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 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 Best Of Times, The Worst Of Times

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way."

- Charles Dickens, "A Tale of Two Cities"

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

In The Heat of The Night

Somedays, the power went off at 3 in the night. And it would stay that way for another 3 hours. The fact that we knew it would happen everyday, did nothing to help. The heat, the mosquitoes, would get us out of bed by 3.30. You would've found us sitting on our compound wall, our midnight hangout spot. Sometimes there would be a gentle breeze. But most nights, the air was deathly still. And stuffy.

The JTO would regale us with stories of his college days. Hulk would stand off to a corner and light up another Wills. The Fraud, would inevitably be the butt of all jokes. Eventually, we would all come around to our favourite topic. The "bleddy" place, and how to get out of here. Around 4.30, the laughs would run out, and the sleep overpowering would send us back to bed.

4.30 AM. For 5 mins, the mosquitoes would be distracted, and we'd fall asleep. After a long, long time, they wake us up again. The time on your mobile says 4.40 AM. Waving our hands around, we'd dive under the blanket, inspite of the stifling heat, just to get away from the blood-thirsty monsters, and sleep, for the love of all that's holy!

Not so fast. There's a goods train that heads down south to God Knows Where, and the Honking Loco-F-Ing-Motive wakes up the entire town, as it rumbles past our house, horn blaring, wheels rattling. Turn over, go back to sleep. For a long, long time.

One little bugger has gotten under the blanket, and he has to hover close to your ear with that irritating drone. It should be atleast 5.30 now, you think. The mobile shows 4.50. An eternity later, it's 4.52.

By the time the fans come back on at 6, you have fallen asleep somehow. Inspite of the mosquitoes. Inspite of the Chennai heat. Inspite of rumbling locomotives.

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

Friday Night Lights On Monday?

TGIF parties were a given. So much so that they became tradition. But sometimes the week got to us even before it began. Monday has been accepted as the toughest day of the week, worldwide, and the smallest member of the herd felt the heat first.

The Little Guy's tactics for getting everyone else to join him on a Weekday Binge were rather Machiavellian. Given the fact that Mr. Kottayam's opinion held sway with the rest of us, he used this to leverage his moves. His planning went thus.

The Little Guy : Dude, what plans for the evening?

Dude X : Whaa? It's Monday! Are you nuts?!
TLG : But dude, Mr. Kottayam is interested. In fact he told me he badly needs a drink, it's been a horrible day (...Mondays are ALWAYS horrible, he's just making you focus on it...)
Dude X: Hmmm...I dunno, lemme think about it. Who else is coming?
TLG : You (...notice how he's already counted you in...), me, and Mr. Kottayam, and everyone else will come (...sufficiently vague enough...)
Dude X : Hmmm, ok I guess if everyone's coming...

TLG : Okay! Come fast, our place!

Now, substitute X = 1 to 7.

And now, the prestige.

TLG : Mr. Kottayam, everyone's like "Horrible day."
Mr. Kottayam : Hmmm.

TLG : So they're all planning to get together tonight. You in?

Mr. K : Everyone?
TLG : Yeah, kinda, Dude 1, Dude 2, everyone.
Mr. K : Ok. I'm in.

The Little Guy. Inventor of the Tuesday Hangover.

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

Run Ashaan, Run!

The JTO had done it. He had become the first one to escape Sunshine Country. And to a government job, no less. So, a party was in order, and you know us, we don't scrimp when it comes to parties. There was the usual cohort of Monks, Mansions, and Teachers. There were a couple of fowl, tandoorified. Extremely heavy metal poured out from The Little Guy's big speakers. By around 11, we were all zonked.

As we stood around outside the house, near the wall, everyone was talking to everyone else. Ashaan was in fine form, swaying even without music, puffing away non-stop. Suddenly he turns to me and announces, "I wanna go running. You coming?". "You wanna go running now? Dude, it's the middle of the night!". Apparently, that wasn't the response he was looking for. Turning to The JTO, who was animatedly discussing Irfan Pathan's bowling with The Fraud, Ashaan announced again, "I wanna go running.". The JTO paused, mid-sentence, and said "Ok?" to Ashaan, and continued his discussion.

