The Thing That Should Not Be

There are moments in your life when you read the most ridiculous of Facebook statuses, and you decide to play it safe; when you graciously comment “ Nice J “ ,even when every fibre of your body is willing you to type, “ Dude, WTF is wrong with you?” . A moment when you decide to take the morally high ground, and refuse to spend your time berating such hapless fools.

Obviously, this is not going to be one of those moments.

Yes, this is a hate rant. No, this is not an attack on those ‘patriotic citizens’ who decide to share links stating that our national anthem was voted the best in the world. This isn’t even for the ones who post “best brother week” statuses every month or so. No, this one is for the ones who actually believe they precious statuses are witty and life changing( not unlike my views of this blog). Believe me, these ARE real statuses.

1- 1- “lazy”

You managed to drag your ass all the way to your laptop, open up Facebook, and then have the gall to type ‘lazy’ ???

2- 2- “sad…”

It wasn’t “I’m so sad because” or “It’s so sad that” ( not that it would have much much of a difference, but if you are going to come up with lame statuses, at least try to be grammatically correct!) . But no, you had to go with sad *dot* *dot* *dot* ( did I mention this guy’s GMAT score was over 700?)

3- 3-“after 3 dayz of searching.... finally got my acco.... nd its \m/ J”

As a metal head, I take offense to that. Your acco was \m/ ?? Seriously? The Devil’s Horns? I wonder if you’ll be smiling when they get stuck up your ass. ( for further information of why not to use \m/ , check out Instain Noodles…the link’s around here somewhere) . Don’t even get me started on the ‘dayz’ bit of it.

4- 4- “Is disappointed after hp7! so many good scenes cut out! now u pls dont disappoint me breaking dawn :( “

A Twihard. Need I say more?

5- 5- “ive successfully tanned my elbows”

Trust me, there are more difficult places to get a tan. Figure them out and then boast.

6- 6- “I want the older version of chat box back!!!”

Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure Mark Zuckerburg will be right on it. After all, if YOU say that the old chat box is to brought back, who is he to deny you?

7- 7- “katy perry is coming to seattle....and performing live at Key arena....this is the biggest thing in my life after the Luke Skywalker vs Darth Vader fight”

I know it might be hard to digest, but a guy posted this. A 20 year old guy, born 8 years AFTER the Luke Skywalker vs Darth Vader fight. And seriously? You picked that over Anakin vs Obi Wan / Obi Wan vs Darth Maul?

8- 8- “How does one get a kitten?”

(I go against my better judgement by posting this, but What the hell :P )

Idiot.

Step 1- Get a job. Or an internship that gives stipend

Step 2- Get at least 25k a month from said internship

Step 3- Use said money to pay for said kitten

9- 9- “I love my new haircut”

And I love my new Swiss Army knife. Care to come out and play?

10- 10-“WTF was i thinking?”

Let’s look at this closely. The fact that you managed to put this up as a status, goes against the belief that you were, in fact, thinking. ( I apologize, I couldn’t come up with anything stupider than that L )

11- 11-“ZMND. Finally made me realise that Zindagi Milegi Na Dobara. J”

You figured that out NOW? Honestly, if your parents had learnt that the easiest way to teach kids morals was to show them movies involving hunks with six-packs and curvy babes, growing up would have been so frikking awesome!! ( all because of the latter mind you).

12- 12- “Muffins”

Respect. Mixed with hatred. Since I was forced to read this while eating corn flakes. L

Am I irrational. Perhaps. Am I full of disgust at the sight of these statuses. Definitely. Will I take the post down if you beg me to? Too right I won’t.

P.S- This should serve as a Disclaimer of sorts. The statuses mentioned above, while seemingly real, are fake. True Story.The author is not responsible for any hurt sentiments or the like. If you truly believe that one of these statuses IS actually yours, then good news. Looks like there’s two of you in this world. Hurray! If you don’t like the way your statuses have been used, PLEASE go onto Facebook and share the link of the blog, defaming it as you will. You might be doing something valuable with your time finally. Also, the author would not mind it. As long as he gets the blog hits. If on the other hand, you DO actually like it, please go and share it all the same. For reasons mentioned above.

P.P.S – Pretty Please?

