I remember when I was 7 years old, I beat up Dilip because he wouldn’t let me play with his G.I. Joe. When my mother was trying to drag me off his battered form, I vowed that I would get a bigger, better toy. Needless to say there was no toy, forget bigger or better, in the near future ‘until I repent’: my dad’s edict. Crying and pleading didn’t really work when I was sporting bruised knuckles (Damn that kid’s tough skin!) So, I sulked for quite a while. Then my dad, who was thankfully a li'l absentminded, got me that big plastic gun which makes those weird noises, from Japan. The next day I sneaked it out the house in the sack of my schoolbag and flaunted it like a terrorist in Afghanistan. Then of course the usual happened. My teacher took it away because I was disturbing her precious class. My parents got called. The word expulsion was bandied about. My dad of course tried to talk sense into me. But I had my own special dictionary which I relied on. **Fade out**
**Fade in** Next, I got caught stealing a money from home to which my dad threatened to plonk me in the slammer. **Fade out**
**Fade in** The following episode was one where I hit a boy with three scales because he was annoying me. **Fade out**
**Fade in**Then got caught for copying a test. **Fade out**
I wonder now, what happened to that li’l girl. So full of energy and life… I miss her.
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