Upur 8

 Chapter 8: The Fight

I always preferred the company of friends who respected my feelings, spoke openly, and carried an easygoing nature. Some boys did become my friends, but knowingly or unknowingly they often toyed with emotions and crossed limits in the name of fun. I disliked such behaviour deeply. Even if they meant no harm, it was a habit I could never truly accept, and gradually I began keeping my distance from such people.

John was different. He loved moving around with the city boys because they exposed him to a world far removed from cantonment life. Through them he experienced things that ordinary schoolboys rarely came across so early in life. Their circle included college boys, sons of businessmen who had abandoned studies, scrap dealers, clerks, and even grown men who smoked, drank, abused freely, and boasted endlessly about their romantic and sexual adventures. Many of them carried foul mouths and rough manners.

Being associated with such people made John feel worldly, experienced, and powerful. He believed he understood life better than the rest of us sheltered cantonment boys. Slowly, he developed the misconception that he possessed an upper edge over those who were untouched by that world.

The problem was not merely that he liked such company. He constantly tried to project it in front of others. He would subtly make people feel immature or inexperienced if they did not share his interests. Since he spent time with those rough characters, he had also developed the belief that they could get away with anything because they had connections with influential people. That gave him confidence, but it also changed him. At times he smoked and drank secretly, later chewing cardamom before going home to hide the smell.

For many city boys these habits were part of everyday life. To me, however, all this seemed too early and unnecessary. My upbringing had been completely different.

From childhood I had been an ardent admirer of Lee Falk’s legendary character, the Phantom. His comics were my favourite companions, and even today I remain fond of them. I dreamt of becoming like him and unconsciously began copying his ideals. Later in life I realised how strongly childhood heroes shape one’s personality.

The Phantom stood against wrongdoing, so did I. He never smoked or drank, and neither did I. He admired beauty, loved animals, respected nature, sought adventure, and possessed physical courage. Naturally, I tried to imitate those qualities too. He was not excessively studious, and I happily accepted that similarity as well. His love for jungles, horses, martial arts, and fearless living fascinated me endlessly. Looking back, I feel grateful to Lee Falk for creating a hero filled with values worth following.

My Sikh upbringing strengthened those beliefs further. Smoking and tobacco were considered wrong, which gave me additional resolve to stay away from such habits. Still, I remained curious about the world around me. I wanted to observe things firsthand, understand how people behaved, and know why they did what they did. Unlike some decent boys who avoided such company altogether, I never hesitated to observe from a distance.

Several times I tried discouraging my friends from indulging in such habits by simply showing disinterest whenever they discussed them. But my efforts had little effect. Eventually I stopped interfering and limited myself to humour and casual friendship.

Still, John repeatedly teased me over the matter.

“Tu abhi bachcha hai, bada ho kar sikhega,” he would say.

(“You’re still a kid. You’ll learn when you grow up.”)

At first I ignored it. But he began repeating it publicly in front of others, making me appear immature and inexperienced. Though he occasionally admitted he was joking, he never stopped. Gradually the teasing began pricking me like a needle.

One day, when he repeated the same line again, I lost my temper. I warned him sharply not to say it again. He was stunned by my reaction and immediately argued back. In the heat of the moment he hinted that he had powerful outside contacts and could easily “sort me out” if he wished. Among those names was a local fellow called Rombi, whom he had introduced to me once.

I remembered Rombi clearly.

I had first seen him outside the school premises near Chinar Complex. He had a scooter chain hanging around his neck, holding both ends in his hands as he roamed about like a street tough. He wore a maroon shirt, white trousers, shiny leather shoes, and carried the exact appearance of a Hindi-film villain. John had shaken hands with him proudly in front of me, as though displaying an important connection. Rombi was supposedly a scrap dealer with links to local policemen and a reputation for muscle power.

When John used his name to threaten me, something inside me snapped.

How could a friend think this way?

We played together every evening. Yet now he was indirectly threatening me through a local goon. The thought hurt me more than the threat itself. Anger slowly replaced friendship.

