Cock Tale

There were quite a few interesting happenings in my life during last summer, if only I could call them interesting at all. Bachcha log, you do not need any parental supervision while going through this post. It contains nothing suspicious. Suspicious is the word parents usually use for vulgar ‘items’, lol. Sounds good. Quite acceptable. Anyway, let me initiate the tale. The Cock Tale.

Summers have always been relentless in our country, irrespective of the zone. Be it Delhi, Chennai, Nagpur or Patna. I, by the way, spent my summer at a place called Durgapur near Kolkata, thanks to audacious planning of IIT Delhi. To make matters worse, I was virtually impelled to spend eight hours a day in a fuming steel plant. If you have never been to any steel plant, I would advise you not to plan any visit there in any given circumstances. If you are, in case, asked to choose between spending your whole life with Bin Laden and visiting a steel plant, do not even hesitate to choose Bin Laden. Steel plants are horrible places—charcoal powder floating in the air, lumps of burning coal radiating infrared rays. To make matters worse, hot, luminous liquid iron flows to make one realize that he is spending time in Hell. Hell on the face of earth.

By the time I used to return back to my hostel, every joule of energy was sucked out of my skinny body. The only plus point of my stay there was that boys and girls shared the same edifice (not the same room though). Most girls being Biharis. It took me 21 long years to discover that even Bihari gals are cute. I always thought that only one girl in Bihar was cute. Hey, what am I proceeding towards? I am not here to describe my love interest. That will be done in some other post. May be, never. Despite all those searing hours in the steel plant, I was not very unhappy. The most irritating part of the story started later in the night; or I should rather say, early in the morning. At around 3 AM. The hero (in fact, the villain if you ask me) of this saga is a cock. Murga, in Hindi. That bloody cock!!!

On every single morning at 3 AM, the cock started to crow at the top of the voice. Considering that I usually fall late on bed, that vociferous noise at three in the morning was nothing better than some Himesh Reshammiya song—shabby and painful. I managed to ignore it for a couple of days. But brushing aside that atrocious sound every single day was just too much for asking. One morning at six in the morning, my patience gave up and I came out of my room only to find that the cock was crowing right in front of my room. I waived my hand and asked that cock to move out of that place, of course in human voice. Sadly, this time around, it was too much of an ask for it. It crowed back at me. Sparked by its protest, I slapped it. Oh yes, I slapped it!! The cock fell away, around six meters away. It wasn’t moving at all. I was shocked. And possibly, so was it. I never wanted to hit it so hard. I, perhaps, underestimated my strength and certainly overestimated the cock’s strength. I was, more or less, sure that that cock died instantly. I looked all around me, making sure that no one was watching me. Relieved by my solitude, I quickly moved back to my room. There was a mixed feeling inside me. Mixed-- due to two reasons. I was both happy and sad. Happy because I sensed that I was not as weak I thought myself to be. And sad because I had killed the poor cock. That too for a crime not so grave. Anyway, since the cock was then dead, there was no point thinking about it and losing my sleep over it. The noisy cock might have been enjoying in the hell, I thought.

I woke up at nine. The corpse was not there. It was the beginning of a new day for me with the same old job. I went to the steel plant. I came back at five in the evening only to find the cock hopping around with a band-aid sort of thing rolled around its neck. I was again happy and sad. Happy because the cock hadn’t died and sad because I would have to resist its creaky sound again. Yet again. In the night, the butler was asking guys in the mess if they knew somebody who hit its pet. I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. When being intrigued, the butler revealed that THE cock was its pet and someone hit it. He even asked me if I knew that bloody guy. I considered myself no lesser than Satyawadi Harishchandra. So, telling lies was not my job. When caught in an insurmountable problem, pretend!! Someone tried to kill your cock?, I asked as if it was my dearest pal. He nodded. I didn’t reply to him anymore and hastily changed the topic of discussion.

Days went by. The cock wasn’t crowing anymore. I was rather surprised by its silence. I had got used to it in one way or the other. That silence didn’t let me sleep. I asked the butler the next day if his pet cock was fine. He replied me woefully that he himself killed his pet cock because its health was degrading. He served its flesh to us only, he said wryly. What an excuse to kill somebody, I thought. But the hero was killed. He was no more. May its soul live in peace in heaven. And the villain was still roaming freely.

I was happy and sad, again. Yet again.