TOW A Cyclone Named Nisha

"This is ridiculous. I can't believe I'm living in this godforsaken place, miles away from civilization, riding around on a Bullet. It's not even a real Bullet, it's something put together by a grease-monkey mechanic who calls himself 'Bullet'. I have to get out of this place, or I'll be stuck here, and I'll grow old here and then I'll have to tell my grandchildren stories of how I used to ride around Singaperumal Koil on a rusty Bullet!"

- Me, on a phonecall, during yet another SPK-induced existential crisis 

(circa 2008)

*******************

Nisha arrived at around 7 in the night. This is what she looked like at the time.

The rain started off as an irritating drizzle that grew steadily worse, drenching us on our way home. Black Magic didn't throw her usual tantrums, and got me home through the winds, steady as a rock. Drenched to the bone, but safe. After a few hours, the power went off, and it was no big surprise. But how do we dry clothes for tomorrow? The Giant sat on the only chair, deep in thought. And then came up with an ingenious scheme to dry his shoes.

The next morning, he seemed disappointed that it didn't work.

For us God's-Own-Country-folk, rain was simple business. It rained for three months a year. It fell straight down and disappear into the ground. Simple. But Nisha made a three-act play out of it.

It rained and then some. And then it stopped, like someone threw a switch. Now, the wind started howling. All through the night, it howled, rushing through the fields around our little house near the railway station. It howled so loud that we all lay awake, waiting for a window to be ripped off or a door to be blown down. The loco-f-ing-motive didn't rumble through town that day. Maybe the wind blew it off the tracks.

Morning came, and daylight threw itself against the clouds, but not all of it got through. It began raining again. This time, it danced with the howling wind. It blew in from the right, now from the left. 

Bhai came in from the house next door at 8, and announced that he was staying in for the day. "I got a packet of biscuits before coming back yesterday. I'm all set for the storm." "Bhai, one packet of biscuits will last you the entire day?". "I'll sleep till evening." Seemed legit.

For the rest of us, a decision had to be made. If we could make it to the office, we could clock an easy 9.5 hours. Watch movies, have lunch at the food court and probably by evening, Nisha would get bored and go away. But we had to get to office for that. It was 8:15. And the last shuttle left the SP Koil at 9. We had 45 minutes to get to the main road. Half a kilometre of flooded fields, and Nisha in all her fury.

"But we'll get drenched! Imagine sitting all day in office with wet underwear.", the JTO warned us. It was a truly terrifying thought. "We don't have a choice. If we stay here, we'll starve. We have to head out.", said the Fraud, which was followed by a group facepalm. I think he was waiting for a chance to use that line. But he had a point. Nisha, or no Nisha, we had to get to that shuttle. And we did, dressed thusly.

Those umbrellas were good for about 5 seconds into the roaring storm. The rain came at us from everywhere, all at once. The Fraud swore like a sailor, trying to hide behind Barber. Me and the JTO clung on to the umbrella with a broken spoke, with the effect that the umbrella now depended on us to protect it. We ran across GST Road waving our arms and umbrellas, and laughing hysterically, and flagging down the shuttle. Miraculously, torsos were still dry.

By evening, Nisha had moved on, finally letting go. Bhai had slept through the day. The Giant had taken this opportunity to eat his biscuits and was puffing his way through his last cigarette as we made it home in the evening. A miniature stream ran past our house and under the railway track to the fields on the other side. The rain had washed away all the cow-shit, and the dog-shit and...well, the roads were clean. It would take till next year, and another cyclone for SP Koil to look this beautiful again.

A Good Day To Dali Hard

So the done thing when you get a code is to decode it, apparently. And the best way to get this done is to hand over said code to a guy who knows a guy, in a dark alley behind a bar. At night. Wearing trench coats. And sunglasses.

No, don't ask me why. These are time honoured traditions that have existed since the days of The Wachowskii.

Anyway.

First, I had to find a bar. Which was ironic, seeing as I had just bolted from a bar. The bar. The greatest bar in the Universe. Bar none. Zaphod had probably barred me already. Which reminded me, "The Bard" was an excellent choice of a bar for a clandestine meeting.