P.P.P.S – This is being written by the person sitting beside the author while the article was being written. The Author read the line above and realized it sounded rather gay. In shock and horror, he killed himself. Those reading this, feel free to go “ There There”

Breaking news- Indian Housewife sues Maria Sharapova- claims she made her go deaf

An Indian housewife has recently caused ripples in the media world by filing a lawsuit against the Scream Queen of tennis-Maria Sharapova, claiming that the latter’s screams were the reason she recently went deaf.

The Russian tennis player and model is known not only for her fashion sense and her playing style, but also for her loud and occasionally shrill screams. Screams, which have been recorded to be louder than the noise made by a jet! (True story…no, really!).

In her lawsuit, Prerna Das claims that the Russian beauty’s scream was so loud, that it actually ruptured her ear drums, leading to permanent deafness. Intrigued, NTMN sent one of its reporters to get some finer details of the issue.

Says the NTMN reporter- “ When we reached the house of the Mrs. Das , there was chaos all around. Family members had gathered to support her in her cause. Being a quintessential TV-serial loving housewife, she had much support from her neighbors and friends. On hearing( metaphorically that is) that reporters had come to interview her, Mrs. Das seemed thrilled. So thrilled in fact, that the loudness of her voice almost made US go deaf!”

After donning a pair of earmuffs, this is what the reporter gleaned-

Says(note: screamed ) Mrs. Das - Oh, I just love watching reruns of old TV serials on Star Plus. It was just after dinner and one of my neighbor friends told me that they were screening an episode of Kyun Ki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi. There was no way I was going to miss that! It had been so many years since I had seen Smriti Irani don the role of Tulsi!! I was not going to miss it.

Interjects her husband Mihir (yes, the reporter thankfully took off the earmuffs)- You should have seen her that night. She was actually giddy with joy. I haven’t seen her that happy since Tulsi returned from the dead in the serial. Even our 25^th wedding anniversary party didn’t excite her this much.

Silencing her husband, Mrs. Das continued – “Of course, my lovely cable man made up a whole mess of the channels. Imagine my surprise when instead of seeing Tulsi’s great great grandson hatching a plan to kill her, I see this tall foreigner in skimpy clothes running around playing some version of cricket. ‘He Ram’, I could have had a heart attack! I wanted to see chaste Indian women in saris, and I’m forced to see this foreigner wearing a short skirt!!! What has society come to?

Then, just as I was about to change the channel, she started screaming!! ‘He Bhagwan’, it was so loud. I felt like all the glass ware in the house was about to shatter. The next thing I know, my ear started spurting blood!! It hurt so much. My husband and son took me to the hospital after 15 minutes.
The doctors there informed us that there was no way of restoring my hearing capabilities!!” Saying this, she burst into tears. It took her son close to half an hour to calm her down.

In the meantime, over tea and biscuits, her husband informed us that it was his idea to file a suit against Sharapova. On one hand, his wife deserved some compensation for the hurt she has undergone. He said,” How can she enjoy her favorite TV serials now? What will she do all day?? Also, think about me!! She used to scream at me everyday when I got back from work. Now it will only get worse!!!”

On asking his son Rajiv why it had taken up to 15 minutes before they took his mother to the hospital, he replied bluntly “ A model is running around in a short skirt! What do you expect me to do? Switch off the TV?”

As of yet, there has been no reply from Sharapova’s team. Rumors have it that since she is too busy practicing for the Wimbledon Championships, which she has not won in 7 years now. Whatever be the reason, her opponents would be glad if she were forced to stop screaming on court.

Disclaimer: The above article is completely false. While there is a 23% probability of it happening, Sharapova has never been the cause for any person going deaf. Over 42,000 Indian housewives do suffer hearing problems every year due to loud, and practically meaningless TV serials. Also, 83% of all statistics are made up on the spot. True story.

Eye Of The Beholder

You stand and watch, because frankly there isn’t much else for you to do. Not for wont of caring.

No, the caring bit was made clear in as many words. But apart from reasserting such bold and foolish feelings, you can do nothing. In front of you sits one whom you truly pity. She puts on a mask to face to the world. So that they believe that all is well in her kingdom.

