CHUTNEY SECREATS

The morning assembly ended, and like a flood being released, students rushed back toward their classrooms. I walked side by side with Bittu, the sun still sharp on our backs, the echo of prayers fading into the usual Saturday noise.

We slid into our benches, me at the corner, Bittu right next to me. The class was alive—some boys joking loudly at the back, a few girls sharing snacks under the desk, and the teacher pretending not to notice any of it. Saturday always carried that lightness, the promise of an early bell, the taste of freedom just a few hours away.

Bittu leaned closer, whispering, “Bro… you know today is different, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Different how? You finally decided to study?”

He smacked my arm playfully. “Study on Saturday? Are you crazy? Today is for adventure, bro. School ends at 12:20, coaching at 4:30—we have four golden hours.”

I laughed. “And what do you plan to do in those four hours? Sleep under a tree?”

He grinned wide, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No, bro. Today, we don’t go home. We explore. Just you and me. We’ll eat, roam, waste time like kings. The others—they’ll chicken out. But we? We’re made for this.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his dramatic tone. “Wow, sounds like we’re planning a movie. What if we get caught?”

“Caught?” He leaned back, pretending to look serious. “Then we’ll say we were busy doing research—for a project.”

I shook my head, smiling at his silliness. “Research in a samosa shop, right?”

Bittu slapped the desk, bursting into laughter so loud the whole class turned. The teacher’s eyes locked on us instantly, sharp as a knife.

“You two—out!”

We froze for a second, then exchanged a quick glance. Neither of us argued. With half-hidden grins, we grabbed our books and walked out of the classroom, trying not to laugh even harder.

The door closed behind us, and the muffled sound of the lesson continued inside. Outside, we leaned against the wall, still chuckling.

Saturday had only just begun, and already, trouble was on our side.

We stepped out of the classroom, the door shutting behind us. For a few seconds, we stood still, pretending to look serious, like we were reflecting on our “mistakes.” Then Bittu leaned close, his eyes already sparkling.

“Bro… did you see the way she looked at us?” he whispered. “If looks could kill, we’d already be ghosts haunting this corridor.”

I smirked. “Yeah, and you’d be the kind of ghost who still laughs at his own jokes.”

Bittu chuckled. “Imagine me as a ghost, bro. I’d hide in the staff room and whisper answers during exams. Free marks for life.”

I almost burst out laughing. “Knowing you, you’d probably whisper the wrong answers on purpose.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Bro! Don’t insult me. If I’m going down, the whole class is going with me.”

We both laughed quietly, trying to keep it down.

Minutes slipped by, and then the bell rang. Voices rose from inside as everyone packed their bags. The door creaked open, and the teacher stepped out, scanning the corridor.

We straightened instantly, standing like soldiers. Bittu’s lips twitched, his shoulders shaking. I shot him a warning look.

“Don’t,” I mouthed.

He bit his lip, nodding, trying to control himself. The teacher walked right past us, and for one second, it seemed like we were safe.

Then, out of nowhere, Bittu snorted—loud, sharp, uncontrollable. His laughter exploded into the empty corridor.

The teacher froze, turned slowly, and glared. “You!”

Bittu froze mid-laugh, his face caught between terror and comedy. He shuffled forward, muttering, “Sorry, ma’am, it was… uh… cough.”

The excuse didn’t work. Her hand shot out, pinching his ear.

“Ow! Ow! I swear, bro, save me!” he yelped, half-laughing, half-wincing.

I leaned against the wall, covering my mouth so she wouldn’t see my grin. Poor Bittu—caught again.

Saturday hadn’t even properly started, and already it felt like a comedy show.

The final bell rang, and like prisoners set free, we rushed out with the crowd. As soon as we stepped out of the school gate, Bittu nudged me, still rubbing his ear.

“Bro, look at this,” he said, pointing to his ear like it was a war wound. “It’s red. I think she twisted it so hard, it changed shape.”

I burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, bro. At least now you finally look like a satellite dish. Maybe you’ll catch some signals during exams.”

He gasped dramatically. “Satellite dish? Bro, you’re just jealous. With this ear, I’ll hear the question papers before they even print them.”

I shook my head, laughing harder. “Nah, bro. The only thing you’ll hear is your mom shouting when she finds out.”

He clutched his chest like I’d stabbed him. “Bro, don’t bring my mom into this… She still thinks I’m an innocent angel.”

“Innocent?” I grinned. “If you’re innocent, then I’m the principal of this school.”

That was it—he couldn’t take it. He doubled over, laughing so hard that people passing by started staring at us like we’d lost our minds.

We kept walking, tossing jokes back and forth, every punchline funnier than the last. The punishment that was supposed to embarrass us had turned into the best part of the day. By the time we reached the corner of the road, our stomachs hurt from laughing too much.

Saturday had just begun, and already it felt like the kind of memory we’d talk about for years—the day the teacher caught Bittu’s ear, and we laughed our way out of school like we owned it.

We reached the bus stop and dropped our bags on the bench like we’d just escaped a battlefield. Bittu stretched his arms wide, looking at the sky.

“Bro, today is history in the making. Four golden hours of freedom!” he declared like some movie hero.

I laughed. “Golden hours? More like four hours of you eating everything you see.”

He smirked. “Exactly, bro! Food first, adventure later. Imagine this—one plate momos, one samosa, one cold drink. Then we’re ready to explore the world.”

I shook my head. “Bro, with your diet, you’ll explore the hospital before the world.”

He burst out laughing, then leaned closer, whispering dramatically, “But seriously, bro… where do we start? Tea stall? Park? Or do we go full filmy—just walk wherever the road takes us?”

I grinned. “Knowing us, the road will take us straight to another samosa shop.”

Bittu slapped my shoulder. “Admit it, bro, you’ll eat more than me. Last time you finished two plates and blamed me for it!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Correction—you ordered two plates, and I was just saving them from going to waste.”

He pointed at me like a lawyer proving his case. “See? This is why you’re my bro. No food wasted. True friendship.”

The bus finally came into view, rattling down the road. Bittu stood up, hyped again. “Get ready, bro. By the time we come back, we’ll have stories that will make Suraj, Hriday, and Nandu cry with jealousy.”

I chuckled. “Or they’ll laugh when they hear you got caught stealing extra chutney again.”

Bittu gasped, holding his heart. “Bro! Don’t expose my secrets before the adventure even begins.”

We both laughed as the bus screeched to a halt in front of us. The adventure clock had started ticking, and the four golden hours were waiting.

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