From the End of The Universe, the number of ways to get to any other place in the Universe is 2. (Theoretically, there are infinite ways. Because the theoretical answer to any question that involves numbers is "Infinity".) The first way is to get a really fast car/ship/unicycle of some sort, and gun it away from the End, because once the Universe ends, you're not going anywhere.

The second way is the Loophole. A loophole is a rare and powerful type of wormhole that can take you wherever you want. A supercharged, personalized wormhole, if you will. This means that two people can see the same loophole at the same time, and yet end up in two very different places! But unlike wormholes, which are a dime a dozen, loopholes are extremely difficult to find. According to the Encyclopedia Galatica, a loophole can usually be found lurking next to a "star that appears near the end of anything". So all I had to do was find a star near the End of the Universe, see the loophole, and...

*****************

"The Bard" is a nondescript, shady alternative hangout for shady characters who have been barred from all other bars across the Universe. The creme de la creme of shady, so to speak. The Real Slim Shady himself was the Guest of Honour at the inauguration. What better place to meet Guy Hunosagai, Knower of Guys.

Disguised as a Barred Bartender, I sat in a dark corner of the bar. The position was perfect. No one would even think of looking in the corner, because the place was circular.

Pretty soon, I saw a guy make his way to the counter. This was my chance. Was this the guy who knows a guy, Guy Hunosagai? I decided to probe him. By asking questions. At a safe and respectable distance.

*****************

'ssup.

'ssup maaan.

Ah, nothin'. Jus' the old SSDD.

I know man. It's all propaganda though. I know a guy who says the same shit everytime.

*he knew a guy!*

You know a guy?

Of course man! And this guy he knows a guy, Hinoe Zagii, who knows a guy who told him *dramatic pause for effect* that it was propaganda. By the Galactic Government no less. But I know a guy who gets me around.

*This was the guy, Guy Hunosagai. He had a guy for EVERYTHING.*

That's cool man, because I had some work. Of sensitive nature. The kind that could get you barred from The Bard.

Keep going...

I have code.

SSSSSHHHH! Why didn't you tell me before?! For code, we must go the Alley. 

Right you are, let's go then!

But there's still 42 minutes to nightfall! We must wait. And don't worry, trenchcoats and sunglasses are available at a very nominal security deposit. So drink up, my man!

*****************

...42 minutes later...

*****************

I'm sure you understand why we had to wait. The ancient Wachowskian tradition...

I totally understand, Hunosagai-san.

You know my name! You are no ordinary bartender. Tell me, who are you?

You see through me. I am Pathos, formerly of R@EoTU.

So the stories are true! There is a vacancy at the R@EoTU!

I'm afraid so. Why, are you interested?

Noooo. But I know a guy who is.

Ah well. So, do you know a guy who can decrypt code?

I know lots of guys who can decrypt code. But what kind of code?

It is unlike any code I have seen. It seems to be derived from the Ancient language of Web.

Let me have a look.

Here,  what do you think? 

goo.gl/dsiEt

Hmmm, you are close. But no cigar. This is a later form of the Web, called Goog.

Goog?

Goog.

And you know a guy who knows Goog?

It is an extremely rare skill these days...

Money is no object.

...but luckily for you, I know a guy who can Goog. In fact, he goes gaga over Goog.

That's good to hear. It is of utmost urgency. A matter of life or death.

It always is. Meet me here tomorrow at the same time. With your credit card. I don't accept cash.

Thank you, Hunosagai-san. So this guy who Googs, what is his name?

Hees Thagii.

I know he's the guy, but what's his name?

Hees Thagii! His name is Hees Thagii.

Hees Thagii?! Legendary overlord-turned-philanthropist-turned-axe murderer-turned-painter Hees Thagii?!

The same. Luckily for you he turned Code Breaker last week.

Are you sure Hees can be trusted?

"...he can be trusted", where's your grammar, my man! And, yes he can be. Hees has always been extremely professional. 

