The Birth of a Rebel

We are all rebels. Some of us, with a cause, and sadly the rest are wannabes.  From the day we set foot upon earth, we are fighting, competing, outdoing, stepping on toes, indulging in cat fights, hair pulling incidents, just to get our way and justify our existence.

What makes an underdog rise to a situation and get his way, a la matrix style? While the rest watch with gaping wide mouths. He is subdued and suppressed, his days are spent brooding and whimpering after the previous night’s whopping. His thoughts are drained, his feelings are confiscated and his will is broken day after day. Until a new dawn, when he picks up the baton, finds his voice and I must say when he does it’s like a lions roar. He vows to seek and set his enemies ablaze. The demons may be inside him, but he is possessed by an undying will to emerge victorious. And he lives a life like Sunny Deol does in the movies, any uprising against him has to meet his fist first, and there is no stopping the hurricane soon to arrive. 

The other kind of rebel, (the one who actually isn’t a rebel), packs his bags in sheer frustration caused by reasons as miniscule as cat poop at their doorstep for a third consecutive day. And mind you the packing too is quite elaborate. He rides off on his Royal Enfield trying with difficulty to balance his bulky suitcases wanting to look cool. He grows his hair long, quits shaving, skips showers and drinks beer all day; all in all works up quite a stench. His main motive in life becomes unending hours at bars, spinning tall tales wanting to earn brownie points with the ladies. And when his fire subsides, he comes back home with a sullen look on his face and goes back to mundane routine. News flash! You’re a disgrace to rebels and nothing but a poser. The only thing you’re rebelling against is clean underwear.