But you know otherwise. Of the plethora of people she has encountered in her short span on this

treacherous world, you happen to be one of the few who has managed to get past the barrier to her mind. One of the few who has breached it's inner sanctum. One of the few who have witnessed the scars- the testament to the battles that have occurred in that hallowed mind. Either by luck or by design, you truly comprehend what happens behind that façade

Beneath that mask hides a broken woman. A woman whose spirits have been torn to pieces . One who has seen the dangerous side of the one who deals all the cards . A woman who lost a battle with fate itself.

Was it fate perhaps, that decided to wrench her heart and soul from her? More importantly, does she blame Fate? You cannot tell. Breaking the barrier of her mind is one thing. Being able to understand every strain of thought that goes through it is another.

You keep watching…waiting… hoping that soon, she will give you a signal. And then, just as the

eagle swoops down on its prey from the sky, you too would descend upon her. Not to break her

further, but to pick up the pieces of her soul . A soul that.. once whole…now lies shattered .

But no such signal arrives. She would not want you to. Left to her own devices, she would fight the battle alone, rather than face the embarrassment of having to depend on one to do it for him. But she cannot ignore your presence forever. So she gets up, and looks you straight in the eye.

The sight in front of you stuns you into silence and leaves you speechless. The eyes that stare back at you are dead; devoid of any feeling. And for once, you feel afraid. Of the deadened creature that now stands in front of you. Dead eyes that see no future. Which is what scares you the most. When the psyche feels nothing at all, is there any hope for her? Is there anything left apart from an empty shell now? They say time heals all… but does it? You have living proof in front of you that time….destroys …

But no! Wait…could it be? Perhaps……yes! Perhaps your fear has truly shown on your

face…for what you witnessed now could not have been imaginary. A glimmer of….life..

And as you keep staring…the light grows slightly brighter.. And you realize…it was your presence; your doing nothing but standing there, had actually mattered. That glimmer…existed because of you alone. It had not been her mind winning the battle…it had been yours.

So you keep standing there…looking straight ahead at her…and you watch as a hint of a smile

crosses that scarred countenance. And as you open your mouth to speak, she shakes his head,

gesturing you to stay with her in silence…and you acquiesce.

In the Street

The moment that we( team LTGTR) decided we were going to do a retro issue, I knew I simply HAD to write a review on That 70's Show. Call it absolute boredom , or the fact that the actors are so freaking brilliant ( Mila Kunis .... *sighs*) or perhaps the fact that for the past week, I'd done nothing except watch episodes of this very sitcom, but I doubt the reasons for writing it are as important as the review itself, so here goes nothing-

Created by ...... All right, I'll admit. I've no clue who really created it. Once again, it hardly matters! On the surface, That '70s Show appears to be a straightforward sitcom with a penchant for the occasional dream sequence or other bits of high concept fluff. But if you truly pay attention, you'll find a rather established cultural outlook to it. The show essentially parodies the 1970's, probably one of the most controversial times in the United States-- energy crises, the resignation of Nixon, the end of the Vietnam war, Star wars and of course, the disastrous perms, bell bottomed jeans and disco balls ( which are actually kind of cool, I’ll admit).

However, what truly brought the show alive was the brilliant acting by the main cast members . The show is set in the fictional Point Place, located in the state of Wisconsin. It revolves around Eric Foreman (Topher Grace-the guy who played Venom in Spiderman 3!), who is 17 and obsessing about the same things that all boys that age think about: beer, cars, and girls(not necessarily in that order), and who better to dampen his mood than a Communist-hating Vietnam veteran for a father, and a well-meaning alcoholic nurse for a mother! Throw in his promiscuous sister( who 'got around' with pretty much every guy in town) and you have a perfectly dysfunctional family.

Of course..ONE crazy family just isn't enough. Enter Eric's next door neighbor/ best friend/ girlfriend Donna , a feisty redhead feminist, who ,by all indications, can kick pretty much anyone's ass. Oddly enough, she's saddled with a couple of parents who are trying WAY too hard to be ‘hip’. Bob and Midge are the butt of most jokes, including a running gag about Bob's afro, which destroys the credibly of the very look that Hendrix popularized( a fact made clear to Bob repeatedly!)

