Oct 24, 2007

The Zound Of Muzic

       The zimpleness of it all zuggezted an ill-concealed notion of complacence. I admired her. She was very careful and decidedly clever. Amidst the background sounds of a semi-nude female, tearing out her lungs exprezzing her undying love, she had almost disguised it. But I knew and gave her a patronizing smile. She smiled back confusingly. I patted her hand and murmured, "I know, my dear. Don't worry, I wont tell anyone". I whipped out my handkerchief and inconzpicuouzly blocked my nazal apertures, just to show her that I meant what I zaid.

       She turned, apparently befuddled and continued to watch the movie. But I knew. Let me take you through my inferential procezz.

Step 1:
It was Pungin who suggested that we go for a movie. Me, Dorky, and Saastha unzuccezzfully objected, vehemently. She stood on her nut and refused to budge. She even gave us a lewd wink and that apparently did the damage. Dorky keeled over, like a pile of uneaten dog biscuits and it was three against one. Saastha was smitten by Dorky, you see.

Step 2:
It was Pungin again, who pranced out of the auto, her co-ordinates set on a decrepit pani-puri stall that seemed to be constructed out of broomsticks and smelt like the Coovum; only worse. The shop owner looked greasy as did his nails. My masticated lunch roze to my throat, which I zupprezzed with a cough, a hiccough and a hiccup.

Step 3:
Me, Saastha, a group of gawking locals and a rabid dog watched Pungin and Dorky polish off puri after puri after puri. I could hear Dorky's pant buckles trying to zwear and groan at the same time. Pungin was wearing zynthetic zweat pantz and they must have been quite flexible to accomodate her cud.

Step 4:
The zecond we entered the multiplex, Sastha and Pungin suddenly disappeared and reappeared ten minutes later, looking a bit too flushed and relieved for comfort. My grey zells kicked my brain's butt and both of them started their ruminations.

Step 5:
My Biology Sir's credentials, when he taught me the mechanizms of the lower abdomen were pretty good. In spite of the fact that his daughter eloped with his cook instead of his driver. Consequentially, I had to shell out fifty rupeez having lost the bet.

Step 6:
The primary goal of every hand-driven cartwallah in Ahmedabad, is to add potatoes to everything that they coddle and are mostly the banes of the human inteztine.

Step 7:
The movie began. I was sitting in between Saastha and Pungin. Dorky was on the other side of Saastha and znored through most of the movie. Pungin occasionally squirmed in her seat, at regular intervals. My doubt train chugged away.

       Zeconds before the interval, I heard it. It was very muffled. But my ears, as my ENT zpecializt would say, were too good and instantly picked up the sonic waves. Burnt cotton fumes, pervaded the circumference of my body's circle of authority.

       It was a fart.

       A shrewdly released fart at that. It did not take me long to add 1 and 1 and come up with 84.72. It had to be Pungin. I turned and smiled at her, assuring her. She waz a bit miffed, that I knew her secret. But nevertheless, once again Chimp had proved his mettle and he gave himself a well-deserved pat.
     An hour later, we were travelling in the auto back to the institute. Being the youngest and the smallezt, I was forced to perch myself on Pungin while Dorky travelled, snoring on Saastha's shoulder. The wind froze my vitals and I pulled myself closer, with Saastha's cotton dupatta. Cotton dupatta?? Lightning burnt my neuronz and instantly everything fell in place. Saastha was wearing a cotton salwar. She did not eat the pani-puri because she had eaten at the mess. The menu had aloo mutter today.
      I slapped my forehead and curzed. I had been blind and foolish. It was not too late now. I squeezed Saastha's hand, told her I knew, muttered a zorry to Pungin who by now had decided that I was a potential threat to the sane community while I gave myself the selfsame well-deserved pat. Elation filled my innards. Chimp's deductionz are never questioned. Never.

       And then, Dorky farted in his sleep.