Having done that, he turned around, apparently to laugh at Ashaan. But the man had already set off down the road. Arms pumping, head high, potbelly rolling, off into the night. As he disappeared round the bend, we hollered at him to come back. Nothing doing. A full 10 minutes later, we heard the sounds of running footsteps. Yes, Ashaan was back, arms pumping, head high, potbelly rolling. As we cheered loudly, he ran back in through the gate, panting, and drenched in sweat. "What happened Ashaan?", someone asked. Through the gulps of breath, he said, "I felt like puking, so I figured I'd jog it off. And then I smoked, and now I'm back, boys!".

And then he tottered off to the road and proceeded to do exactly what he had "jogged off". We christened the road, Wall Street*.

*pronounced 'vaal' -verb, to puke your guts out. Origin: Malayalam, slang, informal

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

Those were the days when the world was firmly in our grasp. And the hair was firmly on our heads. Everything's slowly changing, but it does feel good, to look back on those not-too-long-ago days of craziness, and go, as Ashan would say, "Aliya, nostalgia!"

The Sesky Six.

Disclaimer: The names used in this blog are purely fictional, though the same cannot be said about the characters. Any resemblance to any person, dead or alive, is therefore purely intentional. The fine print is intentional too.

--------------------------------------------------

In a world full of Heroes and Villains, The Six blur the line that separates the two. Sometimes in the dark, sometimes in the light, they blend seamlessly into each. Talented. Powerful. Enigmatic. They are the Men Of Tomorrow. Well, most of them anyway.

Econo Mystery

On Friday evening, he disappears. Conspiracy theorists believe he teleports to the Magellan Constellation [citation needed]. Returns from his sojourns late, late into the night on Sunday. Sometimes by Monday afternoon. Hidden behind a shaggy mane, his face is as yet unseen by the world. As the end of the month draws near, he switches to a top-secret, highly specialized diet. He is mankind's answer to The Dragon Warrior.

"

Master Tigress : It is said that the Dragon Warrior can go for months without eating, surviving on the dew of a single gingko leaf and the energy of the universe.

"

Well, Dragon Warrior ain't seen nothing yet.




Gizmo Gadget
The ultimate gadget-freak. If it's in the market, he's got it. If it's not in the market yet, he's still got it. His shelves are stocked with "outdated" technology from 3015. 


His current obsessions include :

• an imaging device that actually transforms the surroundings into a place of the user's choice.
• a communications thingmajig that allows per second billing for calls to Alpha Centauri, and, dig this, teleporting.
• a Smoke Device made of Extraterrestrial Crystal. Technically, this is not a gadget. Ah, but who cares, woo-hoo!

Ex Crasy
Years ago, it was rumored that this guy was from another planet. He had the amazing ability to morph into yahoo-road-trip mode in 3.14159265 seconds.Yes, that is pi. Yes, he meant it to be that way. Once, he drank an entire bottle of Absinthe before embarking on a reading marathon that included "The Republic", "Les Miserables" and "The Complete Calvin and Hobbes Collection". Yes, he got through all of them before stifling a yawn.


But then, he met this girl.


Now all he does is shout "Twin-tailed Bushwhacker!" or "Fish-whupped Freefaller!" or something along those lines, every few minutes. Nobody knows what these words mean. But, he insists that in the cosmic sense, they are significant. Nobody knows what that is either.




Sai Lent Maan
He once survived an entire month on air alone. And then he slept. But then, a mortal dared to wake him up. The mortal was skadooshed into tiny, floating particles. 


He rarely spoke, but when he did, the world cowered in fear. He once reduced Hulk Hogan to tears by just looking at him. He was The One they all feared and revered.


But then, he started getting phone calls.




Sodio di Acqua
This jet-setting person lives a 365/24/7 life. Fridays are meaningless to this high-flyer. He is always on the move, sometimes at speeds faster than light itself. No one has seen him during the day. But at night, glimpses of this volatile individual can be caught by the flickering light of a 17" CRT Monitor. He comes, and goes, like lightning. Everything must be done fast, and NOW. And fast.

A repeat offender, he can be identified by his trademark, hedonistic, barf-inducing comments. To ALL photos. Afflicted by the Lastkeystuck Syndrome, his sentences usually end with multiple repetitions of the last character ("wowwwwwwww", "U know whaatttttttt").

