Shot Cut

After the round of introductions, our burly instructor8212;reminiscent of a sadistic high school PE teacher8212;made us stand about 10 metres away from the target range and handed us the rifles.

The first lesson was 8216;take control of the rifle, and don8217;t let the rifle take control of you8217;, by learning to hold it with a smoothly confident grip. Easier said than done. At 2.5 kg, the

N-25 isn8217;t the best candidate for Clint Eastwood-style shenanigans. After we were asked to zip up the complaints about its weight, we had to chop the barrel, load it with a pellet, cock and aim.

Chopping means to hit the top of the barrel with the side of your palm to snap it open. That sounds easy but try slapping your hand against a piece of hard metal time and time again and see how it feels. I tried not to wince, but when it came to pulling the barrel open to form a downward 8216;L8217;, I was stuck. As the rest of the group sped forward to loading pellets, the hard-nosed spring on my weapon just wouldn8217;t give way, or would go halfway and then spring back. I hoped my protein-rich diet in the land of Verka milk products would come to my aid but, humiliatingly, it didn8217;t. Like a kid stuck on a tree, after much instruction, urging and sympathy, I managed to tease the spring into obedience and get the pellet inside.

Trying not to dwell on that much-less-than-perfect start, I transferred my attention to the directions on aiming and firing. At shooting, I was as good or as bad as a novice is allowed to be. After all, we were all there to learn, I told myself. And my target card ended up with sufficient holes to save face.

Next, Joshi demonstrated the various rifle positions8212;sitting, kneeling and prone. We, of course, had to follow. There was a moment when, while sprawled face down on the dusty floor in prone position, I wondered what in the world had made me spend my one holiday inflicting pain on myself, trying to coax comatose muscles into performing ridiculous feats. My one relief was Mr Rajput whose antics proved to be the highlight. When everyone was asked to put their left foot forward, he put out his right one. When everyone laid their weapons flat on the ground, he got into the kneeling position and took aim at the jewellery designer standing opposite him.

The day ended with a lesson on cleaning a rifle, aching arms and the realisation that I was lucky to not be living in 19th century Punjab8212;times when my trigger-happy great-great-grandfathers settled property squabbles with their index finger.

I guess I8217;m not the rugged type. My Punjabiness manifests itself in other forms. It shows up in the way I boasted about the experience to all my friends that evening; I extolled how it was such a thrill to hold a gun in my hands; how I8217;d hit seven out of 10 pellets on target on the very first go a lie, and my lecture on the weight, velocity and calibre of different rifles.

Heck, most people don8217;t even know the difference between an air gun and an air rifle. FYI: An air rifle has grooves inside the barrel that make the pellets rotate, thereby making it more dangerous.