Thursday, May 31, 2007

what's Happiness?

For me it's babies laughing...

Dancing in the rain...

Running at break neck speed in a flowery meadow...

Getting a group hug from your family, your friends..

What's happiness to you?

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Dusty stories-3




From Dust to Dust.

The end approaches.Soon The Four will bid adieu to Ambattur.

Shouldn't the quartet be delirious with joy?
Shouldn't they reel with delight at the thought of dust-less days?

Then why do they feel depressed at thought of leaving?

Ah the irony!

The last few days had been some of the best. Ames, Pyne and Bentley had their names in print and Agent Gunther had several diplomatic assignments in the Reporting Arena. The dust no longer stung as much. They had met absolutely fascinating people like The Disciple and Ten-o-clocker. Even pestilences like the Burper, the Potato-Man and Bulb-Eye had become bearable.They had unforgetable experiences like Bentley's massaging travails, Ames' dizzy spell(NOT FAINT), Pyne's hitherto unknown fans asking for doubtlessly good-looking Pyne's details to supply their smitten friends with. And how can the author forget the dear Mother Goose who showed Pyne,Bentley and Ames the wonders of anna Nagar like Oddessey, besides others.

And of course the buses.

These Terrors of the road have turned into familiars. Though bus routes are still a coiled mystery and small change is permanently elusive- the Four are no longer the novices that hung on for dear life on the bars of an MTC. They are veterans of the road wars- nearly killed, almost hauled out, stepped on, prodded, squashed...they have survived. And now they will be no more surfing, no more long discussions on love, art and the universe of Ambattur.Ah the loss of those days full camaraderie- cursing the heat with good humored vehemence,swearing sweetly at the sweat, laughing like loons at jokes nobody else would find even remotely funny- How will they live without it?

Yet the Four Interns lift up their chins. They will not bend in despondency. The Dusty stories may have ended, but their stories will go on. They turn their faces to the burning sun and look to the road ahead.

After all..

Tomorrow is another day.

God's own country...

Saturday, May 26, 2007


This is going to be one of those entries which seem to circle around something, which turns out to be nothing.Trying to write something purposeful now is a vain venture. For one thing it's TOO HOT! And for another-I've been supplied with a temperamental keyboard which needs to be rammed by a sledgehammer for a letter to manifest itself on the hallowed screen.(So please excuse any spelling errors- it's the keyboard's fault!)

It has been a week of sorts. The only thing that's been steady is the climbing heat. Highs include a published article each by both my comrades and me. Lows include excess body fat, failing electricity,bus travel and a drought in eye-candy.

While we're on that topic- where have all the good men gone???? Seriously, are all the groovy (or marginally groovy)men cloistered in some inaccessible copse away from us women?? The few that escape appear on movie screens,tantalise young women deprived of eye-sustenance;and leave in a cloud of stardust.We are abandoned again to walk in the desert.Men seem to have all the luck! There are lots of pretty girls. But what about us women? Are we all expected to be Desdemonas or Titanias? I should hope not!
All you good-looking guys out there better make yourself visible soon. If you don't, just remember: You can run, you can hide but can't escape! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!*maniacal grin and thunder and lightning in the background*

I'm off to stalk prey.

Monday, May 21, 2007

A Little Chicken is a dangerous thing

When you see a chicken- you know how the phrase "dumb bird" came to being.The bird is a bird-brained, dumb-duck! I know it's a foul way to speak of the delicious fowl- but if you ask me, chickens are best on the dinner platter liberally garnished with gravy and other mouth watering delicacies or fried to a crisp with lots of spice. But if you see these dumb birds as subservient sufferers, you are much mistaken. They do get their revenge. The occasional bird flu back fires and ends up getting more chickens that humans being killed-but I repeat: They get their revenge.

The thought hit me like a monster MTC bus when a dish of roast chicken and mashed potatoes was placed before moi. My mouth watered, my stomach rumbled enthusiastically- but there was a small problem. I was expected to eat with a knife and fork. I was as alien to flatware etiquette as a bear to Einstein's Theory of Relativity! My friend rocked on her seat crying mirthful tears watching my struggles. And I ground my teeth and glared at the big, fat, haunch of meat sitting and blinking at me like some dumbass chicken! But no bird-dead or alive- was going to get the better of me! HAH!

I rammed the fork in and hacked away at the chicken like a maddened Ghenghis Khan only to be rewarded by a tiny sliver of meat. Not one to be disheartened I persevered- splattering my table-mat, my table-mate, the surrounding tables and myself liberally with gravy and mashed potatoes. We battled to and fro neither side relenting. The enemy was a deadly fighter- "dead" being the operative word. But I'm no chicken. The war was turning messier by the minute.And my friend was falling off her chair with laughter.