Entire tomes have been filled with stories about him. New legends are written about him every day.

He is wanted dead or alive in 3 countries, and dead in 168.

Lightning Bolt Ed

His mind moves at speeds that even light cannot think of. Every decision is made even before the question is asked. Currently the owner of the fastest bike In The Entire Universe, he was pursued by Bajaj, to star in their ad campaign for The World's Fastest Indian.

For him, the past holds no meaning. He lives in the future. He sings songs from the future. His food is made in the future, and time warped to the present. He is The Future.

NOT!

--------------------------------------------------

Fiction! Fiction, I tell you!

"Friday the 13th" PWNED by "Thursday the 12th".

So, Friday the 13th is drawing to a close, and barring any TGIF-booze-fuelled hijinks from here till midnight, I have managed to go through it without any major incidents.

Well, yesterday kinda made up for it anyway. So what happened yesterday? Those of you who follow my tweets, or visit my sporadically-active Orkut/Facebook pages, got the point that my mobile was stolen. Or lost, according to Maraimalai Nagar's finest. 

But as with everything else, things are never what they seem to be. There’s always something that's not said.

Here's what really happened.

My mobile, or ex-mobile anyway, religiously belted out George Thorogood's "Bad To The Bone" at 6.30AM everyday. Including Sundays. And I religiously snoozed it as long as it took for it to the point, and went back to sleep till 7. Or 8. Or 9. Why should yesterday have been any different. As soon as the first guitar riff started echoing in the living room (yeah, we sleep in the living room. Welcome to The Life Of An SE.), I clicked on "Snooze", without even opening my eyes. I've worked at that. Around 7.30, Switchfoot started on "Dare You To Move" to tell me that somebody wanted to talk to me at this ungodly hour. Click. Mercilessly silenced.

What happens next, can be part of any Quentin Tarantino movie. And this is the part that really sucks (nope, still not over the whole lost-my-phone thing!), so I'm just going to rush through this. 

Roomie gets up 7.45ish, leaves for office around 8.30. Leaving the door closed, but not latched. Because the door is usually locked with a padlock from outside. With the three of us inside, not yet back from our trips to Neverland, he usually just closes the door. But the law of averages finally catches up with you when you're bent over, tying your shoelaces. With the emphasis on "bent over".

I finally decide to get up, and reach out for the mobile, which would be in the vicinity of my head. A quick hand-scan reveals that it's not there. So, it must be under the pillow. Right? Wrong! It's nowhere. Maybe Roomie-Who-Leaves-Early was looking at it and kept it somewhere. So I take Roomie 2's phone and dial my number. It's ringing. Except, I can hear it only through his phone.

Someone, let's call him Some Odd Bloke, or SOB for short, picks it up. I appeal in a jumbled mixture of Tamil, Hindi and English for him to return the phone, for which I would pay him whatever he wants. As expected he cuts the call, and after that every call is greeted with "The number you are trying to reach is currently unavilable...".

By this time Roomie 1 and 2 are doing frantic recons inside the house to see what else SOB has taken. All the money from my wallet too. Cards, thankfully, are still intact.

So here's what happened. Roomie-Who-Leaves-Early, does what he does, he leaves early. SOB walks into the house, picks up mobile, pulls out all the money from a wallet that's lying around, and thanks to my outrageous luck, it's mine.

Realization finally sinks in.

Mobile stolen. Check.

Wallet emptied. Check.

All this accomplished right in front of my eyes, except that they were closed. Check.

Major bummer. Double check.

Welcome to Singaperumal Koil. A small town with a big name, hiding unnoticed on the outskirts of both the Chennai and Kancheepuram districts. In fact, it's so strategically placed that neither district wants to claim ownership. A nondescript halt on the Grand Southern Trunk Road. If you run too fast in this town, you end up in the next one. One with an equally imposing name, Maraimalai Nagar.

Welcome to a world where anything is possible. To a world where three laptops are flicked during a power outage from a first floor apartment, because they happened to be near a window. A world where "SE" loosely translates into "Filthy Rich, Arrogant, and Gullible.". Where you have to shoo away the flies to see what you're eating. Welcome to the middle of nowhere.