Also included in the show are the characters of Hyde, Michael Kelso, Jackie and Fez. Hyde is a smart-alecky, Led- Zeppelin loving, wannabe hippie who sees government conspiracies in everything. This is probably due to the fact that he supplies most of the weed to the group and is almost permanently high. Michael Kelso ( played by Ashton Kutcher) is a rather dim, though well meaning playboy who eventually becomes a cop( and gets thrown into jail himself half the time). Jackie( yes, finally, Mila Kunis!), is a spoiled and snobby little rich kid who believes the world revolves around her. Where would any show be without the stereotyped foreigner! Fez fill this spot on the show; he’s a foreign exchange student with a strong Hispanic accent, a hair fetish, and a rather voyeuristic nature.

The plot itself is fairly lightweight, but certainly gets the job done. The show describes the daily lives of these kids- hanging out in a basement, smoking up every chance they get, stealing beers, and, if time ever permits, attending school. I could go on praising this show forever, but some things are better left unsaid, so I will end it on this note

What makes this show really appealing? Strip the show of its crazy jokes, the marijuana sessions, it’s rather caustic view of the government, and you're left with a show about teens trying to find some meaning in their lives-a sentiment shared by almost everybody our age. Definitely a must watch for... well, everybody.

An Open letter to Baba Ramdev

Dear Baba Ramdev,

As I write the above salutation, the irony of the situation makes me laugh. First off, I cannot claim to be one of the millions to whom you are dear. Neither do I feel the need to call you ‘Baba’, since it is now an insult to more enlightened and austere men than yourself. Having said that however, I realize that I neither know nor care enough to find out your birth name. So for now, we will stick to Baba Ramdev.

Believe me, up to until a month ago, you were nothing more to me than an orange clad, ridiculously bearded, slightly paunchy man who claimed to have the answers to every illness known to man, ranging from cancer to homosexuality( It IS an illness that requires treatment apparently….your words, not mine).

Since it happens to be the holiday season, I can actually get up and read the newspaper in peace without having to run for a tutorial test bright and early in the morning (the brilliance of our education system never fails to astound me!)

I must admit, the newspaper has become quite entertaining. Not only do I get to read Garfield jokes and look at sleazy pictures of wannabe film stars, I also get to look at you embarrass yourself and your devotees in public by dressing up in a salwar kameez ( or was it a sari? Oh well, I doubt it matters). It took me a whole minute to catch my breath! So, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for the entertainment.

As I used all my willpower to drag my eyes away from such a ‘insert appropriate adjective here’ photo, an article summarizing your demands and agenda caught my eye. With nothing better to do, I decided to give it a cursory glance.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t disagree with everything you had to say. I agree, black money and corruption definitely plague our society and they must be eradicated. For those hardly original yet appropriate points, I was about to raise my proverbial hat to you. (Note: about to)

It was then however, that I decided to actually pay attention to what you had to say. Among the few problems I had with your agenda are:

1- 100% boycott of foreign companies, adoption of ‘swadeshi’

So let me get this straight. The private jet you travel by was designed and made by an INDIAN company? Because the last time I checked (which was 30 seconds before writing this line), there isn’t an Indian company that manufactures private jets! And while we’re on the topic of anything foreign, I guess it’s sinful to buy a Hershey’s chocolate bar, yet it’s totally fine to accept a frikking ISLAND as a gift?

2- 100% voting

A quick visit to your Wikipedia page (yes, apparently you’re worth a couple of hundred kilobytes) reveals that you stopped your formal education after completing the 8^th standard. If only you had continued for a year longer and paid attention in a civics class (which oddly enough I did), you would have realized that voting is a constitutional right. Just in case you didn’t know, it means the government can deny certain groups the right to vote. These generally include criminals and the mentally handicapped. You, on the other hand, want everybody to vote. Predictably, I’m confused. You seek the death penalty for any corrupt person who has black money stashed away, but you want serial killers and rapists to vote?

3- 100% Nationalist country

Do you even know what nationalism means? Well, I do (Wikipedia saves the day yet again) . It’s about being unified, irrespective of religion, remaining true to your country and acting with the benefit of the country in mind. You claim that nationalism is a goal of yours. Yet you have no qualms associating yourself with Sadhvi Ritambhara , a woman allegedly linked to the Babri Masjid demolition? What were you thinking?