If he's the guy you say Hees Thagii is, I have no reason to doubt him.

Rest assured, Pathos. I must leave now, I have to meet this guy. So tomorrow it is then? 

Of course, Hunosagai-san, we shall meet tomorrow.

Cheerio!

**********************

Help is on the way, d' Argh.

Hold on.

The Return of The Dali - The First Try.

*Clockwise. Anticlockwise. Upside down.*

*Clockwise. Anticlockwise. Upside down.*

Hey man, how about another one of those Galacticky thingys?

*Clockwise. Anticl...Well, wiping glasses kinda sucks doesn't it?*

I said, HEY MAN HOW ABOUT AN...

I HEARD YA! GET IT YERSELF! I'm outta this dump!

************************

That was a year ago.

A year. Chasing a ghost.

Well, not so much a "ghost" than a "temporally challenged midget".

I've been here, there, then, now. Everywhere and everywhen.

All I've got after all this is this weird code.

It was carved into the adamantium countertop at the R@EOTW.

goo.gl/dsiEt

Where are you, d'Argh?

************************

A Touchy Movement

Some time ago, I got a forwarded mail that was just so, so wrong. There is no other way to describe it. Let's have a look, shall we?

Disclaimer 1: Personal Details masked, because I don't want to be hunted down and killed by a touching* Systems Analyst.

Disclaimer 2: I have *nothing* against Systems Analysts. They're delightful people. Most of the time.

*****************

<quote>

Hi Friend

One more touchy movement

I like to share some thing. Like every day I start early for bang-6, When I reached bommanhalli  bus stop, I saw a lady, she is not able to stand properly, look like she is sick, people are watch her but know body came to help her. I was not able to understand what she is asking (talking in Kannada). One girl come to me and asks about her. We ask one auto person to drop her to BTM. He agreed but when he saw the leady without saying he run away, I was looking for another auto, Girl was having conversation with leady and she took out big money and gave to leady without any hesitation, Till that time able to get another Auto. We finally board her to auto.

You know who that girl is, she is one of <company name masked> HR.  (I did not asked her name)

I saw people to help other but most of them from <company name masked>  It always makes me to feel proud to be part of ‘<company name masked>’

Such incidents always touch me, my sole, Humanities is still there in world. 

Friends – if we cannot become like SUN, at least  we should like Candle.  

Thanks and Regards,
****** ***** *****
_________________________________________________
Systems Analyst
<company name masked>, Bangalore, India
É +91 80 ********* , *********** È +91 ***********
? ***********@********.***
MSN/AOL -**********/********* 

<unquote>

******************

Amazing. A truly transcendental experience, reading this...thing.

Let's wade right into the morass.

• "Touchy" --> "Touchy" means "irritable"...what he really meant was "touching" but of course, this is just the beginning, and really, this is great in the face of what's coming.
• "touchy movement" --> Good Lord.
• "people are watch her but know body came to help her" --> What this person talking about knowbody really knows, no?
• "We ask one auto person to drop her to BTM" --> The one reasonably correct sentence in this Pool of Misery. In fact, the others are so horrifying that this one shines like a diamond.
• "We finally board her to auto." --> What does this mean? Really? Yeah, I know that he's TRYING to say that they got the "leady" into the auto, but really that sentence(...if you can call it that.) is straight out of an English teacher's nightmare.
• "It always makes me to feel proud" --> I no, we all make us to feel so proud that Systems Analyst is making type this much in English, know?
• "Such incidents always touch me, my sole, Humanities is still there in world" --> They touch his "sole". The underside of his foot. And he's very grateful for all the Humanities courses in the world, of course.
• "Friends – if we cannot become like SUN, at least  we should like Candle." --> I hear this is a big problem nowadays, people hating candles.

And, the most horrifying part.

• Systems Analyst --> that would mean a reasonably senior member of a multinational giant. 

But then again, I guess he gets. it. done. 

Without talking.

Hopefully.

The Script of A Romance.

"It's been such a long time! Why don't you tell me any stories nowadays?"