Oct 22, 2007


      I had to do it. It was too sensational to resist. I am still recovering from aching ribs. The worst part was, I saw it the minute after I read the following headlines off an old copy of The Times of India, "VIRGIN STRIP FOR T-20 CLASH". My lecherous thoughts were betrayed their share.
      Anyway, here is what I actually saw. :D

Oct 13, 2007

The Hole In The Wall

        I was sitting in the auditorium, dozing away. I had never wanted to come. I felt myself slowly slipping away, again.

        It was an hour ago, when DFock came poking around at my door, armed with a file and smacked my round butt awake. I was well into re-discovering the plains of
Ayesha Takia, before this imbecile messed it up. He was going for a presentation that was to be given by a MNC and he wanted company. In effect, he wanted me.

        I lethargically rose, stretched, swore at him with the choicest words and promptly went back to sleep, pulling the pillow over my head. I was in no mood to listen to a guy in a black suit, flinging words like markets, hedge funds, investment banking, sectors and the like. I was better off with my girl, Takia. And being one of the only two members of the famous, Young Achiever Ayesha Takia Fan Club (the biggest Ayesha Takia fan gathering in Asia), I did think I had my priorities right. But Dfock was not one to accept defeat at the hands of Young Achiever Ayesha Takia and played his trump card.

"They are giving free pizzas."

        Ten minutes later, I was walking, dressed smartly in a bright red shirt, brown trousers, brown shoes, brown belt, hair combed, face well-powdered; looking good enough to screw Amitabh Bachhan's Reid & Taylor contract.
        In line with my prognostications, there was a man in a black suit, who did use a lot of words that seriously sounded troll to me. I drifted away, within seconds. As time progressed, the presentation got duller and duller. Towards the end, the man in the black suit himself, was so bored that he yawned widely, displaying his wide array of yellowing teeth and quickly wound up the presentation, commencing the rush for the pizzas. I ran first, grabbed a Coke bottle, a pizza and professionally, slipped under the cover of the dark, tripping over a dozen people in the process, to a tree and started the assimilation. I was soon joined by DFock, a couple of mutts, a crow, a few flies and 32 mosquitoes.
        I was deeply involved in the demolishing, when nature gave me her call as she always does, in the most inappropriate places and at, singularly, the most inappropriate times. I told DFock to protect my pizza with his life and rushed to the nearest restroom.
        There were many a time, in the intrepid life of Chimp that he has encountered indescribable dangers, endured pains beyond the thinkable, slept with female lions, grappled with bearded bears and scared the crap out of a bunch of dingos. But he had never encountered something this obscene or horrific.
        As I was relieving myself, I was startled out of my wits by a sound that suddenly came out of one of the cubicles. The voice was singing; rather trying to sing, an old Ilayaraja song. As the song rose in pitch, the voice grew shriller. I fell, clutching my heart, my hands flew to my ears and hair; the sound was simply horrendous. Ilayaraja would have cut off his right hand and drowned himself in the Cauvery. It made my testicles shrink; my nerves snapped, my eyes gouged themselves out, the toilet mirrors cracked, a lizard dropped dead and Al-Jazeera broadcast Lindsay Lohan's video. The voice was the scourge of the universe. I did not want to die. Not at least, this way. It felt undignified. I ran out in sheer fright; extremely relieved that I had survived. Unaware that I had forgotten something. Something important. Very important

        I reached DFock, who had unashamedly, finished his pizza along with mine and burped loudly in my face. Disgusted, I turned and snowballed into a senior Placecomm member, who started yelling his big head off. He asked us to mingle with the delegates who had come to give the presentation and behave like good managers. Obediently, I strode up to the man in the black suit, who by now had a hot female in a short skirt accompanying him, answering questions to a huge motley crowd that had gathered around him. I joined the crowd and animatedly asked dumb questions and irrelevant doubts.

I did not notice when the others pointed and gestured.
I did not notice when the man in the black suit replied to my questions with a smile, every time.
I did not notice when the female blushed furiously.
I did not notice when a couple of girls in the crowd fainted.