The next time he repeated the same thing, I replied coldly:

“I don’t care whom you know or befriend, but don’t tease me like this again. If you repeat it, I’ll hit you back—anywhere.”

Instead of backing down, he deliberately repeated it once more.

That was enough.

Already boiling with anger, I punched him hard in the chest as we stepped out of the classroom. He staggered backward and crashed against the door. Instantly he swung his heavy schoolbag into my stomach, knocking the air out of me. Furious, I kicked his leg and he fell down.

As he got up abusing me, he punched me back and I lost balance. Rage exploded inside me. I rushed forward again and landed another blow on his shoulder. Just as I prepared to strike him on the jaw, I heard the girls shouting:

“Stop it!”

For a split second my attention shifted. John seized the opportunity and rammed his head into my stomach, throwing me backward violently.

By then the entire class had erupted into chaos.

Raina and the others came running, half laughing and half trying to separate us. Even while they held us apart, I managed to kick John once more in the stomach, making him gasp for breath.

We were dragged away from each other by force.

But the moment their grip loosened, I charged again.

This time John’s back hit a desk and he fell against it facing upward. I jumped over him and gripped his neck with both hands. He twisted sideways and punched my waist hard enough to loosen my grip. Getting free, he shoved me again and I crashed onto a chair.

Breathing heavily, I grabbed the chair to strike back, but by then the others overpowered both of us completely. We were forced onto our seats while the class buzzed with excitement.

John kept glaring at me.

That glare irritated me so much that I sprang up once again and lunged forward, landing one final punch on his chest.

“Aaaah!” he shouted.

Again everyone rushed in to restrain us.

At that exact moment the bell rang for the next period.

Both of us were exhausted, bent forward, huffing and puffing. Oddly enough, with the fight over, the anger had also disappeared.

Trying to catch my breath, I muttered,

“Now go and call your Rombi.”

The others burst out laughing while John looked helpless.

The free period in which we had unknowingly demonstrated our “fighting skills” was finally over. Soon classes resumed as if nothing had happened.

By the time school ended, even the bitterness had faded.

Only the scratches on my hands and the soreness in my body reminded me of the battle we had fought a few hours earlier.

After class Panda came up smiling.

“So, how was the fight? And where exactly did this Rombi come from?”

I told him to ask John since he was the expert on such personalities. Panda laughed and explained that Rombi was actually more of a flashy show-off than a dangerous criminal. He roamed around near the school mainly to impress girls.

“Do you seriously think he would fight you just because John asked him to?” Panda said.

John lowered his eyes sheepishly.

Raina, meanwhile, found the entire episode hilarious.

“Why do you fellows fight among yourselves?” he laughed. “No outsider can interfere in our class matters. Our class is strong enough to handle anything.”

Then, grinning wickedly, he added:

“Come on, at least demonstrate the fight once more. It was entertaining!”

That made both of us laugh despite ourselves.

And just like that, the enmity ended forever.

Strangely, after that fight our friendship became stronger than before. John never teased me in that hurtful manner again. Even when he joked, it remained healthy and respectful. Gradually we became closer than ever.

He began sharing many things with me—the city boys, their affairs, their girlfriends, the local toughs, the hidden gossip of school life, even stories about young officers trying to gather information about schoolgirls through mutual contacts.

For me it was an entirely new world.

Slowly, I started understanding the unseen currents flowing around us. One day a friend even showed me a love letter written by a girl from our own class while we sat inside the jungle patch between the school and Chinar Complex.

I remember thinking in amazement:

“My God! This class is like a film industry. So many stories are unfolding silently around us.”

Compared to John, I felt like an innocent novice. Yet those discussions fascinated me because at that age curiosity ruled our minds.

One evening, after badminton, we sat in the mess near our house eating fried peanuts mixed with chopped onions—something that remains my weakness even today—and drinking Coke.

Suddenly I asked him,

“How did you feel when I punched you first?”

John laughed.