"Hmmm, I don't know, I think I've run out of stories."

"You? You'll never run out of stories! So tell me one now!"

"Now? It's almost midnight! There's only an hour left for New Year."

"So? It can be a small story."

"But I don't remember any right now."

"Then make one up! I want a story now!"

"OK OK, I think I got one..."

******************************

"...well?"

"Well, I really have run out of stories. I just can't get anything interesting enough."

"But I wanted to hear a story tonight..."

"Yeah, me too...What shall we do?"

"You could make one up?"

"I could, but I dunno if it'd be any good."

"Let's see."

"Hmmm, OK, here goes..."

*******************************

Ever hear the term "whirlwind romance"? Yeah well, this was something of that sort. But it involved five solid months of negotiation. Negotiating for a cup of coffee.

*******************************

"Wait, this is about us, isn't it?!"

"He he, well yeah! Nothing else comes to mind. I think the New Year spirit is finally getting to me. I want the last few moments of this year to be about us and our crazy romance!"

"You are the crazy one. You put the moves on me! Coffee, it seems, you wanted this to happen, didn't you?"

"No! You were interesting to chat with, so I just wanted to see where it went! As if you didn't want this to happen! So don't give me that!"

"It was all you! You put the moves on me! You had all these corny lines, and I for some reason thought they were funny at the time!"

"Well, you put the moves on me too! You gave me a coffee mug for my birthday, when we'd barely started talking! By the way, you still think I'm funny."

"That wasn't a move! I give gifts to all my friends!"

"Aha! Guilty! That was a move if ever there was one! You remembered my birthday, you were prepared with a gift!"

"It was just a friendly gesture! But you, you were good, weren't you? You were full of lines and quips and quotes and jokes and whatnot!"

"Well I still am! Do you remember you kept hiding from your friends whenever we went out together?"

"Well I didn't want anyone to know that I had a heart! Imagine the horror! They all used to think I was made of stone!"

"How did I manage to slip under your shields? I'm good, eh?"

"You! You used coffee to good effect. Tell me, you chose Cafe Coffee Day on purpose, didn't you? You wanted me all high on caffeine!"

"Yeah right, like you were the picture of innocence! What was the whole coy, blushing act? You think I didn't see right through it? You were carefully reeling me in!"

"Ha ha! Well, I had to keep up with you! We must've paid a fortune to Cafe Coffee Day!"

"All because you were paranoid your friends would snigger at you if they saw us in the Food Court!"

"Well they would've! You should've seen their faces once they started getting some idea. People, I tell you!"

"I tell you! Remember I tried teaching you to cycle? You were just enjoying the joyride instead of pedaling!"

"Well, I told you I couldn't cycle!"

"Everyone should know how to cycle. But you lazybum! You were just sitting there as I pushed you around!"

"Heee! And do you remember the bike rides you gave me back home because I would miss the bus waiting for you to finish your goddamn laundry? Black Magic, what do you think she's up to these days?"

"Hmmm, she must be thumping along somewhere in Chengalpet, I'm sure that rascal Gopi must've ripped off yet another gullible soul. But I miss her. Maybe we'll get a Bullet sometime soon."

"Oooh ooh, you remember the mutton biriyani at FC1?"

"Yeah, and you used to make me eat half of yours all the time!"

"Well there was a lot! And you remember the fat cook at Asian Kitchen?"

"He he yeah! He used to ask me where 'madam' was?"

"Good god! How scandalous! And you remember you gave me Leo the Lion, all giftwrapped? Good god, my team were like Christmas came early, they couldn't stop ribbing me!"

"It's almost midnight. I'm gonna stop this imaginary conversation in my head and call you now."

"Oh..."

"Wake up when you hear the ringing please?"

"I will."

"You have to."

"You know I love you right?"

"I love you too."

******************************

Happy New Year, Baby Boo.

An Interview With A Konkani

Everytime I get a phone call from home, I usually end up freaking out a friend/bystander, because I'm speaking a strange language, which sounds like it came from beyond the Himalayas. Which usually leads to the following inquisition.

