The Hilarious Adventures of Village Misfits

 

Ah, the glorious spring of 2011! The time when nature put on its fancy green suit, flowers played their symphony of colors, and 🦋butterflies twirled around like drunken ballerinas. And there we were, a bunch of clueless country bumpkins, about to escape the clutches of suburban life and dive headfirst into the unknown. You see, our heroic adventure began after we flunked our IIT/JEE exams, leaving us with more free time than a snail on vacation.

Our group consisted of four friends: Joon, Sasank, Pavitra and myself. Having failed our IIT/JEE entrance exams, we were exploring alternative options. The atmosphere was gloomy, and conversation was scarce. On a slow April morning, we gathered at the park to discuss love, life, and aspirations. While Joon flew a kite, his attention was divided, engrossed in his newly acquired mobile phone. He scrolled through countless messages he had sent to his various crushes, eagerly awaiting a reply. I busied myself with repairing my kite, which had been damaged the previous evening, while the others prepared their kite 🪁 strings with "manja".

Along came Manoj, lovingly nicknamed Alu 🥔, for he possessed the intellect and charm of a potato. With a twinkle in his eye and a cellphone clutched in his thieving hands which he had pilfered from his Boss's shop, he approached Joon. "Brother Joon," Alu cunningly grinned, "I hear you have the holy grail of girls' numbers. Would you be so kind as to bestow upon me a couple of these sacred digits? Help a clueless potato out, will ya?"

Joon, being the generous soul that he was, replied without a second thought, "Sure thing, Alu! Here, take this priceless treasure. May the gods of love 💌and cellular networks be with you." Little did we know that Joon's act of kindness would set in motion a hilarious chain of events that would leave our village in stitches.

Sasank, the sharp-minded detective of our group, couldn't help but notice the sheer lunacy of Joon's decision. He scratched his head, sending clouds 🌥of dandruff into the air, and exclaimed, "Hold your cows, Joon! Didn't you have a soft spot for this particular girl, Kanchan? Why on earth did you hand her number to this bloody thief?"

Joon, with a mischievous glint in his eye, responded with a chuckle, "Ah, Sasank, my wise friend! Do you really think our dear Alu stands a chance with her when I couldn't even muster a cow's moo🐄? Let the thief try his luck, for it will be a spectacle worth remembering!"

We all started laughing and went back to what we were doing. 

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Couple of days went by, and the village was abuzz with excitement over the newly opened restaurant🥘. It was like the arrival of a Bollywood superstar in our humble little town. The place was taken over by a Marwari guy, who had hopes of luring in the fresh-faced students with his fancy establishment. We couldn't resist the temptation to check out this new joint.

On that fateful day, we found ourselves loitering near Krishnam Restaurant, our 🚴bicycles parked right outside. Sasank lounged in the gazebo, engrossed in his notepad/register, scribbling down utter nonsense. He was an avid photographer, and back at that time, he did not have enough money to get his hands on a new DSLR. So, he would learn the theory portion, and whatever he learnt, he would jot it down in his little book. 

And then, out of the blue, a group of pretty girls approached us, eyeing the restaurant's entrance. One of them looked at Sasank and innocently asked, "Do we place our order here or inside?"

In a bizarre twist of fate, she mistook him for a restaurant staff member. It wasn't the first time this had happened to him, mind you. People often mistook him for a salesman whenever he stepped foot in a shopping mall or a department store. It's as if the universe wanted to play a prank on him at every turn.

But instead of correcting her, I could see a mischievous impulse taking hold of him. With a straight face, he responded, "Yes, ma'am. What would you like to order?"

To his surprise (and utter panic), she placed an order without hesitation. Two plates of chowmein, two plates of chicken momos, and four cold drinks🧉. He hurriedly scribbled down the imaginary order in his notepad.

Summoning every ounce of composure, he calmly said, "That'll be 280 Rs, ma'am."

And then, the unthinkable happened. She handed him a now demonetized 500 Rs note💸. As he stood there, holding the note, a mix of confusion and amusement washed over him. He quickly pointed her towards the restaurant's entrance, assuring her that her order would be with her shortly.

"Please be seated, ma'am. We'll send the order and your change in a jiffy," Sasank blurted out.

In that moment, my friends exchanged bewildered glances, knowing all too well that they were about to be dragged into my whirlwind of absurdity. Without a word, we sprinted towards our bicycles, pedal-pushing through the bustling bazaar like a gang of monkeys🐒 with their tails on fire. The onlookers watched us in a mix of confusion and amusement, surely thinking we had gone mad.

We raced through the chaotic streets, sweat dripping down our foreheads, until we reached the peaceful haven of the river beach 🏖. It was our go-to hangout spot, where the sand tickled our feet and the waves whispered tales of mischief. Collapsing onto the sandy shore, we panted like overheated buffaloes, wondering what in the world we were doing.

