Ganging Up

A Kungfu Panda look alike.
A princess outside her tower.
A tall, clean shaven hitler.
A could-have- been bong porn star.

That’s my gang.

As individuals, they all manage to pass off as normal sane individuals. Great professionals even, but when they come together, it’s a Frankenstein meets loony toons scenario.

That’s my gang.

What prompted this post was a farewell part that made me wake up with a smile on a Monday morning. A farewell party that was sans tears, short of any nostalgic crap, shorn of any kind of sentimental mumbo – jumbo. A party that was fun. A party that was thrown to make me feel special, without anyone saying that I am.
That’s my gang.

In a rare introspective moment, in a nearly out-of-body experience, I stepped out to look at my friends and all I saw was a bunch of normal, okie slightly abnormal, set of people hanging out and having some fun. But there was something more. An indefinable bond that made them special.

That’s my gang.

A gang that’s rare because we are all so different yet similar.

A group where untouched virginity meets sex gurus.
A group where optimism personified meets cynicism trebled.
A group where every individual is a loner at heart.

Freud would have found this gang’s psych perplexing.
Einstein would have been at a loss to understand the equations involved.
Hitler would have learnt a lesson in tyranny.
Kunfu panda would have learnt a few new moves.
Porn directors would get orgasmic with our star power.

That’s my gang.
And that’s me right in the middle.