*********************

Q: What was that??

A: That was the Konkani language. I'm a Konkani. 

Q: You're a what?

A: A Konkani. That means that I speak the language, and that I am a part of a very exclusive group. Hah! Bet you didn't know Deepika Padukone was one of us. Or Vijay Mallya.

Q: You have a separate language for yourself?

A: Yes, we do. And unless you are one of us, I don't think you'll understand a word of it. If you know Marathi, you might understand some of the words, and this works both ways. I can understand some Marathi.

Q: So say something in your language.

A: No! Besides, you'd either squawk or keel over laughing. You're not ready yet. 

Q: Ah. So how did you learn it?

A: The same way you learnt your Hindi/Malayalam/Tamil. I learnt it from everyone at home speaking it.

Q: Waitaminnit. So you don't speak Malayalam at home?

A: No. I'm not a Malayali.

Q: How does that work? Aren't you from Kerala?

A: No, I'm not a Malayali, if that's what you mean.

Q: So where are you from?

A: Sigh. I'm from Kerala, but I'm not a Malayali.

Q: Er.......

A: It could be, and I'm just taking a wild stab in the dark here, that my ancestors settled down in Kerala?

Q: Ohhhh. So where are you really from?

A: Goa. All Konkanis are originally from Goa. But they spread out across the coast, primarily to avoid persecution at the hands of the Portuguese invaders. Yeah, those times. That's how far away my Goan connection is.

Q: Whoa, so you are, in a way, Goan.

A: Not really, I probably wouldn't understand a word in Goan Konkani.

Q: There are types?

A: Yeah. We are spread out across the Konkan Coast. Starting from Goa, we settled down in Maharashtra, Karnataka and pockets in Kerala. I am from the small group that reached Cochin.

Q: So how are all of them different?

A: Well, each of these regions had an influence on our way of speaking. You will see a pronounced difference in the way a Mangalorean and a Kochikkar speak, even though they are speaking the same language. The words are mostly the same, but somewhere in between, a word with heavy local influence will pop up and confusion will reign.

For example, "sugar". Kochi Konkanis call it "paindhaar", obvious influence of the Mallu word for sugar "panjasaara". The Mangaloreans call it "sakkar", which is more of a Marathi influence, I guess. So when a Mangalorean asks a Kochikkar if he wants "sakkar" in his coffee, the other will probably say no, "paindhaar" is fine.

Q: Whew. Complicated language.

A: Don't you guys have dialects? Do you understand every version of Hindi/Malayalam/Tamil? It's the same thing.

Q: So your Mom and Dad are both Konkanis?

A: Yes. My dad is from Kochi and, mom from Mangalore.

Q: Tell me something in Konkani?

A: Like what? Do NOT say "My name is ........."

Q: Dammit. Ok, how do you say "I want something to eat."?

A: Are you sure you're ready for this?

Q: Yeah. Absolutely. Bring it on.

A: Now, when I say it you do NOT keel over laughing.

Q: Oh. Ok?

A: "Makka ittheyi khanvchaak jaai."

Q: Wha?! What IS that?

A: Yes, that is how we speak.

Q: Explain the words in that.

A: Makka - "For me" 

ittheyi - spoken with a nasal tone - means "anything"/"something"

khanvchaak - again, the n denotes a nasal tone - means "to eat"

jaayi - "want".

Q: Whoa.

A: Yeah, whoa.

Q: So you guys are like this totally different culture and everything?

A: Well again, a lot of regional influence, but yeah we have our own temples, our own customs and traditions, our own diet, our own way of talking.

Q: What kinda diet?

A: Konkani dishes are, well, different. For example, any Kochi Konkani worth his "meett" (salt) must have tried the Pathrodo, atleast once in his life. So what is it? It's a kind of roll, made out of Colocasia leaves. I'm pretty sure that   no-one had any idea you could actually eat that stuff till we turned up, and tadaaa.

Q: Ah. Interesting. So about your name, "Bhat". Is that a common Konkani name?