But at last human nature got the upper hand and most of the dead bird disappeared down the gullet. But there were losses on both sides. On my side it was mostly of dignity. And also a certain feeling that the spirit of that exasperating chicken had been watching and having a hearty laugh- damned bird!

Needless to say- I beat a hasty retreat.

Monday, May 14, 2007

An Evening with Hunk

>"...And so he roamed the land
To prove his spunk,
And for some weird reason
He was called Prince Hunk..."

- from The Prince, the Damsel and the Evil Drrragon

Prince Hunk is truly charming- chivalrous,kindly and forever ready with interesting conversation. These qualities made the Narrator, Bard and The Evil Drrragon pounce upon the oppurtunity for an evening of fun and frolic in the Prince's palace. Sadly the Skunk could not make it.

It was the Prince's feast day and there was a promise of great things. We were much honored when we were personally escorted by the great Prince to the palatial abode where we presented the great soul with a tribute of a DVD,a card and an edition of the Arabian Nights.

And then began the fun.

The Prince,though valorous ad brave, lacked confidence in the kitchen. The Bard, the Narrator and the Drrragon(let's settle on D because typing so many Rs is a problem)jumped to the task and summoning the powers of the Witches of Chocbeth prepared to brew the bhel puri mix and create cinammon toast. The Bhel puri was perfect (probably because it involved merely mixing up processed foods ) the cinnamon toast was...delicious and entertaining. We got to play jigsaw puzzles with it since it kept falling appart (we soaked it too much). But all said and done with laddles of cinammon (Prince Hunk) and dollops of honey (the Narrator) and well cooked toast (the Bard) it was an unforgettable evening. Highlights included when the bard "searched for the prince's eggs" and the D announced the two toasts bound in holy toastrimony. After the bold culinary adventure was completed the troops departed to savour the fruits of their labour and sip on cold coffee to the accompaniment of the ipod and conversation.

But the time came for us to part....

We bid a reluctant adieu from our beloved Hunk who had shown so much spunk in the kitchen, and trailed a sad trail away from Venus colony. As we looked back for the last time, the after taste of cinamon and honey playing upon our tongues- we knew this was one of the sweetest evenings we'll e'er have in our college life.

Walk in the Light Prince Hunk.


Dusty Stories-2

AUTHOR'S NOTE:All those who have no idea what Dusty Stories-2 is about are requested to read Dusty Stories-1.

STATUTORY WARNING-These entries are purely non-fictional. Any resemblance to people living or dead are completely intentional. The reader undertakes reading this at her/his own risk. We will not be held responsible for future dust-phobia or any dust related disorders that may strike the reader post reading.


Dust is dangerous.

It does baaaaad things to you.
And that is besides the inevitable scratchiness.

The fellowship of Gunther,Ames,Pyne and Bentley have found, in a series of formidable battles with this sifty adversary, that prolonged exposure to dust causes a definite case of Cuckosia Mentalosa.

It begins with a vague feeling of light headed-ness. This can easily be mistaken for dehydration- but beware! Then come the bouts of hysterical senseless giggling.Finally the all out loss of sanity which may result in various complications and embarrassment to the person next to you. Some of the catalogued results are- singing loudly(understatement)in the middle of the road, shouting comments at unwary passerbys, trying to do pull ups on a bus bar when there isn't room enough for a squashed sardine and of course the general obstruction of peace.
Ames was the worst hit. Generally an effervecent and not too inhibited soul- Ames became an uncontrollable lunatic and did all the above mentioned activities and grinned apologetically at the chaos. Though Ames was the worst case- the other bold warriors also succumbed to the dreadful (but rather entertaining)disease.

And as if cuckosia wasn't bad enough, there was also the fact that the fellowship members began to resemble baked bricks and feel like grime pots.

After the stint in the Editorial, Ames,Bentley and Pyne were removed to Reporting. Gunther-still painfully separated- was posted in the Editorial. The Three reporterns gave Gunther valuable insight on the working of the said department; especially of the in charge- let's call him King-go-Milk - who had a penchant for telling long stories and interesting tid-bits:especially when we have to run and catch the bus.

The three interns at Reporting valiantly approached the Reporting department. Our fellow worker at the editorial [who,btw,never failed to point out that she was from Mumbai,with the familial background of the SIS college(probably affiliated to the BRO college,the DAD College and the MUM college...and so on and so forth){I use a lot of parentheses}]who had had some experience in the reporting dept filled our heads with images of having to travel to faraway lands and returning back to dustville merely to give in a measley report.

