Curse of the Mughals and death of a cliche.

I considermyself an observer, and that is what I’ve been doing since my good for nothing days. Not much can escape my omnipresent radar. So where do I begin? It’s Delhi! You don’t decide where you begin fool; it will always be the Mughals. What? Why them? I hear you say. Bitch please! Never heard about that dude Aurangzeb? What about those before him?  Mindless marauders from the plains of the chinks? They cursed our lands so hard that even the weather dreads laying benevolence above us. So the Mughals aside, what else is glaringly obvious? Clichés it is bitches, no harm in saying its everywhere. So here I was standing at the bus stop, peak summer season, rape alarm!  You see our land is blessed with plenty of sun for more than half of the year. Humid air languishes everywhere, especially the underpants. No wonder a whole species of “groin diggers” have been bred to adapt. And summer is just the excuse for belles to flaunt the latest tank tops. Besides this group of freshly caked (talcum powder) power puff girls, an “uncle forlorn”, a visibly peeved aunty (remember the heat homeboys) stood “The Competition”. Bomchicka bow wow! Dude was all muscles and shit. Had headphones snuggled in the ears and some crazy lip movement (Shakira as I later guessed) signalling a top level alpha male thing in the hierarchy and beyond. Darwin must be proud! With great heat comes the biggest responsibility, this dude forgets, every now and then, gosh, almost doesn’t understands. Maybe the curse of the Mughals is upon him, no escaping this shit. While he clawed his groins to glory, old uncle obviously annoyed, rapidly approaches his threshold. Now the typical way of letting steam here is through the mouth, usually accompanied by expletives. So not caring for the already irked aunty or those Lolitas he shoots. Rather unsavoury id say but satisfying. Some aimless, stack upon stack of ill meaning phrases directed towards you know who. Lolzz. But the dudes got defence bro! His headphones remember? So while general ruthless doles out some serious shit with mind numbing accuracy, muscular guy just claws away to glory. We’re all watching now, stray dogs’ et al. Even the belles are giggling like some hidden wisdom dawning on the brink of their brains. No time for sympathy bro, when shit hits the fan it hits the fan. Then by some miracle the hunk notices, everyone. Uncle all red eyed and panting, his face bears a bewildered expression, did u just had a heart attack old chap? The giggling girls-mother would have been proud senoritas. “tere ko ghar mein maa-behen nahi kaya re?” this time aunty number one jumps in. “bol, bol. Bol...haan?” she hollers and cries. “Hormone stack” is surprisingly cool. Hell he cares not of those stares, those chides, those awful curses. He’s macho bro;   remember it was the Mughals that originally instigated him. Those headphones now slung over his shoulders he continues to pull at his backpack, the once original accessory of macho dudes now over flaunted by pathetic wannabes. Water was spilled as he splashed it all over himself, pouring his “bislerri” like some soap commercial. “Beta” thus began the uncle apologetically, “you are from a good family, then why?” our hero now coming to terms that something is wrong glances menacingly at all and sundry. That famous “kya mangta hai tu” look. Makes me proud, competition was for real bro. I stood no chance at all. Power puff girls swoon. I almost peek into their minds, chanting” my hero my hero”. Kya mangta indeed. Aunty Join in the camaraderie and goes as far as to put her hand on the dudes shoulder. Such mother-son display of affection is rare to come by. Bus arrives soon and all board it except us. So its showdown time then, just me and meatball, Duel to the death. He seizes me menacingly, I remember I should gulp else lack of it might be taken as a sign of intimidation. Oh he’s horny (it’s those horns you perverts). There’s tension in the air and it perfectly latches on to the prevailing humid air. I can sense he’s looking at me while I sweat to kingdom come. “Are you all right bro? You seem to be struck by a lightening” I seem to ignore by looking the other side and assuming he’s talking to the spirit of Aurangzeb. I know I’m ready with my monster punch lest the need arise. “Calm down bro, you need water” he pulls at my arms and forces the bottle in my hand.” Now here are some pills to get you ahead” I look at the angel with” air of magnificence” his headphones glaring “shakira shakira” his voice seem to boom in my ears” go home Frodo, the ring will be taken care of, Aragorn will be the king, Sauron will perish” now that i think of it, some clichés are meant to be broken, and sometimes it takes a bloke with shakira on its lips. The Mughals will not be pleased.