A: Yes. "Shenoy", "Pai", "Kamath", "Prabhu" are some of the others. A "Bhat" is usually a priest. As was was my great-grandfather. My grandfather was the first in my family to pursue a career outside of priesthood. These surnames were usually indicative of the person's trade in the "days of yore". Like a "bhat" being a priest, a "Prabhu" was usually a landlord, "Pai"s were businessmen (yeah, we are genetically inclined towards it), and the "Mallan"s/"Mallya"s were , well, bodybuilders.

Q: So you could be a priest?

A: Technically, yes.

Q: Do you know all the rituals and everything?

A: No, which is why I'm not one. But after my upanayanam, I used to do the morning pooja at my house.

Q: Upanayanam? What is that?

A: That is the Thread Ceremony. It signifies that the person is now truly a Brahmin.

Q: You're a Brahmin? Then how come you eat meat?

A: Er, why not? I believe, "faith" should be in the mind, not the stomach.

Q: Ah. Wow, interesting.

A: Aren't we all?

********************

Secretly, I love freaking people out like that. It's fun to see the double-takes, and faces with that "/:S" expression when they hear me speak. Like Ashan says "the language from before God's existence".

But undoubtedly, the funniest came last Republic Day Celebrations at the hospital where my dad works. My sister and I were watching the proceedings from the back, and talking to each other in Konkani. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the guard trying to make sense, and miserably failing to do so. Finally, he decided he couldn't take any more, and leaned over to ask, in patchy Hindi, "Kidhar ka aadmi hai?" ("Where are you from?"), Mallu accent and all. "Ivide okke thanne ullatha, chettaa" ("I'm from around these parts."), I replied, in perfect Malayalam. The double-take and the sheepish laugh? Priceless.

The Culinary Delights of Singaperumal Koil

Two months ago, owing the strange combination of an ambiguously worded notice and an irate priest, I found myself back in the Middle of Nowhere, aka Singaperumal Koil. And I found myself getting nostalgic at every dusty turn of the road pockmarked with potholes. The railway cross, where the gate would stay closed for hours on end, waiting for the Pondichery "Superfast" to please, for the love of all that's holy, to crawl by. The bikes weaving their way under said closed railway gate, some of the drivers' contorting their bodies through impossible angles to do so. "Nellai Jeyam", or "Three Star" as it was nicknamed (...another story...) with it's overpriced, oily food. The beautiful evenings, yes, the evenings are actually beautiful here. 


This once-laidback town is now the hotbed of activity. With it's proximity to the Mahindra World City SEZ, the town is an easy option for all those lazy bums who can't even begin to think of a one-hour commute at ungodly hours every morning. And with it's cheap rents it certainly seems like an intelligent option as well. After all, when your colleagues wake up at 6.30 to catch the local sardine can to earn their daily bread, you're still fast asleep. You wake up leisurely at 8. A quick wash, and half an hour later you're at your seat. Just in time to watch the bedraggled souls from Far, Far Away crawl in. Hah!


But wait. That's just one side of the story. The other side surfaces around 8 in the night, when you are done earning your daily bread. Any SE worth his obfuscated code will know that the salary he earns is not meant to withstand continued forays into The Employer's Food Court. And thus the junta tries various tactics.


For example, The Barber used to survive one a scientifically crafted diet. His daily intake went something like this. His breakfast would mostly be a poori or a dosa of some kind from the food court. This would last him till around noon. But he would extend it's lifespan with a chronologically well-placed cup of coffee from the Coffee Day vending machine. Now comes the centrepiece of his master plan. Everyone else left for lunch as soon as the clock struck half past twelve, and would be waylaid by the incredibly tasteless, and yet vividly colorful and expensive dishes on display at the food courts. 70 bucks and an extremely unsatisfactory lunch later, we would be back at our seats. And then, Barber would head out.


See, by now, there would be nothing available at the food courts except Vegetarian Meals. Again, incredibly tasteless. But amazingly filling and of course, cheap. As long as there was no choice to make, it became easy to do. "I'm having this because there's nothing else. Damn. I'm saving a lot of money."