The fact that a pack of tenacious SEs have survived in this desi equivalent of The Outback for this long is no mean feat. To see a documentary of their "Life", from early 2007, click here. Only 5 of the original 11 now remain. 

So, the done thing when your mobile is stolen is to block your SIM. The highly skilled individuals, down at the call center, put you through a "Virtual Frisk". And they are so polite that, they begin and end a sentence with "Sir". Also, every other sentence is "Thank you, Sir"."Sir, can you please confirm in whose name this number is taken, Sir?". "Thank you, Sir". " Sir, please stay on the line while I retrieve your information, Sir". "Thank you, Sir". Finally, my SIM has been barred.

Apparently, the next thing to do is to mail cop@vsnl.net with the following details.

Notice the use of words lie "just have to" and of course "no need to go to police". So easy. And therefore, guaranteed to NOT work. You see, disabling phones when you give them the IMEI number, is a no-go for GSM phones. ie, unless your phone came with a SIM of it's own, say "Tata goodbye" when you lose it. Atleast, that's what repeated interactions with Highly Skilled Individuals @ Call Center revealed.

Now, there's one part that I've left untouched. And it's my personal favourite. The bureaucracy.

cop@vsnl.net is the terror-inducing email ID of the Cyber Crime Cell. They have a mobile number too. The person who answers it has one thing to tell you. "File FIR local police station". "I sent you an email...hello? hello?". He's said it so many times, to so many gutted people, that it's become a lifeless monotone sans prepositions.

So Roomie-Who-Leaves-Early and me tagged over to the nearest police station. Which is located in the neighbouring town of Maraimalai Nagar. Extremely convenient that Singaperumal Koil does not have a police station of it's own. But that's not the point.

I will try to recreate the conversation from inside that Hallowed Place.

Me : Sir, my phone was stolen from inside my house.

Sir : Who stole?

Me : Eh?

Sir : Who allowed inside house?

Me : Huh?

Sir : Go see Madam. (...pronounced "Me-dum".)

Me : Thank you, sir.

Madam, meanwhile, was busy yelling at someone. So we waited outside, till she spotted us, and indicated that we should enter her presence.

Me : Madam, my phone was stolen from inside my house.

Madam : How door open?

Me : Door was not latched, only closed. (Notice that talking to important people with a lesser command of the language forces you to speak like them.)

Madam : Aha! You not take care of things, then what we do?!

Me : But ma'am, it was taken from inside the house!

Madam : No! How you know?

Me : Madam, I called the number and...

Madam : I see people like you daily. College students, roaming around on two wheeler, at 2 or 3 at night, all ganja.

At this point, I realize that the conversation is totally out of our hands. Which is a fate that it now shares with my mobile too.

Madam keeps going for another few minutes in a staccato mix of Tamil and English. We have reached a point where we expect her to accuse us of stealing a phone. But the storm blows over and she asks us to come the next day to see The Inspector. But, she says "Only missing! No stolen". 

Me : But madam, my phone was taken from inside the house!

Madam : Missing only!

Me : Thank you, madam.

I called up the Cyber Crime Cell to inquire whether a missing statement would be enough. "File FIR local police station".

It's like a thick fog that engulfs you. Bureaucracy truly rules. In every sense of the word.

Yeah, so coming back to where I started. 

Compared to this, Friday the 13th paled in comparison. That kind of stuff is hard to live up to. 




PS : And speaking of PWNED!, check this out. "Sick, Wicked and Nasty."

When Bell-bottoms Ruled The Earth.

NOTE : 'Jump Breaks' DO NOT work! So it's a long, long post. Any help on this will be appreciated.


Things are never what they seem to be. There’s always something they don’t tell you. Like, about that time your dad asked your mom out for the first time.

They went for a movie, The Sound Of Music. And then, Happily Ever After.

Sure. That’s what they tell you. But here’s what really happened.

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

When Bell-Bottoms Ruled The Earth

Circa 1965.

“So tell me about her, this girl you’re pursuing”.

“Oh, it’s nothing really. Just a passing fancy. A natural curiosity. “

“Oh really. And that is why you want me to build a mini-tracking device?”

“Er. Well it’s kinda complicated.”

