The Love for Samosa.

Ten past ten. It is the time when all the energy in our organs, which were provided for some kind of meaningful activity, drains out in the usual useless talks and fights about the “nothings” of the previous day after college hours. And it is the time when the so called inspirational teaching of the lecturer, who feels jubilant about spending another 40 minutes in explaining just the “ABCDs”, becomes anymore intolerable.

As the pain on ass intensifies, comes to the rescue, the most sweetest and heart rendering music ever heard that kisses our tympanums – the period bell. A surge of power from nowhere following a glare that shuts the lecturer and sends him packing, signals that it is the time for the battle to begin. Soldiers from various dynasties throng into the battleground, at least to catch the glimpse of the food wonder – A Sexy Samosa, the national chat item of India.

After indulging in some serious money transactions that even the NASDAQ and SENSEX would not have seen of, it was time for the execution of plans and strategies. Once the soldiers were armoured to an aggressive mode, the army would round up the target and awaiting the “GO” of the Captain (The sponsor for the Samosa).

Every man would start to attack with more focus than ever and nothing but victory in their minds. After some immense battle among the dynasties, only the survival of the fittest would end up attaining the target, a piece of Mr. Samosa. Later, safely negotiating the robbers, who try to steal the target on our return, there would be a Samosa on the palms of every fighter except the group captain, who at last becomes the “Comedy Piece of the Day”.

The victory would be celebrated in grand manner in sight of the losers by eating the Samosas with so much passion and love. The sound of the crunch, the taste of the bite and the aroma of the masala, all these would leave the losers to do nothing but mouth – water. The entire day now becomes very much meaningful and each one of us would return back happily that the oil stains gifted on the back of our shirts and pants by our fellow mates, goes unnoticed to everyone but our mothers.

– Dedicated to all the group captains.

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