How To Guyroscope*

Guy1 and Guy2 face each other.

Guy1 (hesitantly) launches himself horizontally into Guy2’s midsection at a 90° angle.

Guy2 (helplessly) grabs horizontal Guy1’s torso, and pushes off the ground, leaning sideways.

Guy2 (haphazardly) assumes Guy1’s position, whilst Guy1 is now on his feet.

Repeat.

*The Guyroscope is much more appealing visually.

--x--

The lunch-bell went off and our class dispersed. Mustafa and I waited back; we had unfinished business. Our eyes were glued to the laptop screen as we tried to dissect the intricate manoeuvres of The Guyroscope. A major part of our success relied on us determining our responsibilities. Despite being heavier, I was to be the jumper and Mustafa the jumpee.

A few calculations later, our mental blueprint was ready. Desks were pushed aside and our stage was set. We were ready to witness our own brilliance. We could taste success, and failure was out of question. The room fell silent.

With a few short strides, my feet left the floor as I leaped sideways into Mustafa’s stomach. He caught me perfectly, and I waited for my feet to touch the ground. But hesitation hit us -- we lost our momentum. Immediately, we burst into laughter. All of our energy was expended in an explosive cachinnation. We were winded. We had failed. Never-mind, wasn’t every master once a student? So we tried again and failed again. Crash after crash, laugh after laugh, we somehow couldn’t get it. The shriek of the bell cut our efforts short, forcing us to return to class.

I had laughed off our failure, but couldn't forget it. It was a ridiculous notion to begin with: Guyroscope-ing. It was something silly I’d seen on the internet. It didn’t matter if we couldn’t do it, and nobody cared if we could. At most, success would only provide a few laughs, and maybe a college essay. Still, it bothered me. I had to get it right.

A few weeks later, we were at The Queen’s Necklace, commonly known as Marine Drive, my favourite place in Mumbai. The long stretch by the sea is the better part of Mumbai, reminiscent of roads in travel brochures. It was almost midnight, and people were scattered around after an Indian Premier League cricket match. As you can expect in a city like Mumbai, it was an unusual mix of people: loud men with drinks in hand, little kids with families, underage drivers, and resident vagabonds.

There was a small number of people. Few enough for privacy, but enough to drive away a sense of loneliness. I felt extremely proud to be a part of Mumbai. I felt an innate sense of unity and togetherness, which is very often amiss in this bustling city. As we strolled down the road with the sea breeze in our faces, Mustafa froze:

“You in, bro?”

It took me a minute to realise what he was talking about. Then, instinctively and impulsively:

“I’m in, bro.”

We were about to do something in front of a sizeable audience with no guarantee of success. My friends sensed what was coming. Phones at the ready, Snapchat cameras open, they waited. South Bombay fell silent.

I took a breath, reminded myself not to laugh, and moved forward. I jumped awkwardly onto Mustafa. He managed to catch me, and jumped. With no-one but trust as my guide, I prepared for my feet to touch the ground.

And they did.

I had landed. Unsure of what to do next, I jumped again. He landed. We had successfully executed two complete rotations of The Guyroscope!

We burst into laughter, just like before, except it was the loudest laughter of all.

It was 1 am when we reached home. The school music festival was only a few hours away; another challenge awaited us. Mustafa strummed his guitar as I cleared my throat.

We began practicing, making frivolous errors, laughing throughout.