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Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd - A. Khyrunnisa

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74 pages

English

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Watch out! With Butterfingers around, nothing and no one is safe!Amar Kishen, nicknamed Butterfingers, can send books, balls, bats, people, anything flying! When school term begins, the Green Park Under 15 cricket team, of which Butter is the vice captain, is determined to win the Colonel Nadkarni Under 15 Inter-School Limited Overs Cricket Trophy. Practice begins in earnest, but disasters soon follow. Will Amar''s team win the coveted trophy and save the school’s grounds? Or will it slip from their grasp like a classic Butterfingers catch?

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Publié par	Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd
Date de parution	29 juin 2010
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9788184753929
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Khyrunnisa A.

HOWZZAT BUTTERFINGERS!
Illustrations by Debanjan Nandy
PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Praise for Howzzat Butterfingers!
Dedication
1. Enter Butterfingers
2. PT with Princi
3. Getting Ready
4. The Captaincy Issue
5. Double Disaster
6. Shocking News
7. The Crisis
8. Where s the Will?
9. Amar in a Fix
10. Fun on a Rainy Day
11. Amar Gets a Haircut
12. Where There s a Will There s a Way
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PUFFIN BOOKS
HOWZZAT BUTTERFINGERS!
Khyrunnisa A., prize-winning author of children s fiction, loves reading, writing and children. She created the popular comic character Butterfingers for the children s magazine, Tinkle . Her three novels published by Puffin in the Butterfingers series are Howzzat Butterfingers! (2010), Goal, Butterfingers! (2012) and Clean Bowled, Butterfingers! (2015).
Some of her stories, for children and for adults, have been published in various anthologies by Puffin, Children s Book Trust and Unisun Publications. Her stories appear regularly in Dimdima and she has an ongoing fortnightly column, Inside View , in The Hindu Metroplus .
She has worked as Associate Professor of English at All Saints College, Trivandrum, and is now a full-time writer. Visit her at www.khyrunnisa.com and connect with her at khyrubutter@yahoo.com .
Praise for Howzzat Butterfingers!
What great fun. It brings back long-lost memories of my prep school days -Late Mansur Ali Khan (Nawab of Pataudi)
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this (book) and recommend it to all - Shashi Tharoor
Howzzat Butterfingers! packs in all the high-voltage drama that an inter-school cricket match can supply - Telegraph (Calcutta)
Sheer readability and wholesomeness - Week
A breezy book that ll get you through the school term . . . The 166 page book guarantees loads of fun -The Hindu Young World
For My son Amar and his friends
1 Enter Butterfingers
Hey, Butter, slow down! What long legs you have, you giraffe! panted Kiran, trotting furiously on his short legs as he tried desperately to keep pace with the long strides of Amar. The two boys had missed their usual bus-nothing new for them-and had boarded another that had dropped them about a kilometre from school.
Make up your mind, Tub. You can t call me Butter and Giraffe in the same breath, said Amar, twirling his water bottle jauntily like the rotors of a helicopter. Almost immediately he lost his grip on the strap and the bottle flew off at a tangent, startled a crow out of its wits, hit a tree hard and came to roost at its foot.
Watch it! laughed Kiran, running to recover it. Butterfingers is what you are, and a giraffe is what you re growing into. What has your mother been feeding you during the holidays?
And what has yours been stuffing you with? retorted Amar, taking the bottle from Kiran and looking ruefully at a dent on its bottom. The bottle was a new one and given by his mother that morning with the na ve optimism that it would last her son the whole year. I m amazed your school belt still goes around your big fat tummy! He gave Kiran a friendly whack on his stomach with the much maligned water bottle that landed harder than he had intended, making his friend hold his stomach immediately in a mock show of great pain and protest. Ouch, don t kill me! It s not been long since I had breakfast.
It was the first day of a new academic year for Amar Kishen and Kiran Reddy, thirteen-year-old boys who were students of Green Park Higher Secondary School. For obvious reasons, Amar was nicknamed Butterfingers or Butter for short. His despairing parents had been heard to say they didn t know what Amar had learnt first-to hold things or to drop them. In the art of dropping things, he stood in a class of his own. It was his father, one of the earliest victims of his clumsiness, who had first called him Butterfingers and the name had stuck. Even his teachers were often provoked into calling him Butter when they were at the receiving end of his blundering antics.
Amar and Kiran were an odd pair, cast in the Laurel and Hardy mould. Amar was tall and thin as a reed while Kiran was short and stocky. Kiran often joked that he was designed to catch whatever Amar dropped; that Amar s greatest asset was his friend s safe pair of hands. His nickname was Tub and when the two were together, they were referred to as But-Tub.
