It was New Year's Eve: thirty minutes to go before the New Year began.
A group of ten or so teenagers were roaring around the city streets on
their motorbikes, doing all kinds of stunts.
Some of them wore shinyheadbands to celebrate the coming year.
An hour ago they were in oneof the uptown supermarkets, teasing girls with whistles. They hadfirecrackers too which they let off to celebrate.
At a quarter to twelvethey reached the parking lot of the Gymkhana Club where a NewYear's party was in full swing.
The boys also had invitations to theparty and their parents were already there.When they got in, it was five to midnight.
In a few moments, the lightsin the hall and the dance floor would be switched off and then with adisplay of fireworks on the lawns, the New Year would be heralded in.
The partying would be on all night—dancing, drinking—all thefestivities especially organized for the occasion by the Gymkhanamanagement. ̳Lights off' meant a display of complete abandon—thatwas what the crowds came for.
One of the teenagers who had joined the party was on the dance floor,
rocking to the beat and impressing all with his performance.
At tenseconds to twelve the lights went off.
Voices and laughter filled the hall
as people counted the seconds to the New Year, and this rose to a pitch
as the clock struck midnight and the hall lit up again.
The teenagerswere now out in the parking lot, their car horns blaring away.
Beer canin hand, the youth who was on the dance floor got on the roof of a car.
He pulled out another beer can from his jacket and pitched it at the
windscreen of a parked car, which shattered with an explosion as the
full can hit it.
He stood on the car, calmly drinking from the can of beerin his hand.
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For the last half hour Salar had been watching Kamran trying to
master the video game: the score remained the same, probably because
Kamran was trying to maneuver a difficult track.
Salar was also in thelounge, busy writing notes.
From time to time, he would look at the TVscreen as Kamran struggled to win more points.
Half an hour later, Salar put his notebook away, stifled a yawn,
stretched his legs out on the table and crossing his hands behind his
head, looked at the TV screen as Kamran started a new game, having
lost the previous round.
̳What's the problem, Kamran?'
̳Nothing...I got this new game but it is really tough to score,' Kamran
said in a tired tone.
̳Let me see.' Salar got up from the sofa and took the remote control.
Kamran watched silently: in the opening seconds Salar was racing at a
speed that Kamran had never reached. The track that had challenged
Kamran was like child's play for Salar—it was hard for Kamran to
keep his eyes on the car that was racing at a fantastic speed in the first
minute, and yet Salar had complete control over it.
Three minutes later, Kamran saw the car swerve, go off the track and
explode into smithereens.
Kamran turned to Salar with a smile—herealized why the car had been destroyed: Laying the remote controldown on the table Salar picked up his notebook.
̳It's a very boringgame,' he remarked as he jumped over Kamran's legs and went out.
Kamran clenched his teeth as he saw the seven digit score on the screen.
He looked at the door as Salar left.
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