I couldn't resist checking Sasank's pocket and exclaimed, "Holy cow, Sasank! A crispy 500 Rs note! Looks like we're in for an impromptu fast-food party, my friends!"

Joon, never one to waste time, snatched the 500 Rs note from my hand and darted off to fulfill our gastronomic desires. The rest of us stayed behind, laughing uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Pavitra, with a touch of concern, chimed in, "Wait a minute, guys! What about that poor girl who's probably still waiting for her order? What if she complains? What if someone saw us and followed us here? What if our parents find out about this madness?" Apprehension filled the air, momentarily overshadowing our mischievous revelry.

But just as quickly as the worries had surfaced, Joon returned, triumphantly clutching a bag overflowing with tantalizing treats. The aroma of hot oil and spices wafted through the air, instantly erasing any lingering doubts from our minds. We tore into the packaging like ravenous wolves, devouring the crispy delights with pure abandon.

Grease stained our fingers, laughter filled the night, and worries melted away under the starlit sky. The river beach became our sanctuary, where we indulged in the blissful forgetfulness that only a free feast can provide. For that brief moment, our failures in exams and the weight of the world vanished, replaced by the simple joy of friendship and stolen culinary adventures.

After what felt like an eternity of munching and guffawing, our bellies finally surrendered to the glorious defeat of fullness. We lay back on the sandy shore, our eyes fixed on the vibrant hues of the sunset painting the horizon. Joon, the resident DJ of our group, played Linkin Park on his phone 🎵, their energetic tunes blending with the gentle lapping of the river waves.

And so, with our hearts light and our spirits uplifted, we bid farewell to the river beach and mounted our trusty bicycles once again. Pedaling through the moonlit village, we shared knowing glances and laughter that could wake the village roosters from their slumber.

As we reached our respective homes, our faces still adorned with mischievous grins, ready to face whatever absurdities the next day would bring. For in our little corner of the world, laughter was the currency, friendship was the treasure, and the village life never failed to serve up its own delightful slice of comedy.

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One day, amidst the festive celebrations of Bihu, the Assamese New Year, my mischievous friend Manoj, came running to my house. Most of the villagers were either asleep or engrossed in the festivities, while my brothers and I were busy with our favorite pastime — stealing litchis and pomegranates from the wild lady who lived next door. She was quite a peculiar woman, with red eyes, lips stained with betel leaf juice, and wild hair that resembled that of a witch. We were afraid to look her in the eyes.

After school, we would play cricket 🏏near her house, and our cricket balls often ended up in her compound. She had taken so many of our cricket balls hostage that we had lost count. Stealing her litchis became our way of seeking revenge.

As I sneaked into my house with my pockets full of litchis, hoping Manoj wouldn't notice, he called out to me urgently, "Hey, Anup, what are you up to?"

"N-nothing, bro," I stammered, trying to hide the litchis stuffed in my back pocket. "What about you?"

"I need a favor. Can I borrow your cycle 🚴for the night? I have some work to do," he replied, seeming worried and in a hurry.

"Yeah, sure, it's in the back room," I said, pointing him in the right direction. He hurriedly grabbed the cycle and left. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something important.

The next evening, we gathered around the village hall, where a group of women👭had gathered, gossiping loudly. Curious, I approached Suman, also known as Bongo, the village priest's son. He was like a walking gossip column, always aware of everything happening in town.

"What's all the fuss about?" I asked, pulling him away from the crowd.

"Haven't you heard, man? Alu proposed to a girl from another town and planned to run away with her!" Suman exclaimed.

"Wait a second...which girl and which town?" I asked, perplexed, as I motioned for my friends to join us.

Suman then spilled the beans, leaving us dumbfounded. Remember the phone number Manoj got from Joon? Well, within three days, he not only managed to talk to the girl, Kanchan, but he also proposed to her, and she accepted! They planned to elope in the middle of the night 🌃 through the paddy fields, and guess whose cycle they intended to use? You got it—mine!

As Suman revealed this shocking information, Joon's face turned pale, as if he had seen a ghost in broad daylight. He couldn't believe that his long-time crush had fallen for Alu, a complete loser, and they were planning to marry in just a few days. Regret filled Joon's eyes. If only he hadn't given Alu Kanchan's number. If only he had given him some other girl's number instead...

Amidst the chaos, I suddenly realized, "Oh no! That rascal took my cycle! My mom will kill me if she finds out."

That was all I could think about at that moment. But here comes the craziest part of the story. Later, we found out that their attempt to elope was a complete disaster. While crossing the paddy fields under the moonlit night, the chain on the cycle broke. Manoj and Kanchan came to a sudden halt, and as luck would have it, a local farmer happened to pass by. Manoj, desperate to fix the chain, approached the farmer and asked for his torch 🔦. With the chain repaired, they continued their journey.

However, it seemed that the farmer sensed something suspicious about two young individuals wandering through the fields at dusk. He may have alerted some local boys, who, in turn, caught the young lovers before they could escape through a small ravine at the outskirts of the village.

