Today, as I sat in the city bus, waiting for it to start, which was basking in the unforgiving afternoon sun. I, already resigned to my fate was melting into the seat, when an aunty who traveled daily plopped down beside me.
"Dear, do you have some water?" she asked, her voice raspy with thirst and she looked like she just walked out of the desert.
But my bottle was as dry as my motivation to study for the upcoming exam.
I sighed. "It’s already finished, Aunty."
Aunty, however, was a warrior. She turned to the passengers behind me.
"Water?"
"Finished."
"Empty."
"Over."
Aunty, not one to give up, began asking around the entire bus. One by one, the passengers gave her the same tragic news:
No water. Only suffering.
Aunty scowled. Her thirst was nobody's problem but everybody's problem. That’s when she spotted it, the driver’s water bottle.
A full, untouched bottle, sitting on the dashboard, glistening like the World Cup Trophy.
The only problem? The driver was missing.
She asked around, but no one knew where he was. A tense silence followed. The bottle sat there, full and untouched, a forbidden oasis in this desert of dehydration.
Without hesitation, Aunty grabbed it, twisted it open, and took a long, massive gulp.
Victory.
As I watched her drink unapologetically, with absolute satisfaction.
I felt utterly impressed by the audacity, just then a long-buried memory hit me like the flying slipper of my mother.
Back in my school days, it was a very similar hot day, fierce than our principal’s glare when we made trouble.
Our second last period was Games, and despite the sun actively trying to roast us into toast, my classmates and I charged onto the field like warriors heading into battle.
We played like we were caged for centuries, running, jumping and bathing in sweat from head to toe. As if it was the Olympics of Chaos and near the end we were like a papad dried in the summer sun for many, many days. COMPLETELY DEHYDRATED.
By the time the bell rang, we were drenched in sweat and dying of thirst.
Our destination?
The giant school water container.
Dehydrated and desperate, we sprinted towards the school's communal water container, only to receive the worst news possible.
Plot twist: It was empty.
"It’s broken," the peon casually said, with the emotional detachment of a man who had watched too many students suffer.
A wave of panic hit.
This was a crisis.
Chaos. Desperation. Dry throats.
We needed water.
We stared at him, wide-eyed, lips cracked, bodies ready to crumble into dust like forgotten chips under a couch.
The boys, being the water-hungry savages they were, took off in a sprint towards the classroom, their one goal in mind-
Our water bottles.
And so, like true survivalists, they looted our own classroom.
The boys, in a desperate frenzy like thirsty wolves, stormed into the classroom first. They grabbed bottles left and right, not caring whose they were, drinking like pirates after months at sea.
By the time my friends and I arrived, the battlefield was empty.
Water bottles?
Dry.
Our dearest male classmates?
Hydrated beyond mercy.
Us?
Dehydrated, betrayed, abandoned.
I looked at our so-called male friends. They stood there, bottles tilted back, gulping water like smug kings, completely unbothered by the betrayal they had just committed.
Worse?
They still wanted MORE!
I felt like crying. My bestie was about to accept her fate.
The sun?
Mercilessly laughing at our misery.
When suddenly through the window my gaze fell on the juniors in the ground, playing recklessly just like we were.
And it struck me our juniors had games period after us.
Translation?
THEY STILL HAD WATER.
It was at this moment, I understood the meaning of- 'desperate times require desperate actions'.
I stood up with the only logical plan in my mind. My bestie frowned. I grabbed all four of my friends’ empty bottles.
I turned to my best friend, my partner in crime, and dragged her along.
"Where are we going?" she whispered.
I whispered back, “We’re committing a crime. Come.”
She blinked. “...What?”
But there was no time to explain. I had a mission. I dragged her downstairs to the junior classroom.
We arrived at the juniors' classroom just below ours. I pulled her inside.
"WHAT ARE WE DOING?" she whisper-yelled.
The juniors’ classroom was empty, as I’d predicted. I slipped inside, motioning for my bestie to stand guard.
She stared, still clueless.
I tiptoed to the nearest desk, grabbed a bottle, and poured half into mine.
SUCCESS!
When she saw me unscrewing the cap of a junior’s bottle and pouring half the water into mine, her eyes widened in realization, she gasped surprised.
Her jaw dropped.
And then,
She grinned,“Oh. Oh, I like this.”
She grabbed the nearest bottle and chugged like she’d been wandering the Sahara for 40 days.
“Leave some, you Camel!” I hissed.
She rolled her eyes yet nodded, but not before stealing another gulp.
She snatched one empty bottle from my hand and did the same.
DOUBLE SUCCESS!
We expertly refilled our bottles.
Keeping an eye on the door, we worked quickly, leaving just enough water so they wouldn’t immediately suspect that a heist had occurred.
Finally, we sprinted out of the room, victorious and hydrated.
It was a perfectly executed heist.
By the time we got back, the lesson had started. We slipped in with the classic, universal excuse:
“Ma’am, washroom.”
Our two other friends were still glaring at their empty bottles when we coolly tossed the now refilled bottles at our two thirsty friends. They caught them, confused, until they felt the weight. Their eyes widened. Their facial expressions looked like they had just been gifted gold.
Then, they looked at us.
"Where did you..?" one started.
We just smirked.
Slowly, pure evil grins stretched across their faces.
No words were needed.
With the kind of drama only our 9th graders were capable of, they stood up, turning to the entire class, as if they were starring in an action movie.
Then with absolute attitude of Queens, opened their bottles dramatically and drank slowly, deliberately, in front of the entire class.
And leaned back like action heroes in slow-motion, flexing hydration victoriously like it was a power move.
The class stared, baffled, dumbfounded. WHERE did they get the water? HOW? But before they could interrogate us, the teacher, too done with our daily drama had started the lesson.
PERFECT TIMING!
As I sat down, my bestie leaned over and whispered gleefully,
"That was my first theft. And I will always be proud of it."
I smirked.
ME TOO!
Now, sitting in the bus, watching Aunty steal water with the same confidence & zero shame, I realized something,
Some things never change.
And one of them is-
The thirst for survival.
Though, the incident may sound very childish. But after remembering the look on my dear classmates' faces and those of my dearest male-friends,
I still cannot help but feel smug about it.
The bus started moving, the summer breeze hit my face, and I smiled.
After all, hydration is a right of every living being. By any means necessary.
NO REGRETS!
✧✧✧
I need to go water my potted plants as they can’t steal it themselves. But you can, so no matter the situation stay hydrated.
And if you wanna read another school-life based story, then check out my chat story 'First & Last'.
Hope to meet you there dove.
Thanks for reading! Good bye!
–AprilSky.
