tales of friendship: cycles, crows and sweet corn on an abandoned highway

North Indians- do they deserve oxygen ?

The first time Rakesh saw Krish's house, he was 12 and walking past it with his father. "Appa, this palace is so big, which king lived here?" His appa had patted his head jovially while muttering curses about the Hindi speaking citizens of their country, "Rakesh kanna, it is not a palace, it is someone's house, one boy your age also stays there." Rakesh now tries to recollect exactly when was the last time he was ever called kanna or any other nickname that didn't allude to some thick-skinned barnyard animal.

Anyway, since Krish desperately wanted to whine about the maths test in the comfort of his enormous house with a textbook two feet away from him, they were currently standing outside his house. "You know, if you sell everything inside your room you will have enough money to put all four of us through college." Motu says thoughtfully. Balakrishnaji laughs, "The day when I see you in college will be the day when not only pigs fly, but Fanta's gundu cat also."

"I don't have that much money and all, fellows." Krish says as he drinks water from a glass tumbler a nearby servant has provided him with as Fanta berates Balakrishnaji for fat shaming housecats. "Hm, ok sure" Rakesh mutters, climbing up the never-ending stairs that lead to Krish's pink-walled room.

"For the last time, Motu, my sister only chose the colour of the walls." Krish protests when Motu smirks at the wall like he does every single time he sees it. "There's nothing wrong in liking pink," Fanta furrows his eyebrows, "but your walls are just ugly. So much money you have, can't buy better colour paint or what?" 

"Shut up all of you, no one loves me in this world, all are fake friends." Krish wails, falling face down onto his 4 poster bed. (with pink colour pillow. how his sister will decide colour of that? Rakesh does not care enough to ask) Balakrishnaji judgingly stares at Krish for a while before walking over and beating the shit out of him with his maths texbook.

"You're mad or what? Nothing you can study? You know how expensive is this textbook? Can't put it to use?" Balakrishnaji yells as he chases Krish around the room.

Rakesh sighs exasperatedly, trying to ignoring the fact that the owner of the room was currently scrambling to hide under his bed, and climbing to stand on the bed, kicks Motu with great force. "Ow what the fuck, Rakesh?". Motu's curses somehow stop the ruckus in the room and everyone turns to look at him, including Fanta's cat. (he should probably ask if it has a name) 

"Listen up, fellows," he announces triumphantly, "Tomorrow is the day we beat the education system by scoring full marks on that maths test." Balakrishnaji folds his arms and gives him a look, "Though it is not a hard feat for me at all, how exactly do you all plan on doing this?"

Motu smirks and digs his hands deep inside Balakrishnaji's backpack placed on the floor next to him. After sorting through his infinite amount of dictionaries,  he emerges with a paper ball and begins to carefully unfold it and iron out its creases. Fanta looks over at Balakrishnaji with a questioning look, who just shrugs.

Holding out the now uncreased sheet of paper, Motu grins without any shame. Balakrishnaji gasps when he realizes. Fanta puts his hand on his mouth in horror. Rakesh is confused because he forgot to wear his glasses today and cannot read small print. Even Krish peeks his head out from under the bed to take a look. 

After much squinting and stress, Rakesh is finally able to read the contents of the paper. He lets out a long, long sigh and shrugs, "What have we got to lose?" The sheet held in Motu's hands was, in fact, the question paper of the test to be held the next day. Balakrishnaji points an accusing finger at both of them, "First of all, if we get caught, we will lose not only our schooling but also our reputation and also any chance for future employment. Not that Motu has either of those, anyway." he adds. 

Krish snorts, "What reputation?" Kicking him back under the bed, Balakrishnaji scowls at Motu, "And why on earth was that in my bag? I have told you so many times, you do all your hooligan business if you want but keep me out of it." "I didn't have anywhere else to store it." Motu protests. "Where did you even get it from?" Krish's head pops out again from under the bed.

"Jared." he informs shortly. Rakesh stares, "Who is Jared? NRI or what?" "No," Motu looks offended, "Motilalji's nephew, he is visiting from North India and he told if I give him 20g ganja he will get this from his uncle." Motilalji was also the principal of their school, his moustache twirling in distaste whenever he catches sight of Motu. To Motu's horror, Motilalji had a soft spot for Balakrishnaji, which made him bear the brunt of much bullying from him. 

Sometimes Rakesh looks up and asks whoever is up there why exactly he had the misfortune of being stuck with these absolutely nonsensical creatures that frustrated him to the extent that he might lay in the road and let Motilalji run him over with his tractor. 

"We," Motu giving a wolf-like grin to the rest of the room, "are going to ace this test." Balakrishnaji pauses, "Don't you think the teachers will be suspicious if we all do well on this test? Especially you."

"Bala, how dumb do you think I am?" Ignoring Balakrishanji's response of very dumb, Motu explains how each of them had to purposefully make mistakes to mislead the teacher into thinking that they were good, honest students. (which they were, most of the time.)

"One day all of you will be in jail," Balakrishanji mutters under his breath, "then don't call me to come help you."