MUSING FROM THE MUSTANGS.
I am a vegetarian. Nay, an ovarian to be 'eggsact'. Or,
in pedestrian parlance,an eggtarian. Meaning that, though my first
preference is for good old vegetables, carrots, beans, gotukola etc, I do
enjoy an egg or two or even three as the occasion demands it, away from the
scouring eye of the loved one, with or even without the yolk. But, mind you,
I do prefer my Rye, Hops and Coconut, properly fermented and in liquid form
at that, all as part of my vegetarian crusade…!
The point I am trying to get through into your thick
skull, the gauge of which only you know, is that I am having a problem in
trying to convince the organisers of the Mustangs, (much to their annoyance
and inconvenience, they insist), that they should serve me the right stuff
for the ruddy price I am paying. However, price is not the only thing we
Mustangs grumble about. The total menu comes under serious gastronomic
scrutiny every year and, at least twice each day, on all three days. Some of
us need rice, others fried rice while still others crave for noodles with
their own fancied chop suey added creating a 'macaroni' mess for the
organisers. Some prefer it dry. At their age they are dry, anyway. Others
want it wet, in fulfillment of a kind of psychological desire by proxy. And
some like it hot too! When it comes to tea, the tea "takes the cake", so to
speak. You would hear the request (nay demand) in various forms, to wit, tea
with sugar, sugar with tea, tea without sugar and, in the extreme case, tea
without sugar and tea. Now, I leave it to you to figure that one out,
in spite of your thick skull!.
Of course,
we pay to be in jolly good company too. In fact, Mustangs is the right place
to be in, during this mad month of March because you get madder with the
type of things said and done and not done by default in the Hallowed
Precincts. This kind of relief is a must, I dare say, in these days of
spiraling this, that and the other, where everything seems to be on the
rise,except yours and mine. The Mustangs, they say, rather erroneously, is
for the elder folk- a kind of home for the aged, with some of them pushing
one foot to the other side, their pussy-footing days long gone. But more
importantly, everyone gets so young at heart that Time seems to be at a
glorious standstill. Nobody grows old in the Mustangs, really. Instead,
everybody gets younger by the second, imbibing the great atmosphere, quite
apart from giving ready vent to the bibulous tendencies that somehow seem to
come to the surface. If ever there's a place with better friendly rivalry,
demonstrated in the many multifarious parry and thrust encounters we are
privy to, please bring it to my notice. For eggsample, (that ovarian
tendency again!), last year our Thomian Saints at the M, including a famous
Thomian captain of yore, were assailed with all kinds of allegations about
going round the country side looking for 'talent'. - a practice not
altogether unfamiliar to them, stemming from a healthy school boy tradition
- what with Thomian grip and all that! This normally could, and does happen,
in outstation schools! Of course, the Saints promptly thrust at this parry
by claiming that their opponents cannot spot 'talent' at all, which is true.
At least, we are simply not adept at this kind of activity. We leave it to
the Saints. On this score, we fear to tread where the Saints go marching
in........ so naturally with long 'back-up' (wow, that's the word) experience!
One of these "talents" from the outstations, having
hopelessly attempted to sing his new-found college song, is reported to have
complained (protested is a better word, me thinks!) that in his part of the
coconut triangle, from where he was picked up by the Saints mid-season last
year, it was sacriligeous to 'burn the verendah'.After all, the verandah is
the place where his fore-fathers spilled the beans without complications!
The reference, I believe,was to the 'Motto' (as he heard and understood it)
of his new -found "Abode" which is ensconced in the college song,. It seems
that this "talent" could not sing the song at all, rhythm and pronunciation
included, understandably. Nor could some of his new team mates, themselves
'pick ups' from the neighbourhood. They still cannot, we are told.
Now, as I write this note I could well imagine, some of
my fellow Mustangs, after a repast of their choice, be it dry or wet as the
case may be, well on the way to noddy land blissfully ignorant of what is
happening around them only to be rudely shaken up by the thundering sounds
of an array of electric guitars accompanied by the booming blast of the
acoustic drums, not to mention the discordant noise of those trying to hear
their own ghastly Narcissistic voices attempting to crow what they think is
a 'song'. The only salvaging 'note' is that it is a genuine attempt, though
some of us would say that the chagrin is ours, while the voice is theirs...!
Sound is a
major concern amongst us Mustangs. Some of us want soft rhythm, whilst
others will it at full blast as our erstwhile friend Ajith J (also
affectionately known as the 'Slipper' for reasons best known to the
organisers and to himself) would so readily assert and, to prove his point,
would get his men to turn the sound really on, to blast through the
afternoon into decible disaster until everyone is brought back into rhythmic
adventure looking for Alice. Who the hell is Alice, anyway ? No one knows
her. Yet, her sound and her rhythm excites the adrenalin not only of the
Mustangs but also of those around the premises at least as far as sound
travels ..... in waves, as the proverbial monkey once so ably amplified the
wind breaking from a tree-top. So there's a point in "Slipper" 's 'sound'
approach. Only a point. There are many other points beckoning us to adopt a
more sober and 'sounder' approach . Yet, the Mustangs is a place of many
choices !. If you don't like the sound you are told to plug your bloody
ears. Similarly, if you don't like the food, you are told not to eat. That's
better than requesting you to shove it, anyway. ! •'•a^.:'!^'}'1'^
^.|' S^ysw^"
But the
most important thing is that this is a place where there's a Glorious Mix of
Old Boys,from both these Great Institutions, of differing ages,eras,
communities, religeons, professions, pursuasions etc., from home and from
abroad, so readily and richly merging into one Happy Blend to joyously jaw
of yore and of the years to come, while enjoying every now and then a little
bit of cricket with a jolly old swig or two thrown in for good measure!
Mustangs are Mustangs- a buoyant Unity in Diversity. Let me raise my Rye to
that, properly fermented and in liquid form, off my hip flask!!
- Mustang -
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