The advantage was two-fold. One, that vegetative mix of rice, and vegetables, just sat around in your stomach for a long, long time. So there was no question of busting another 30 on "snacks" at teatime. Two, the money of course.


The Barber. Financial Planner Extraordinaire.


Anyways, once this lifestyle of "Company Food-courts" blew a hole in our pockets, we would have to turn to the Culinary Delights of Singaperumal Koil. Street food.


Now, I have to put up this disclaimer. If you:

• are one of those people who care about things like "hygiene"
• are one of those people who care about things like calories
• are a Non-Tamil/vegetarian/looking for food from your part of the world
• are a girl

forget about it. Street food is not for everyone. It's just one of those things. You don't mind it, or you do. If you don't like street food, don't have it. But don't try to convince a Believer. You're just wasting your time.


No, you won't feel like eating it if you see how it's made.
No, it's probably not clean, but hey, everybody eats it.
No, it's loaded with everything that's "supreme" as far as "taste" goes, and "questionable" in every other factor.
No, you will not get North Indian food here.
No, you will not get Kerala food here.


You get the drift.


You can't be dicey about having the fare. You dive in the deep end. If you feel the need for street food, don't let your better senses come in the way. Go on. Dive in the deep end.


The cornerstone of any roadside food stall is the porotta. With absolutely zero nutritional value, this fluffed up disc made of maida is extremely popular among the working class. Why? Because it fills you up and takes a long time to digest. Good enough.


Eggs. There's your sunny-side-up sprinkled with pepper. Yeah, we call it hafaayil. "Half boiled?". No. Hafaayil. Then there is the aamleyt, the country cousin of the omlette. The one-seyd, which is like an aamleyt, except that it's not flipped over, leaving the top jelly-like, yummy.


Decidedly, the best thing you can ask for at any roadside stall is the kothu porotta. infiniteascent dug up a Wikipedia page for this delicious mix of porotta, tomatoes, eggs, and onions. I tell you, you have not lived until you've had this Food of Gods.


Kal Dosa is the cheapest dosa around. The guy slops down a bowl of dosa mix on the sizzling tawa, and shapes it into a thick disc. With the same bowl! Pile two of these onto a plate and douse them with sambar, and you're full. If you want it thin and crispy, you don't ask for a "ghee roast" or "paper roast", like you do at those elite, cutthroat, "high class" vegetarian restaurants. Instead you ask for a nice. And, voila, you get this elliptical, wafer-thin expanse of dosa, folded-up but not folded-up enough to prevent it from hanging over the edge of the plate and scraping the table, as the guy plonks it down in front of you.


Idlis, are cheap, and fast, but not easy to come by. And they sell like the hot cakes they are. So if it's around 9, forget it, you will not be having idli for dinner.


Like I said before, street food is not for everyone. And when I first set foot here, it wasn't for me either. But Singaperumal Koil has this habit of growing on you. I didn't realize it but by the time I was ready to leave a year ago, I had become a regular at most of the 4 or 5 roadside stalls that dot the service road from the Railway Station to Thirutheri. The Thoothukudi, famous for its kothu porotta. The kal dosa of Nellai Jeyam, before it sold its soul and went the "high class" way. The steaming idlis of Aandipetti. The vada from that nameless place near the Singaperumal Koil railway station.


I never thought I'd say this, but when I do finally get out this place, I am going to miss Singaperumal Koil.

Of Signals And Blunders

I don't know what's going on, but suddenly, it seems like everyone is hooking up, or breaking up, or getting married.

A friend of mine was talking to me about how her boyfriend's "advice" had messed up his friend's potential love-life. Twice.

Another friend of mine keeps telling me he's "just friends" with this girl from some North Indian town (forgot the name), who keeps calling him up at 2 in the night to ask him what he's doing. And from there, through the haze of slumber, I can hear them mumble nothings on the phone till 4 or 5. Of course, they're just friends. That phrase has always made me want to ask "Are there 'unjust' friends?". Maybe next time, I will.