That lovely Wikipedia page of yours actually enlightened me more than the newspaper ever could( Don’t worry TOI, I will remain true to you, if only for the horoscope section and the Garfield jokes), You’ve claimed in the past that you have’ no financial power’ , A recent probe shows that you actually aren’t rich( fiscally, intellectually….take your pick) . Your aides however, are apparently worth over 220 million dollars (Yes, I do ape the West occasionally by denoting the money in dollars instead of rupees. Blame me if you will). I did also take a look at your site, where you market your medicines. Fourteen DOLLARS for a tiny pill bottle for pretty much any illness there is! You may claim to know how to cure cancer; but if you really care so much about the poor in India, you’d consider lowering their prices! Did it not strike you that the poor Indians themselves can suffer from cancer?

You also made ripples in the media world when you claimed,” Sex education should be replaced by yoga education” Apparently it can help with the prevention and cure of AIDS. Last I checked, (Gen Bio, 1^st sem) , the chief cause for AIDS is unprotected sex. So, yoga is supposed to help me prevent AIDS without sex ed? You DO realize that the condom industry is going to go bust if you keep saying that right?

Of course, your issues with our degrading society don’t end just there! You also once proclaimed “Homosexuals are sick people, they should be sent to hospitals for treatment. This kind of thing is shameful and insulting to all of us”. Now, I’m not a gay rights supporter by any stretch of imagination, but to call gays ‘sick people’? Now that, my scruffy little friend, is just RUDE. Seriously, can you even blame the poor chaps. Once in a while, a man wearing a salwar might just be rather attractive and enticing.( I’m guessing here of course) . But then again, YOU wouldn’t happen to know anything about cross dressing now, would you?

I remember saying to myself the day before you ‘embarked’ on your fast unto death’. “ this guy should just stick to what he’s good at- yoga” . A week later, I wasn’t so sure. One week? You’ve been practicing yoga for two decades and all you managed was a one week fast? Your aide claimed that it was because the police disturbed you during your fast. Need I remind you that a real nationalist and freedom fighter survived a 63 day fast in jail . He was forced by the guards to end his fast. You might just have heard about him….his name was Bhagat Singh . And you act like a wounded hero because you lasted a whole week . Dude…even the least healthy politician these days can last that long!

Now I can’t claim to know as much as you do about power plays and anti-corruption fasts et al. After all, I’m just a 20 year old with a rather narrow view of things around me. But one day, some one else is going to stand up and ask you the following question to your face, and you will have to answer….

Dude…..seriously?

Sincerely,

Pretty much every rational Indian citizen

P.S Find a barber and get a shave…. The flowing-all-over-the-place, slightly-matted-and-singed bearded look went out of fashion ( Indian or otherwise….) decades ago.

P.P.S – Since this IS an open letter and I’ve absolutely no clue( or interest, for that matter) how to send this to you, I’m hoping there is someone else reading this. Just to set the record straight. I’ve got the utmost respect for men like Anna Hazare ,Arvind Kejriwal and thousands of unnamed others who are actually trying to bring about a healthy change in this country. His Highnessness Baba Ramdev might have some good intentions, but in my opinion, he should let the grown ups deal with it.

Disclaimer-

This article may inadvertently link to content that is obscene, hate-filled, poisonous, pornographic, frivolous, disgusting, hostile, antagonistic, irritating, obnoxious, harsh, embittered. The author in no way condones, endorses or takes responsibility for such content. This disclaimer for that matter, had been essentially ripped from Khamba's blog. The author hopes that Khamba will, in time , forgive him for what he perceives as a tribute to one of the most amazing blogs he has ever read.

MAN ON THE EDGE

‘Charlie Sheen drinks, smokes, takes drugs and has multiple sex partners. If he outlives me, I’m going to be seriously pissed!”

Now, I can’t claim to even know who said that, and let’s face it, you probably don’t even care. But it’s safe to say that the moment you read the line, you were probably agreeing with the guy (In all probability, it was a guy who said that… I’m just guessing though). And at the same time, you probably had images in your head of a drunken (relatively) old man sitting on the couch at a Malibu beach house with a glass of bourbon in his hand. Honestly, I wouldn’t really blame you.

