Come Mister tally man, tally me banana 

College days were fun and hostel life even better. One of the pastimes giving a lot of thril, excitement and challenge was the liking of our gang for the busty bananas on the fertile land of the college.

The Catholic priests would find one of the better groomed bunch missing from the plant every alternate day. Of course it was not lack of food but just the thrill of doing it, behind it all.

Even now, none from the gang feels that it’s taking someone else’s property and no guilt feeling. The celebant priests grow these products just for fun and some of them have the green thumb. Sad thing though is that they would not have even known about the missing products.

The gang had one condition for this small adventure- the presence of my elder brother and me when we take the knife out. The hostel warden (RIP) got what he thought was a brilliant idea in putting the brothers in one room, only to see it transferred into a den.

Those days we had the military type of trunks to carry stuff. One of them was converted into a banana ripening store.

We were never caught, and only time it happened was when we the brothers had to go home and the rest of the gang ventured taking a friend who wanted some adventure. Poor guy had his first and last taste of adventure.

Most exciting and significantly dangerous feat was taking down a plant from the lady’s hostel compound across the road. My brother accepted a bet of a princely Rs. 10.

A rainy and flooding night we the brothers and another climbed the wall secured with hostile glass pieces into the compound where no man was ever supposed to be. The story had it that the nuns running the hostel had two fearsome Dobermans.

The robust banana plant was brought down in clinical precision. The usual pulling down would have alerted the dogs. The knife sliced the stem first at 3 ft and then another three feet, each time the tree losing that much height and moved one foot to the right.

Then the bunch was extracted and taken out over the wall allowing the well fed Dobermans to sleep, we escaping what could be serious serious consequences- you know, of breaking into lady’s hostel.

This is one of the favorite boast stories when the gang members meet.

Come Mister tally man, tally me banana 

8 thoughts on “Come Mister tally man, tally me banana 

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