Anways, this set me thinking about the whole guy-girl thing, and how it's the only thing that's standing between Stephen Hawking and the Theory of Everything. So, let's try to break it down into scenarios, and try to take it ahead from there.

Scenario 1. The Smooth Hook-up

Guy meets girl. Guy likes girl. Girl likes guy. The universe conveniently looks the other way, as everything quietly slips into place. Some people have all the luck, what you gonna do about it.

Boring.

Scenario 2. The Saga

Guy meets girl. Guy likes girl. Girl can't decide. Guy loses interest. Girl likes guy. Guy likes another girl. And so on and so forth. Their "like" is so out of phase. Like sine and cosine waves. But eventually, they somehow clank into place. This is the stuff Karan Johar movies are made of. I think.

The Best Friend has the best seat in the house. Bring on the popcorn! But, he/she may feel like offing himself/herself at any of the million, endless fights the mismatched couple go through, and then think that The Best Friend has the answer to all of Life's Questions.

Scenario 3. The Crash-and-Burn
Ah! My personal favourite. This is completely guys' domain. Because, I am yet to see a girl who has crashed and burned because the guy wanted to be "just friends". Whereas every other guy is literally a phoenix (...now you know why the blog is named so.).

So, as I was saying. This usually involves painful, usually unreciprocated affection/attraction/crush/luuurve.

It follows a fairly predictable pattern. Guy sees girl. Guys falls for girl. Girl is still unaware of guy's existence. Guy befriends girl. Guy gets "signals". Guy goes for the Hail Mary pass. Bam! Just friend-ed. Or even worse, brother-ed.

Let's pause for a minute here. Signals. The one word responsible for more Crash-and-Burns around the world than bird hits. But let's make one thing very, very clear. Guys suck at reading "signals". In fact we suck so bad we shouldn't even be trying. I don't know if it's the Y Chromosome messing up the reception, or what. But we as a gender CANNOT read signals. We just can't.

Just like girls have no idea they're sending said signals.


Coming back to the point, when all is said and done, the guy finds he's been shut out with clinical efficiency. Still, the damage is reparable. The guy can pick up what remains of his dignity, and make a dash for it. Preferably to sub-Saharan Africa, where they speak in clicks and whistles. And hide for a long, long time. IF he has brains. But, the Crash-and-Burn usually indicates the lack of one. So some of us choose to hang on to that tiny, microscopic thread of hope left trailing behind her skirt hem. "Maybe, I can still get her to come around...".

There is only one way that particular line of thought has been known to end. And it has been documented extensively through binge-ing sessions which involve our Ragged Romeo sobbing his way through several bottles of spirits. Ending with the declaration, "I hate women! No more women for me!". Despite this very-nearly-gay outburst, it leads him on to Rebound (TM), and Relapse (TM). Yes, it is a Vicious Cycle, I tell you.

Guys, there are plenty of fish in the sea. Cliched, but true. Move on. It's less painful. Ladies, ladies. Tell us you don't like us, tell us you hate our guts. But please don't tell us you want to be "just friends". You know you don't really mean it. It's just that sympathy alarm ringing. You know it, the one which makes the guy with a broken leg irresistible. Switch off the alarm. Shoot us in the head.

In extreme cases, girls have been known to employ that much-feared WMD. Brotherification. "But you're like a brother to me!". This is the relationship equivalent of Chinese Water Toruture. It's like, "You're family! Except, not in the way you want to." The guys is supposed to feel happy about the neutering. After all, he's practically family. Ladies, Ladies. Spare us the sympathy. We didn't spend all that time being totally out of character being gentlemanly and all, just so that we could qualify as your elder sibling. Again, switch off that alarm. Headshot, please.

Yeah, yeah, I had to have had some experience, being able to dissect such a tricky topic so professionally. Yeah, I've done my time. And I've come out an older, if not wiser man. Guys, word of advice. Switch off those Signal Receptors next time you see a girl you like. Girls, well, just switch off that alarm.