pari and spari

It must have been half past 11 at night, when sudhir aka giant popat aka black bison (his latest and last sobriquet) dragged me and an unexpecting lionel to the open grounds of raja koliwada, gorai. Away from the loud, grunge guitaring of pearl jam, bison dragged both of us into the darkness. Eddie Wedder had died somewhere behind. In the darkness, bison, wearing white shorts and banyan appeared like a vision. Billions of stars twinkled upon us; gentle breeze occasionally rendered the palm trees to clap, as if in excitement of the drama opening up below. I gathered the stillness of the moment. The constant sound of rolling sea waves grew louder in the silence, when bison decided to stop. "Do you guys know pari and spari?" spoke the banyan. His voice was gentle, yet menacing in that inky darkness. Lionel looked at me looking at him, and we both saw a huge question mark dangling above our heads. "No," we said. "Ok, these are two martial art techniques, only few black belts in the world know. Today, I'm going to not only show you pari and spari, but also teach you." "Run," i said, but before lionel and i could act, the bison was on us. His hairy hands gripped our wrists like a rottweiler would a bone and dragged us like some dead branches fallen off the palm. It was quiet again and bison took his position. we waited. he waited. we waited some more. nothing moved. nothing happened. It looked like eternity and then he spoke. "Che, i can't show you these techniques; it's too loud here," said he. "I can hear you breathing, it can't get quieter than that!" said I. "No, pari and spari needs immense concentration," said he. "Oh, fuck it, we are going back," said I, making a leave for the shack. But the bison, the rottweiler, was back on wrist. "Ok, now get it over with, will you?" i asked in a prolonged exasperation. The banyan and the shorts took postion. Nothing moved for another 10 minutes, except for the palms, sea waves and my left eyebrows, which twitched, announcing an impending calamity. "Hey, Sudhir, do it, man. Else, we are going back to the shack," finally my gentle friend, lionel, spoke. I must inform you that it takes great effort to push lionel to a limit and bison had done that about 12 minutes back. "No, I can't, it's too loud," said bison. Words flowed between the two, when lionel touched the sensitive cord. "Look, sudhir, cynthia is kissing another guying in that corner," said lionel. The earth shook; palms stopped clapping and clung to each other for support, lest they fell uprooted; for a brief moment the stars from the sky had descended from their original positions and begun to do the lamada around my head; my life flashed before my eyes. Precisely 3 seconds after the special effects, I saw what my words can barely describe: bison's body was parallel to the ground, his arms flailing, his legs kicking...'thud!'...lands bison on the sandy ground. For another 15 seconds the collosal body was twisting, turning, kicking, wriggling, punching, gasping for breath like a walrus in the arctic ocean. Then, silence! Lionel and I had been a witness to pari and spari, two of the martial art techniques only few masters knew in the world. Leaving the bison to relax after the mighty show, I poured some coke in my old monk and joined in with Eddie...I'm still alive, yeaaah I, I'm still alive!