***


Well it was. Ms. Kelly was the object of my affection, secret as of yet. But I planned to change all that. If I could tell her apart from Ms. Sheila, her identical twin. But it was nigh impossible. It was like trying to tell apart one electron from the other. Which was certainly an interesting concept, because no two electrons behaved the same way twice under the exact same conditions according to a latest study.

But that was not the point.

Ms. Kelly. I could tell it was really her once we had talked for a couple of minutes, but there was no way I could tell her from her twin at first glance. Both of them were fellow lecturers at the college where I taught, I mean “tried to teach”, doped-out, hippie clones the way around the atom. And guess what, they both taught Math. So that was a dead-end street.

A couple of times I’d passed one of them in the corridors, wasn’t exactly sure which one it was. So I smiled, and tried not to, both at once, which in retrospect definitely did not look good at all. And this one time, I was talking to one of them, only to find out after a few minutes that I was flirting with the wrong twin. Thankfully, she didn’t realize that I was flirting. Well, it was rather cunningly disguised.

So, what I needed was a way to tell them apart at first glance. Some kind of mark. But that was out of the question, because it would look rather suspicious if I tried to brand one of them. What I needed was a signal that would tell me it was Kelly, and not Sheila. A signal. And a signal meant…

“Bill, I need a favor”

<! -- more -->

***

“And this is what you came up with? A mini-Geiger counter and a radium diode?”

“Well, you have to admit, it's a stroke of genius.”

“It’s crazy! Are you out of your mind? For one, how do you plan to implant it on her?”

“Oh. Yes. That. Well, that’s the other favor.”

“Huh? You want me to do what?”

“I have observed she wears a hairband, you just have to tape it to it. And it’s most convenient since both of you share the same staffroom. Thanks, Bill.”

“No no no, I meant that in the tone of ‘You want me to do WHAT?!’”

***

So, finally, Bill has agreed to The Mission, as we’re calling it now. The Ticker is coming along nicely too. It’ll fit in my pocket and start ticking whenever that radium diode comes close. So you see, I have my signal!

Kelly, here I come!

***

Tick. Tick. Tick tick tick.

“Good morning Professor O’Hara, I love what you’ve done with your hair today”

“Oh! Thank you, Professor Mitchell. And a very good morning to you too.”

Smile.

Blush.

Tick. Tick.

***

Hah. “Crazy”, sayest thou, Bill?

***

Tick tick tick.

“Hello Professor O’Hara, what do you think of  Julie Andrews?”

“Why, Professor Mitchell, she’s my favorite!”

“Oh do call me Kenneth. Or better still, Ken”

“Well, only if you call me Kelly.”

Smile. “Sure, Kelly.”

Blush.

***

Things are going swimmingly. As a matter of fact, I’m going to ask her out tomorrow. To the Sound Of Music. That should seal it.

***

Tick tick tick.

“Say Kelly, how about a movie, this Saturday?”

“Oh. Oh! Well, I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s the Sound Of Music.”

“Oh! Wow. I, er, hmmm, oh, er, okay.” Blush.

“It’s a date then. Tomorrow evening, 6, then?”

“Uh huh.”

***

“I did it! I did it, Bill. I asked her out!”

“Are you sure you asked the right one?”

“Of course I’m sure, she ticked!”

“Oh. Hmmm, I’m surprised that thing still works.”

“Of course it does. Like a charm!”

“Hmmm, you still need a ticker to recognize your paramour. My my, what a sad Romeo you are.”

“Har har. Well I’m getting better at it, I just need some more time.”

***


I showed up as the Town Hall gong sounded out six times. Parking my trusty Vespa outside her gate, I walked up the driveway, bell-bottoms flapping in the evening breeze, and rang the doorbell. I was greeted by a walrus mustache.


“So you’re Professor Mitchell?”.

The dad.

“Good evening, Mr. O’Hara!”

I’ve heard they do this on purpose to see if the man can stand up to The Dad Test. If you do, you’re in. I think I did. Because he told me to bring them back by 9. No later.

Wait. Did he say “them”?

***

I had a situation on my hands. Plan A had been busted by Mr. Dad-Hopefully-In-Law. Sheila would be coming along. As a chaperone. Yeah, it was a situation. Because, I had no Plan B. And I wasn’t the what you would call, a “go-with-the-flow”, or a “make-it-up-as-you-go-along”, or something to that effect, kind of guy. And so, I did what any self respecting guy, head over heels in love with a girl too awesome for him, would do.