I finally noticed, when I reached my room and looked at myself in the mirror.

        My shirt was poking out of my zipper which unfortunately was open. I ran out of the balcony and jumped. Almost. And then I laughed.
        I do have the balls, I thought. My auricles swelled with pride.

Oct 4, 2007

Faux Pas

        I strode as calmly as I could to the door and slowly opened it. The second I opened it, my feet pedaled swiftly, into a run. I ran like my life depended on it. And it sort of did. Seconds later, the doors opened again and people spilled out in a rush, yelling with wrath and pure, unbridled anger, brandishing ink pens, pencil sharpeners, rulers, case materials, banana peels, tumblers, hair clips, used condoms, chappals with and without heels, laptop adapters and even a bucket of cold water. In pursuit, of the one person responsible for everything.


     In my defense, I swear on every god of the Norse mythology, that I never intended to, in the first place. It was a chocolate wrapper. Trust me. In the most unlikely case, that you don't, here it is how it was a chocolate wrapper.

23 hours 10 minutes ago:

      My room fan was spewing out guttural noises and wind in equal proportions. I was having a rather weird nightmare where, me and my girlfriend were in a boxing match, with two bulky, grotesque ogres, who bore uncanny resemblances to my future in-laws. I peered closely trying to figure out who they were and completely missed the roundhouse punch that came out of nowhere and dislodged half my dental assets on it's way. I howled like a wounded buffalo and swore long and loud. My wife jumped into the ring and promptly handed me a mirror. I, like the proverbial born idiot, looked into it and a shock worth 24,000V instantly passed through me, as I tried to give a toothless yellow grin.
     I woke up sweating. "Whew!" I said, after the same old, boring things that people usually say when they have a ruddy nightmare and crawled out of the bed, groggily. I was hungry and wanted to munch something, urgently. I blindly felt my way to the pantry, blindly felt and took out a Cadburys bar, blindly tore open the wrapper and blindly slept off. The Cadbury's bar slipped onto the floor along with the wrapper, uneaten and it lay there.
     The next day, I woke up and dressed hurriedly in a shirt and a pair of brown trousers that were lying there on the floor. I ran out of my room with my bag, having forgotten to put on my underwear, noticed it halfway through, went back again to do it, almost did, deliberated for quite a long time weighing the options of getting publicly exposed, finally decided against it, blamed the damned heat and bolted for class.
      Class went on normally; read absolutely boring and as usual I imitated a perfect dork to the bone. Until then. It all happened in the last five minutes of the last period. Everybody was quite exhausted and desperately wanted the hour to get over. And suddenly, like Venus, my hand rose.
      I rue the action now, as I nurse my broken bones and black bruises. It was all because of that chocolate bar and its wrapper. If I had eaten it, the local ant army would not have come to devour it. If they had not come, a stray, vagabond ant would not have tried the Indiana Jones act and started exploring my clothes. If it had not climbed up into my shirt, it would not have bit my upper arm and I, for all the rotten, damned, luck in the world, would not have been forced to put my hand up, involuntarily. In pain, of course.
      The class went silent. I could hear a mosquito, farting. The professor looked at me in disbelief and I looked back in horror. I had to ask a doubt. It was the cardinal rule and having raised my hand, there was no turning back. I rummaged through the dull, grey mass of matter rotting away within my skull, pulled out a question that in every sense, made absolute nonsense and lobbied it at him, hoping for a miracle.
      Nope. God was royally pissed with me. Of all the luck, it so happened that it was the professor's favorite area and he launched into one of the longest lectures that went on, for what looked like many days. Seasons changed. Britney's daughter eloped with my son. Agarkar had bowled a maiden over. And Bush mysteriously disappeared into the African jungle. Anyway, by the time the professor finished, my section mates' hunger had abated. But something else had taken it's place. Something that made them flex their muscles. Something that would make me invoke my health insurance. Something bad.

78 seconds later:

Which is why, I am running now.