But seriously, stop busting the guy…. You watch in awe as a man-child with serious issues destroys himself in front of the world, and yet, all you can do is blame him! To be fair to you, I will admit that the guy does well…a lot of shit. He gets stoned or drunk (sometimes both) and likes walking around with strippers and porn star. But consider this…at the end of the day, he does his job. He gets to the set of Two And A Half Men and frankly, keeps the show alive. He works hard, and parties harder. (Fine…a lot harder) .So you can go harping on about how he’s a danger to society, but deep down…you’re probably thinking the same as millions of others across the globe are…This guy is Living the Dream!!

Ok, I’ll admit…not everyone’d dream …but still, it’s the lifestyle most of you desire..(Sure…you’d probably die in the end, but what the hell; you’ve got to pay for it some way!!).

I can’t claim to know Charlie Sheen. Or that I’ve even met him. But every guy knows a little bit of what he’s going through. If there’s one thing we know how to do well, it’s chasing down dreams…dreams that in the end, make you feel good. But when we see a man who goes to such limits to do so…we shun him, mock him …even fire him from an award winning TV show!!

I’m not here to question whether Charlie Sheen has behaved like a jackass. It’s probably too stupid to even dispute that fact. So why am I writing this? Probably just to remind you that not everyone who lives a life like his should be despised and ridiculed. At some point of you’re life, you’ve desired it as well. The consequences to Sheen’s actions might just destroy him.

All I know that when I switch on the TV and hear “Men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men” and not see Charlie Sheen on the show, I shall truly be disappointed.

No Easy Way Out

It hurt. A lot. To put it any other way would be a barefaced lie.

Where was I? Oh, I was living any boxer's dream. A shot at the world title. At the world's largest casino at that. I was sitting in my corner, surrounded by my posse, waiting today to throw myself at my opponent yet again. My coach stood above me, wearing his trademark green and yellow sweatshirt, shouting advice into my ear. Something about attacking his body, not his head. Honestly. At this point of time, I couldn’t care less. I had reached the grandest stage in boxing terms. I look at my coach once again. For a chain smoker turning 60, the guy's got a remarkable set of lungs. I watch as his mouth forms words that are ultimately spewed in my direction.. Oh well, that hasn’t changed in the last 10 years. The man has taken great pride in criticizing everything I do. Every jab, every hook, every feint is critically analyzed and then regarded as pathetic. Well, there's no pleasing some people. To be fair to him though, he has stuck around. And we've finally made it. At 38, I'm pretty much a dinosaur in the boxing circles. And with a win/loss record of 21-40, I'm pretty much regarded as a joke as well. And courtesy of the lovely managers of the casino I'm boxing at, my stats are being displayed to the public on large screens that hang 15 feet above the rink.

I look around, stare at the crowd. I see their faces. They'd come there to see a slaughter, To watch the reigning world champion almost destroy the aging veteran who had dared take a shot at the coveted title that he so cherished. And instead, what they had witnessed seemed to have stunned them into silence. The ageing veteran had actually lasted 9 whole rounds. (9 whole rounds! When they were placing bets that I would be knocked out in 4. That look in their eyes- a mixture of grudging respect, hatred, and most of all, sympathy. (9 rounds I had lasted, but a tenth seemed unlikely. Later on, they'll probably ask me how I ever managed it. Sure, my PR team (read - my coach) will come up with a long heart rending story of how I had been practicing hours and hours on end, honing my skills, waiting to pounce on my opponent like a hungry wolf pounces on a gazelle. Not a bad story, eh? But frankly, the only reason I’ve survived till now is pure, dumb, stupid luck. And for that I shall hate my opponent forever.

To be honest, I'd never expected to even be given the chance to fight this guy. My coach, the old warhorse that he is, however, decided that I couldn't retire without having sought a title. And surprisingly, the Boxing association apparently felt the same way. Either that or they just wanted to see me getting mauled. Probably the latter.

So, to cut a long story short, here I am. And for 36 long minutes in the ring interspersed by 9 in my corner, I had gone through hell. No, not the kind of pain that acts as the fire that can cleanse you (they did mention that in Rocky Balboa, just saying). No, this is the sort of pain that makes you want to kill yourself so that you don't have to suffer for one more moment. The sort of pain that makes you wonder whether that damn title is even worth it.