I panicked.

The Vespa had to go. Atleast, disappear temporarily. I slipped out surreptitiously, and wheeled it to a rundown shed next to the gate. I was back on the couch flipping through the newspaper, nonchalantly, when she came down the stairs.

She looked rather nice. Beautiful, and all those things.

Her hair was let down from the tight ponytail she sported in the college. It cascaded down in wavy, well, waves to her shoulders. But I didn’t see that. Because all I could see, or rather couldn’t see, was the hairband. There was no hairband on her head! Why was there no hairband?!

And just to add a nice touch of madness to the mystery, the other one was coming down the stairs now. Dang it, her hair was loose too! This was Kelly. Yeah. Or was it? Didn’t she have smaller eyes than Sheila? Or did she?

My trusty Ticker was just dead weight in my pocket now. I might as well throw it at Mr. Walrus-Mustache and make my getaway while I still had some of my pride left. I found myself thinking about how fast I could get to the Vespa and get it running.


One of them was saying something.

“You don’t mind do you? Daddy insisted.”


Of course I minded! I ground my teeth at no one in particular, but directed it in the general direction of a walrus mustache. Inwardly. Outwardly, I shrugged, again nonchalantly. “No problem.” I chanced an easy grin, but it came out like a snorted grimace. “None at all.”

I wanted to say she looked beautiful, but supposing it was the wrong twin? My first date would be over before it began. So I chose to run my fingers through my hair instead. All cool and nonchalant. Maybe one of them would drop a hint. I just had to bid my time. That was it. That was all.

***

“Hmmm, you still need a ticker to recognize your paramour. My my, what a sad Romeo you are.”

Oh, shut up, Bill’s Voice.

***

She’s sitting next to me, so she should be Kelly, after all, she wouldn’t let her sister sit between us on the first date.

“…The hills are alive…with the sound of music…”


Sheila’s supposed to chaperone. Of course, she’s sitting between us.

“…how do you solve a problem like Maria…”


But what if it’s Kelly? Wouldn’t she think it was highly unnatural if you paid her no attention at all?

“…leigh odeleigh odeleigh eee oooh…”


You know, the worst thing EVER, would be to make a move for her hand now, and then find out that it was the wrong girl. So stay put! Biding your time, remember?

“…Edelweiss, edelweiss…”


Ok, it’s now or never. Take her hand. It’s right there. Move your hand. Move it!

Or, I’ll wait a little while longer. She’s bound to say something that would give away who she is.

“…Climb every mountain…”

Ok, this has got to be the worst first date ever. I don’t even know who my date is. And it’s almost over.

“…when you find your dream!”

I’m going to throw the Ticker at the screen.

***

“Oh, it was wonderful! The songs, and the children! And ooh, Julie Andrews!”

“Oh yeah. That. Wasn’t it? I liked it too.”  What children? There were children in the movie?

Please God, or Whoever Is In Charge. I just want to know who it is. That’s all. Just one tiny sign. I just want to know.

***

“Here we are. Home before 9. Just as I promised.”  Dang!

“Thank you Professor Mitchell, and goodnight! It was a great movie! I’ll let you two say goodnight”,  said one of them, and walked up the driveway.


The sign! Kelly was standing by me, smiling. She was the one who’d been sitting next to me! And dammit, I hadn’t held her hand! I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed. I was pretty sure a squeak escaped me.

“The movie was really something eh? I mean, riveting. Couldn’t take my eyes off it.”


“Oh, me too. Hmmm, you look strikingly different than you do at college.”


“And that is good or bad?”  What did I just say?

“Goodnight, Ken. I really had a wonderful time.”

And she smiled that enigmatic smile, the kind that ladies world over have used with far-reaching consequences.

***

It’s said that God or Whoever Is In Charge intervenes only when we mess it up so bad, that only He can set things right.

***

I threw the Ticker off a bridge on the way back home.

***

And yeah, there was a Happily Ever After.  That should prove something, though I’m not really sure what.

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

And THAT is what really happened. Don't trust me? Ask them. Go ahead.