Freedom comes in relative ways. A drop of water is freedom to the thirsty desert dwellers. A winning lotto ticket is a bowl to freedom to the jobless street beggars. A walking stick is freedom to the old and the blind. A bullet in the head is freedom to the disgrace leaders, and leaving school forever is freedom to the young teenage minds.

Finally, our school leaving exams were over. The exam tensions gave way to laughter, enjoyment and an emotional farewell party. There was a strong sense of being born anew, a blind believe that we were not in the mercy of others anymore.

Five of us decided to flap our newfound wings of freedom for the first time together. We rebel against our parents’ wishes and made sure no elders accompanied us in our train journey back home, determined to show that we had arrived to claim our place in the big league of grown-ups.

As we stepped out of the nest called school like birds in their first flight, the limitlessness of the sky ahead dazzled us, encouraging us to do things we always wanted to do but could never do. So, the first thing we did at the railway station was to try to buy cigarettes. It was not an easy task at all. Everybody seemed to be looking at us with prying eyes as we approached the store in a pack. We somehow mustered enough courage and bought a packet. Then, the problem was to find an empty den to smoke in the crowded railway station. After much searching we finally found one. It was the filthy lavatory, abandoned by everyone. The overflowing loo, the broken sink, the cobweb and the stink didn't dampen our spirit at all. We huddled in a corner as the rats ran for cover and lit one stick. Ramesh (name changed) took the initiativee and had the first puff. He inhaled, his face became red, he coughed and smoke came out from every possible hole on his face. We all went through the same trauma one by one. Mission accomplished, we emerged from the dirty toilet with our heads held high like men, our chests slightly broaden.

Inside the train, we eagerly waited for the book vendor, (vendors are allowed inside long distance train in India to sell things like books, tea, snacks etc.) not for his pirated English best sellers, but for his pornographic picture booklet he sold secretly.

The buying and the viewing of those picture booklets were hush-hush affairs. We took turns in absorbing the intricate details of naked bodies making it out in hitherto unfathomed sexual positions, followed usually by a quick masturbation at the toilet. My friends' targets were of course the female bodies in the pictures and, needless to say, mine were the male bodies. Surprisingly, shortly after they were game for some sexual revealations and shared their fantasies for girls and women. Well, I was the listener, for I didn't have any girly fantasies and they won't bileive me even if I had revealed my fantasies.

By then, we had also perfected the art of inhaling and exhaling smoke. The supposedly four long days of train journey simply passed away amid erections, fantasy talks and puffs of smokes. Our destination finally arrived and all five of us went home as liberated souls.