As they neared the school, they caught up with a group of their friends who were strolling at a more sedate pace.
Hey, guys! Amar greeted them. Goodness, Eric, what s your circumference now? A tailor would have to make you hold the tape end and run around with it to measure your waist! Bet you ve caused a famine in your neighbourhood. Looks like you and Tub here have been eating the same kind of food.
Junk, more like it, added Ajay, a lean boy of medium height, who was very health conscious.
Eric, a plump, pleasant-looking chap, looked over his glasses and, choosing wisely to ignore the remarks, took the battle to Amar s court saying, Butter s now vertically unchallenged! How s the weather up there, Mr Longfellow?
Nice and sunny, Mr Wideangle. Blue skies, no chance of any rainfall and ideal for a game of cricket, recommended specially for flat-footed 70 mm guys just entering high school.
Everyone laughed. Feels good, doesn t it, to be in the eighth standard? Not kids any more. We re actually in high school and I ve become high too, continued Amar, looking quite pleased.
Not mighty, I hope, said Kishore.
Seriously, said Amar, I think we should put in at least an hour of cricket practice after school today. We must start in earnest from day one. We ve got to win the Cup this time.
Amar played all games with a fierce passion. Cricket, football and basketball were his favourites with cricket having an edge over the other two. The Cup he was referring to was the annual Nadkarni Rolling Trophy instituted by Colonel Nadkarni for the winners of the Under 15 Inter-School Limited Overs Cricket Tournament. The trophy had been introduced only the previous year.
Yeah, we should. It s a matter of prestige, said Kiran. Everything was a matter of prestige for him.
And why did we lose it last year? asked Eric, his round face wreathed in a sunny smile.
How did we lose it last year? Kishore echoed. Good quiz questions, said Arvind. But no bonus points for giving the correct answer. Amar, you can have first shot at answering.
Amar blushed. Last year s fiasco haunted him more than he cared to admit. Green Park School, playing in the final, needed just two runs off the last ball with Amar and Kiran at the crease. Amar, who was on strike, flicked the ball with ease to deep square leg and took off for a comfortable couple of runs that seemed to be his for the taking, when disaster struck. Without any provocation whatsoever, when he was halfway down the pitch, he dropped his casually held bat and foolishly went back to retrieve it. Kiran, who was charging down the pitch like a mad bull and concentrating hard on completing the first run quickly, had his eyes on the ball and did not see this. He fell over Amar like a sack of potatoes much to the delight of St. Joseph s fielders and by the time the two had disentangled themselves, the opposition wicketkeeper had run Amar out comfortably. St. Joseph s had not only won the trophy but also got some free entertainment on the side.
Remember how you dropped the bat? asked Kiran, reminding Amar of just what he was trying hard to forget. Can t you hold things at important moments at least?
Actually, it s hereditary, you see. My mother also drops things. Why, it seems she even dropped me once or twice when I was a baby, said Amar solemnly.
On your head, I suppose. Well, that explains everything, Kiran teased as the boys laughed. Amar, giving him a playful slap on the back, good-humouredly joined in. The sound of the school bell in the distance made the boys break into a run and they reached the gates panting like a herd of deer with a pack of hounds at its heels. They did not want to be late on the opening day. They went straight for the Assembly that was generally held outdoors. Soon Mr Jagmohan, the Principal, entered the permanent stage that was built at one end of the grounds to conduct the Assembly and a solemn hush fell over the students. Mr Jagmohan made his usual opening day speech. Good morning, boys. It s good to have you back with us again.
Who s this us Princi keeps talking about? whispered Amar to Kiran.
Probably him and Colonel Nadkarni s bust, Kiran said with a giggle, rolling his eyes comically in the direction of the bust of Colonel Nadkarni that stood on a pedestal to the left of the stage. Colonel Nadkarni had financed the building of the stage two years back, and this was the least the school could do to show its gratitude. Though not a perfect likeness, the sculptor had captured the distinguishing features of the colonel. His bushy eyebrows, hawk-like nose and thick moustache that turned up at the ends were sculpted well enough to make his identity foolproof. One of the favourite practices Amar often adopted in order to break the tedium of a boring Assembly was to engage himself in an imaginary conversation with the bust about the glorious uncertainties of cricket.
Mr Jagmohan noticed the whispering, and glaring at the two, continued, This is the start of a new term and we must put in our best efforts, both academically and in sports and other activities.
Looking pointedly at Amar, Mr Jagmohan said, straying from his usual drift, And Class VIII students would do well to remember they aren t silly kids any longer but responsible high school students and must set a good example to the juniors.
Following this with a liberal dose of don ts and a milder one of do s, Mr Jagmohan brought his address to a close and the students went in sloppy lines to their respective classrooms. Class VIII A was on the second floor and