On entering the alien portals we were made to follow the general axiom of The Newspaper,remnicent of Gandalf,"And now we wait". When finally we met the great man-let's call him the Ten-o-Clocker - who headed the dept we arrived just in time to hear the head declare "Let them arrest me!I don't give a damn!" At which, this writer admits, we were much impressed. It's not everyday that a man proffesses to want to ride in the paddy-wagon! We were immediately given work. "Ah something to get our teeth into" Thought the three. The mission quickly accomplished, we returned to be given our first assignment only to be told to call at 10. " Such a great aura of mystery" thought Ames. "Did he really mean 10 at night?" pondered Pyne.

Dutifully we called and were sent bounding off to places we had never heard of before. In the following days we did all the things we were afraid of doing- namely getting lost in the middle of nowhere(Ames), being mistaken for a kid(Pyne), getting to the venue to find NOBODY around (Bentley), and generally being clueless( need I say- ALL).
Yet we shouldered our burdens and forged ahead despite heat,sweat and damn it all DUST!! We kept a smile on our face -maniacal though it may have been. for after all-
tomorrow is another day...

*To be continued*

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Dusty Stories-1

Zealously cutting short our vacation in order to get a taste of "profession", four of us- let's call us Ames, Gunther, Bentley and Pyne- set out to the glowing portals of Indian Express.Please note- it was only while setting out that we were zealous. One look at the prospective travel lowered our zeal considerably.

Ah, forgive me. I'm being circuitous. Let's start at the very beginning- it's a pretty good place to start.

We four pioneers of the English stream, chose to do a course that requires an internship. Being the worthy students that we are we chose to go to a prestigious company- and therefore: The Newspaper. We were required to submit a letter to the editor warning him of our impending arrival. A noble thought. The place was located in Amabttur- and the light in our glowing faces dimmed. "Ah well, worth a try." said the enthusiastic four.

The scenic beauty of Ambattur exists wholly in the imagination.
Comprising mostly of dust,grime,hardware stores and unending heat- the Industrial Estate was a planet away from comfort. It would have helped if the place were accesible but... let's just say if the work didn't kill us the travel would.But forever the optimists we persevered.

The bus ride didn't help.
The sight of dust, dust and more dust also didn't help.
And being made to wait for 1 and a half hours and then being told that the editor was not even there definitely DID NOT HELP.

"What nonsense!" cried Gunther in rage. Ames was also not very amicable. However, Bentley and Pyne,forever the souls calmness, said, "It's alright we'll come again later."

Thus began a series of phone calls to ascertain when to come. (We have come up with a most excellent theory- they give internship applicants the ONE number that will NEVER be picked up.)Finally we were asked to meet the great man at a specified time.

And so, once again we undertook the ardorous journey. Saw dust dust and more dust. (not to mention garbage and plastic). Reached the destination. And was met by the Editor's secretary- let's call him Seven-Hills. Seven-Hills asked us to wait an hour(they seem to go by Milton's axiom- "...even those are served who stand and wait")After which-JOY OF JOYS- our letter was accepted and we were officially intern-ised!!

And thus began the great saga of The Internship!

On the appointed day(May 2)at the appointed time (12.30) we met the ever present Seven-Hills. He mercilessly separated the foursome and now Gunther walks alone in the world of Features while Ames, Bentley and Pyne were assigned to the editorial. Burying our sorrows, we enthusiastically set out revolutionise the editorial!!!- and were made to wait. Till 5. And finally were set free without having done anything. Oh the Humanity!!! More like oh the dust! But- tomorrow is another day...

*To Be Continued*

The Case of the Missing PAss book

Have you ever heard that story of the old miser who buried all his gold under a tree to return and find there so many similar trees around that he didn't know whaere his gold was? The word he was probably searching for at that moment was "GAAAAAH!!!"

Well that poor miser has my entire sympathies!

Yours truly is notorious for her carelessness. Therefore, when my family saw me off at the hostel doorway their last advice was "Take care of your stuff." Well...I DID take care of my stuff. I knew exactly where everything was(well atleast most of the time). But disaster struck when I went to Delhi.

My pass book was very important.It was that golden key to my bank and therefore my financial stability. So when I left Chennai, I made sure I kept it safe and sound.
Sadly, I kept it SO safe, that when I returned I couldn't find it!
I searched high and low and in between to no avail. The pass book was in the limbo of lost things.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the same thing hadn't happened again! I return from Kuwait without any fears and then realise i can't remember where the blessed thing is! Damn, blast and every other expletive!

It wouldn't hurt so much if I HAD been careless. The whole problem arose because i SO careful. The Irony! The Injustice! The sheer Idiocy!! Is there some conspiracy to make sure I'm pass book-less atleast once a year?!Ah well... c'est la vie Join me in prayer that the bank issues a new pass book for me without kicking up a truckload of dust, and that at least this one doesn't leave me in the lurch.