What followed was a series of comical errors. We later learned that Kanchan's father locked her in a room, while Manoj was tied to a bamboo pole 💈. The villagers gathered around them, giving Manoj disapproving looks. Each villager took turns hurling curses and giving him unsolicited advice, accompanied by a tight slap across his face.

Kanchan's father called the police 👮, accusing Manoj of kidnapping his daughter. The police arrived at their house and questioned both the lovers and their families. However, since Kanchan was no longer a minor, she argued that the police had no jurisdiction in the matter and that she had the right to make her own choices.

The police eventually left, suggesting that the families should resolve the matter amicably by talking to each other. Meanwhile, Manoj's parents got wind of their son's escapade and hurriedly set off to the girl's village, accompanied by some village elders.

In Kanchan's house, Manoj's father, Bhaiti, along with the village elders, engaged in a heated discussion on the next course of action. Bhaiti proposed that since Manoj had already tarnished their family's reputation and the reputation of Mazgaon village, where we hailed from, the least they could do now was to allow the two young lovers to get married.

However, Kanchan's father remained adamant, insisting that his daughter should complete her studies before even considering marriage. He refused to let his only daughter marry a rowdy young man with an uncertain future. And in all fairness, he wasn't entirely wrong. Manoj did odd jobs, sold betel nuts from his parents' garden, and dabbled in masonry work, but he lacked a solid plan for his future.

Despite all the drama, the village elders from our village brought the young lovers back to Mazgaon. They decided that before allowing them to live together, they should have a proper marriage ceremony. And so, the following days witnessed Manoj's family frantically preparing for the wedding, albeit without much excitement.

And, to my relief, my cycle miraculously found its way back home. To this day, I have no idea how it returned, but I couldn't be happier to have it in my possession again.

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It was the day before Manoj's wedding 💒, and another setback awaited poor Joon. Since Kanchan had been ostracized by her own parents, her Kanyadaan (the giving away of the bride) was to be performed by a family from our village. And guess whose family was chosen? None other than Joon's! (Joon and Manoj's fathers were close friends) When Joon found out about this, he was utterly mortified. We couldn't help but burst into laughter upon hearing the news. Not only was the girl he liked getting married to his lifelong tormentor, but now his father was going to be performing the Kanyadaan, essentially making Kanchan his sister-in-law of sorts. Joon was inconsolable the entire day, and the rest of us couldn't resist teasing him relentlessly, saying, "Surely, God took His time writing your destiny, mate!"

The day of the wedding arrived, a Sunday. Most Assamese weddings are known for their grandeur, with an abundance of non-vegetarian dishes, sweets, and joyful celebrations. However, Manoj's wedding was far from such an affair. While people came to offer their wishes to the newly married couple, there was something lacking in the air. It seemed as though Manoj's father hadn't envisioned his only son's wedding turning out this way. Joon was nowhere to be found that day. The rest of us went to his place, but the marriage festivities seemed lifeless. There was no excitement, and it appeared that the villagers had shown up out of courtesy and were eager to leave after offering their blessings and enjoying the food.

After the wedding, life quickly returned to normal. I moved to Guwahati to pursue my bachelor's degree in Management, Joon found a job at the local Nestle factory, Pavitra went to Bangalore, and Sasank pursued a career in photo and video production. As for Manoj, he remained unchanged, unaffected by marriage. I suppose matrimony didn't transform him into a responsible man after all.

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Ideally, I would have liked to end the story here, but I assume people might be curious about what became of us small-town boys from the remote corner of India. I moved to Delhi and joined government service. Sasank became a successful and sought-after photographer 🎥 in our hometown, while Pavitra entered the corporate world. 

My brothers are reaching the final stages of their studies, poised to embark on their own adventures. I have no doubt that they will weave their own tales of laughter and mischief, adding more chapters to the book of our village folklore.

Now, let's talk about Joon and Manoj. Life took a dark turn for Joon. He lost his father, his sister eloped with a guy, and he struggled to hold down a job for more than a couple of weeks. Eventually, he found himself involved in selling contraband and was even arrested a few times by the police. Fortunately, things have since returned to normal for him. He found stability in a steady job at the town's market, reminding us that even in the face of adversity, there's always a glimmer of hope.

And what about Kanchan, the girl Manoj went through so much for? Last summer, she left him for a guy from Bihar, abandoning their eight-year-old son. Life, it seems, had its way, as the guy she left Manoj for also left her within a month. No one knows where she is now. The last we heard, Manoj's father was on the lookout for a new bride for him. Maybe he'll find love in the most unlikely of places, like a misplaced cycle or a stolen cricket ball. Who knows?

And as we bring this chapter of our village tales to a close, let's savor the memories we've shared and look forward to the laughter that awaits us in the stories yet to be told. 

P.S. A very bottom-of-the-heart thanks to Stranger for the motivation to piece all the broken stories together.

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