I look straight ahead. 15 feet away from me, sits my opponent. Sadly, the guy doesn't look tired. He looks angry. Understandable for a 26 year old world champion who weights over 200 pounds and has a win loss record of 54-9. This guy hates losing. His last loss was apparently 20 matches ago. A 20 match winning streak. That meant twenty opponents who had been younger, faster, and probably stronger than me had been taken apart by him. And I stand in his way of the 21^st win. Maybe the guy likes blackjack, just a thought. But card games aside, this guy was mad. And who could blame him. Twenty of the best boxers in the world couldn’t beat him, and some ancient relic had taken him to a tenth and final round. For that, he will hate me. And for putting me through such torture, I hate him just as much.

The saddest part was that even after 9 rounds, he looks as fit as a fiddle. There's barely any blood on him. Sure, there's a bloody gash where his lips are supposed to be, but apart from that, he barely even looks bruised. Apart from the gash and a thin lining of sweat on his muscular frame, one would think the guy was just getting into the gym for some practice.

I, on the other hand, looked like I had been through the mill. A gash on my forehead, a broken rib, and bruising on every part of the upper body. I looked and felt like a dead man walking. Not a very comforting thought.

I was brought out of my reverie by a tap on the shoulder. The coach, yet again. It was time to get up for the tenth round. Three more minutes of pain. As I wearily lift my battered frame off the chair, all the lights immediately switch back to the ring. I could hear the commentators shouting into their mikes. Something about this being the last shot I had to take down the monster in front of me. I could hear them questioning my capacity to bear pain. Would I last this one round? Or will the world champion successfully defend his title. My bet was on the latter.

The referee comes over to me, and shouts in my ear. Apparently this is my last chance to back down before the fight starts. I could quit now, or walk into the labyrinth of pain. I'll admit, he didn’t put it that way, but considering the state I was in, it was all the same thing. The mouthpiece in place, there was no way I could answer verbally. An attempt to shake my head was satisfying enough an answer for him though.

And as the bell tolled, I looked one last time into the crowd, as I had done countless times before. It was sort of a ritual that I followed. To look at the first row of spectators. To look into the eyes of my wife . She sat there, in a dark business dress and as she had done countless times before, she looked back into mine. For 15 years, this woman had stood by me in my worst times. And for 15 years, had loved me, and taken care of me. A woman who, despite a successful career, was always there supporting me in mine. And like she had done before, she looked at me with those light brown eyes, those beautiful eyes that sparkled so brightly in the present atmosphere, and I knew that win or lose - everything would be okay.

Beside the lovely woman who I was proud to call mine, sat my six year old son in a white t-shirt over denim jeans, with a cap covering his curly hair, Normally, I'd have ordered him to stay at home, where he didn't have to see his father being manhandled in front of thousands of others in the same arena. But this time was different. This was my first, and probably last, shot at the title. And I wanted him to be there when I took that shot. I wanted him to watch proudly as his father stepped up to the occasion and looked like a god. And in that one moment, in one fell swoop, I realized what I was looking at in his eyes... it wasn't pride, it was fear.

That one look almost made me stop in my tracks. I could see my opponent slowly advancing towards me, coming in for the kill. And yet, my mind was elsewhere. Memories flashed past my eyes - that fateful day in the delivery room when my son entered the world; the day we first played in the park, the day he took his first step, the day we celebrated his first birthday. His first day of school. Great, amazing time to get emotional, I chided myself, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, I couldn’t stop.

And then, in one fell swoop, I realize that I don’t want to be here. All I want to do is get out of this place, and walk away. Go away with my family far, far away, away from all of this. I’ve been a quitter for almost 2 decades, why should anything change now? Won’t it be fitting if I quit right now? I can see the critics destroying me already - the guy who finally went so far, right to the end….only to quit. Oh….it’s going to be priceless….

I’m ready to raise my hand, to signal the referee... Oh, my opponent is not going to like this. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knocking ME out. 21 wins or not… he will hate me for walking away. Somehow I think that will help me. I’ve been thrown around a rink for more than half an hour now. I deserve some fun, don’t I? And just as I turn in his direction to give him one last vindictive smile, I realize that he’s no longer advancing towards me.

In fact, he’s less than 2 feet away from me… and his fist is coming straight towards my face.