Ankitism

It was a cold winter night in Ahmadabad . There was something unusual with the street lights. And I was not alone at local “tapari”, there was nothing unusual about it.  I was sitting there and having my routine evening chaay and cigarette.   Under a tree, not very far from me there were two boys and one of them was a great writer and critic (according to him). He was shouting, or I felt so. He was cribbing about a play. He abused the writer then came to director. i was done with my  two chaay and two milds and he was still abusing the director and his all recent production, then he came to the actor, and again he goes on and on. His voice was louder then before or I thought so. He said the actor was stupid, full, beep beep and immature beep and beep and one more thing beep. I was getting late. I went to that boy (self proclaimed critic, other one was just listing. I guess, this kind of people need someone for their mental masturbation, poor other guy) and said “hey, how are you? W