Rajju’s Rumble: When Tiny Tots Became Bullfight Maestros

Back in the preschool circus, Rajju, the pint-sized bull kingpin (that’s me), orchestrated a legendary human bullfight with my gang of mischief-makers. Picture this: our hairs sculpted into horns, charging at each other like caffeinated bulls in a china shop.

We took turns being the rodeo, clowns, and, of course, the tyrant bulls. The whistle blew, and chaos ensued – chalk missiles, paper projectiles, and a water spray extravaganza. Chants and cheers echoed like a symphony, with school bags forming the sacred boundary of our toddler battleground.

All was peachy until the rival team, attempting to mock the mighty Rajju, started chanting about my alleged weakness. Well, that was the spark in the juice box. It ticked me off like a bee in a soda can, much like Rohit Sharma ruffling Michael Johnson’s cricket feathers. I charged in, steam billowing from my ears, catching my opponent right on the nose.

For a split second, he looked like a daydreaming astronaut staring at stars in the middle of the day. Tears flowed, and blood put on a Vegas-style fountain show. The act earned me a VIP pass to the principal’s office and a homecoming spanking that left its mark. Was it worth it? You bet! I delivered a lesson he won’t forget: “Don’t poke the bull unless you’re ready for the rodeo!” 🐂🎉😄