It was the age of innocence; it was the age of hero worship. It was an impressionistic age where being carried away was preferred to staying strong and standing against the norm was unheard of. It was an age of trying to make an impression, seeking an approval, being a conformist, and escaping was a ritual. 

The kid, all of 13 years of age, walked out of the home towards his school. His uniform gave way to trousers from the knickers, as he felt new and a bit grown up walking all alone, free from escorting by his parents, or being wheeled away in a Rickshaw. It was the first day in his school where all his friends seemed taller in their brand new uniforms befitting their eighth class, which was like a coming of age in the school, decided for them by the authorities. Soon, the class teacher entered and asked everyone in the class their details and about their aims. When the kid’s turn came, he was unable to get himself to say anything, as if he was mute by birth, the classroom felt claustrophobic, consuming him in its enormity and rendering him insignificant. As he sat down without speaking a word, tears slid down his cheeks into his mouth, and the kid buried his head in his hands, resting himself on the bench as others waxed proud about their ambitions. 

The age was ripe and the stage was set.

The kid as intimidated by the very prospect of going to school as he was, started walking alone head hanging down, examining his shoe laces as he moved past the playground, heard a bell tinkle. He stepped aside at first to give way, but when the sound didn’t stop, he looked up to see one of his classmates on a bicycle beckoning him to get on to the vehicle. He thought of declining the offer at first, but something in his mind pushed him to nod an affirmative. Probably it has to do with the fact that the boy was the teacher’s pet, good looking, smart, rich, and has lot of gadgets which he brought to school to play in the games period. The kid can’t believe that he chose him of all other students to give a lift. It was a fateful occurrence, unknown to them.

As the “friendship” grew by day, the kid got fascinated with the boy. He sought his company daily, and on holidays visited the boy’s home. He started playing with them, and was always content bowling to them and fielding for them. He didn’t care when he didn’t get a chance to bat, he was happy to be in their company, happy to hear his name called by them in their rich and accented tones, happy to eat chocolates given to him by the boy’s mother. The kid got a hero to worship and unknowingly the boy became an object of fascination for the kid, who failed in an exam he was never good enough to attempt. The boy got disappointed, but the kid took it harsh for letting his hero down. He could not forgive himself, and when the boy changed school the following year, he blamed it on himself. 

The kid was left all alone all over again. He had to find another one to worship, follow and seek approval from. It was a dangerous habit, but he was too far into it to think of any other ways to spend his time, and eventually he found one, a tall, roguish brat who played Cricket, Kabaddi, who had a girlfriend at the age of 14 and topped his studies as well. It took some time for the kid to make the brat notice him, but when he did, the kid made sure that he spent all his time sucking up to the brat, who got a bunch of cronies around him who sashayed to his tunes. The kid, who was now growing up to be an adolescent found in the brat, all that he lacked himself. On hot and humid Summer Afternoons, he walked barefoot all over to the brat’s home, stood outside his door waiting for him to come out, asking and pleading him to let him be a part of his crew.  Eventually the brat knew the power he had over the adolescent and let him in. 

They had nothing in common, but still the brat and the adolescent spent quite a lot of time together. As the adolescent grew up to be a twenty year old adult, he befriended inferiority complex, lack of self-esteem and was depressed and bullied in general. He got scarred quite badly and always wore three shirts to hide himself from the piercing gaze of others, for the fear of what the scars may reveal. He wasn’t quite sure what he was hiding, but flamboyance and confidence left him all the while he was letting himself bullied. He got into the habit of feeding the bully and it left him lonely, miserable and made him feel worthless and lifeless, for no fault of the others. 

As the man sat in his room, all alone and content with his life, he could not shake off the thoughts of the miserable past at an impressionistic age. He has the benefit of hindsight now, and though he is not quite the confident personality now, he knew himself much better than ever. He does not seek approval or company any more. He knows what he likes and how much he can achieve. Importantly, he has nothing to feed to the bullies. He wants to thank all the bullies he fed, for the lessons they taught him. He feels good to let all of this out in some form, hoping it would be a lesson for someone else, who might stop feeding the bullies, even unconsciously.