Chirag decided to join the search committee.

Chirag lifted himself up using both hands, making Ankit and I look relatively heroic. The decisions that Chirag took from this moment on, made that day special enough to be included in this blog. One could see discomfort in Chirag's eyes as he lifted himself up that wall. Instead of jumping off of it right away, he decided to clumsily put his right leg across. Chirag was now riding the wall as if it were a horse. The thickness of the wall ensured a thorough stretch. For the first time in Chirag's life, his underwear, which was now unfortunately visible, was experiencing a superiority complex, because it was covering more of his skin than the then shamefully redundant shorts. He held the wall with both his hands and tightened his grip with his thighs for about 5 seconds. He then dismounted the wall, a little too slowly and a little too steadily. On reaching sea level, he looked at us with the anticipation of a standing ovation, but it was not to be. We continued our search for the ball, when we suddenly heard slapping noises.

We turned around. Chirag was frantically slapping his thighs while shouting at the top of his voice "GUYS!! SAVE ME!! SAVE ME GUYS!!". We ran towards him. Chirag was panting, sweating and slapping his thighs even more ruthlessly. "SAVE ME GUYS!", his voice cracking with fear. This was the first time we saw them. They were big. They were red. They were monstrous and biting RED ANTS. From the wall that Chirag should have chosen not to ride a few seconds ago. They were all over the area that his shorts should have covered, had the strides been shorter, had the jump been swifter and hang on, had the shorts been longer!! At the risk of losing all respect on this blog, I must confess that Ankit and I started laughing uncontrollably. We wanted to do something, but one can do very little when one is lying down on the ground paralysed with laughter. To make matters worse, Shetty ran off somewhere till we couldn't hear his laughter anymore! "GUYS!! SAVE ME!! SAAAVE ME GUYS!!!", Chirag yelled again, pleading with shock! Ankit and I seriously have issues, we started laughing convulsively.

Chirag might have been at the brink of shedding his 'comfortable wear', when from nowhere, we could hear Shetty's laughter again. We saw him. He was laughing alright, but his other bodily functions were working. He had a water pipe in his hand. He ran towards Chirag and hosed off the ants in true superhero fashion. "YES YES! SAVE ME! YES YES YES! SAAAAAVE ME!", Chirag exclaimed orgasmically! Then came the request, that was weirder than the word itself! "MAKE THE FORCE HARDER USING YOUR THUMB!! MAKE IT HARDER!!! PLEASE HARDER!!!", he begged Shetty. Shetty submitted to the demand. "YES!! HARDER! HARDER!! SHETTYYY HARDERRRR!", went Chirag.

Shetty could faintly hear Chirag's thank you's in the midst of our 'hard' laughter. I'm sure the experience of Chirag yelling the words 'Shetty', 'harder' and 'thank you' in one sentence contributed less towards Shetty feeling humbly acknowledged but more towards his worst nightmare coming true. Chirag didn't thank Ankit and me. I wonder what stopped him. As with every incident, a few things changed after. Ankit, the staunch atheist, started worshipping red ants. Shetty still has trouble looking at his thumb directly. And yes, Chirag started trusting Shetty. A little too much, as will be evident in the next post - "SAVE ME - Volume 2 - The ROLL reversal" :).