“It felt as if a huge rock had slammed into my chest. I got so angry that I hit you instantly with the only thing in my hand—my schoolbag. And how did you feel when I hit you?”

“It felt as if someone had dropped a heavy stone on my stomach,” I replied. “That’s why I kicked you back immediately. Did it hurt badly?”

“Oh yes,” he said, pointing to his knee. “It hurt like hell.”

I touched his knee lightly.

“Here?”

“Yes, exactly there.”

I rubbed it gently and said sincerely,

“I’m sorry. But I had completely lost my temper. And the worst part was that the girls saw us fighting.”

John burst out laughing.

“Yaar, tu toh number bana gaya unke saamne. Kick badi zabardast maari thi.”

(“You actually impressed them with that kick!”)

“No chance,” I replied. “I fell like Humpty Dumpty after your bag attack. That cancelled everything.”

Both of us laughed loudly.

Then I asked him quietly,

“Did you tell anything at home?”

“Pagal hai kya? Aisi baatein ghar mein thodi batate hain!”

(“Are you mad? Nobody discusses such things at home!”)

“Then what do you discuss at home? Girls?” I teased.

“Chhod yaar… woh baatein dil se karte hain.”

(“Leave it… such things are discussed from the heart.”)

Then, after a pause, he leaned forward mischievously.

“Now tell me honestly—which girl do you like most in class?”

I smiled nervously.

“You tell first.”

“No. I asked first.”

I tried escaping cleverly.

“From beauty point of view, intelligence, or overall personality?”

“Stop complicating things. Tell me one overall choice.”

“Wohi ek hi toh hai.”

(“There’s only one.”)

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“I think we’ll have to fight again.”

“Why?”

“Because you never answer clearly.”

I finally replied vaguely,

“Woh gori wali.”

(“That fair-skinned one.”)

“Reema?” he asked instantly.

“So you like her?” I asked.

He smiled and nodded.

“And does she like you?”

“No idea.”

“So it’s one-sided?”

“For now, yes.”

“Best of luck then,” I laughed.

“But wait,” he said suddenly. “You took her name too.”

“No, I didn’t. I only said ‘the fair one.’”

His face relaxed immediately.

“Then who were you talking about?”

“The one with two-three names joined together. I can never remember them properly.”

“Oh! Mansingh?” he laughed.

“Yes! Sonia Rukmini Mansingh. The girl who sits with Nalini.”

John grinned.

“Patakha.”

“What does that mean?”

“A very attractive girl.”and she is intelligent also - blend of both.

“But patakha means firecracker.”

“Do you want to eat mangoes or count the seeds?” he replied impatiently, ending the discussion.

Then I asked,

“If Sonia is so then why do  you prefer Reema?" 

“Because she’s too smart for me and  I like simple desi girls.”

I sighed dramatically.

“If Sonia is too smart for you, then where do I stand?”

John laughed loudly and said,

“You talk as if she’s your girlfriend and Reema is mine. We’re only discussing our choices for fun. Anyway, in four or five years they’ll all be married to men older than us. If we can’t win them in real life, at least we can make them our dream girls in our thoughts. Nobody can stop us from it, not even them.”

That logic was strangely sensible.

Both of us burst into laughter again, finished our coke and peanuts, and headed home as evening darkness settled around the cantonment.

Later that night, while making my notes on physics, I kept thinking about the day.

In the afternoon we had fought with genuine anger, rolling on the classroom floor like enemies. By evening we were sharing secrets, discussing girls, apologising sincerely, and laughing together like brothers.

Such transformations are difficult to imagine in adulthood.

A child’s heart is still clean, untouched by layers of ego and bitterness. I realise that today.

Sometimes even now a strange thought crosses my mind: if nations carried the innocence of children, perhaps even enemies could become friends within a day.

Thinking that, I completed my physics notes on Motion, solved a few numerical problems, and finally went to sleep.

The day of punches, laughter, bruises, friendship, and heartfelt conversations had come to an end.