Birthday at Midnight: No Mercy

There are a lot of crazy things we do with friends, and this was one of those times.

Ours was a military school, and we had strict rules. Curfew was 10:30 PM sharp. No one was allowed outside the hostel after that. But, of course, if there were rules, we had to break them. Otherwise, where was the fun?

We were kids back then, and we had a tradition: the birthday boy would get a proper beatdown at exactly 12:00 AM on his birthday. And we took that tradition very seriously even now.

This story is about one of those birthdays. Our friend’s birthday was the next day, and we were all set for his midnight “bash.” But every birthday came with its own escape plan, and he had his too.

What we didn’t realize was that there were traitors among us.

He had bribed two of my roommates with Dairy Milks to protect him from the massacre, and they were loyal to their sweet deal. Around 11:00 PM, they vanished. The birthday boy and his chocolate-sworn protectors were determined to avoid tradition.

In our hostel, there was an empty faculty quarters nearby. They snuck in and locked themselves inside, thinking we wouldn't be able to get in. There were three of them, and let’s just say we had more than enough people to break a door if we had to.

But we didn’t. We were smarter. We brought a screwdriver.

We unscrewed a window, and the second they saw us, the trio panicked and jumped from the first floor to escape. We were shocked, and it was hilarious, but we weren’t letting them get away.

We split into groups. Some guarded the third floor. Others, including me, rushed down to chase them. When we got there, he was trying to make a run for it.

We chased him like it was a scene out of an action movie, maybe even worse. We had yoga mats in hand and a single goal in mind: catch him and carry out the tradition. We caught him, of course, and beat him up extra hard for trying to run. And we didn’t forget the traitors. They got their share of justice too.

All of this was happening while we were trying to avoid the security guards. If they caught you, it was over. You were officially in hell, three to seven days of punishment. Our VP wouldn’t let you off easily.

So while carrying out our so-called tradition, we were also playing this parallel mission: keep watch, avoid capture, and celebrate as quietly as we could with yoga mats.

Looking back, the planning, the execution, the coordination we had at that age? If I had even half of that discipline and motivation now, I wouldn’t be in half the mess I’m in.

But wait, the night wasn’t over yet.

There was another birthday boy. Another hostel. Another chase. We were like teenage vigilantes, moving from place to place, bringing justice in the form of friendly violence. And no one was exempt. Even I wasn’t spared on my day. Because in the world of teenage boys, the tradition was law. Everyone was equal before it.

Now, if someone asks me why we did it, if there was any meaning, any purpose, anything gained, I’d probably say no. Because at that age, we didn’t need a reason. We followed where time took us and found joy in the simplest, most ridiculous things, whatever existed.

If I told you that in seven years at Sainik School Kalikiri we had no permission for outside food, no phones except landline calls on Sundays, limited TV (just 9 to 10 PM at the hostel and when dining at Cadets’ Mess), and no internet except when a teacher connected their phone to the smartboard, would you believe we still had the best time of our lives?

Because we did. We didn’t have much by today’s standards. No comfort, no freedom, no gadgets. But we had friends. We had each other. And somehow, that was enough. More than enough.

We shared. We fought. We forgave. We learned from each other. And we never abandoned one another.

We were strangers once, boys from different backgrounds. Now, we’re brothers with over a decade of memories.

We are Supernovas. 

We are Saikillains. 

We are cadets of Sainik School Kalikiri.