Being on Twitter is like finding a table in a college canteen. It's been a while since I was in one. It may be different now. But I doubt it very much. Feel free to visualise your own memory. +
The college canteen is a no frills place. A large hall with tables with chairs around them. Ceiling fans ineffectual against heat and flies. A self service area. A counter for tokens. +
Students in their habitual gangs. Of course there are the loners. And the lovers. And the occasional cool professor, happy to hang out with the kids. +
Sometimes you walk in alone, in search of a table to join. Alone by circumstance, not choice. Because of a delayed experiment in the lab, an overdue library book you never read to be returned, some random bureaucracy like showing your July fee receipt to someone. Whatever. +
So you navigate your way across the hall with your cup of tea and samosas. You wave to someone. Nod at another. Ignore someone who's trying to catch your eye. Say congrats to someone for some achievement. You say it like you mean it. You don't. +
There's the nerdy group. Front to mid benchers. 90% attendance. That too without proxy. Have proper notes. Actually use library cards for reference books. Discussing mid term portions. And Pran Nath and Agarwal Question 7, Chapter 2. +
Then there are the lords of the last bench. Here after unbunkable pracs. Hence in full strength. Noisy as hell. Lots of laughter. Occupying way more space than they need. Planning the next (insert banned activity) session. +
The lefties. Discussing the next edition of the magazine nobody reads. And drafting a petition protesting something. +
The bullies. Led by the Big Brawn, surrounded by his spoons. Somehow, they get served at the table. And get off-menu items. They are discussing UP politics. Way more complex than Maxwell's equations. They are allowed to smoke. Or rather not disallowed. +
The lit cul music theatre gang. Passionately planning a festival that will attract loser teams from loser colleges because there are already so many other popular festivals. +
The geeks are at a table. There are some words of a known language in between all the other words they speak. They look a little crazy. They are actually a little crazy. +
The bridge gang. They need a bath. They haven't changed clothes for days. They haven't slept in ages. They are discussing how they should have bid at last night's game. +
Your tea and samosas are getting cold. You decide you'll just sit quietly somewhere and try to not look like a loner. Someone passes by and asks 'What's happening?'
ANTHE
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Today is a good day to tell you the story of how my 85 year old grandmother helped us win the IPL. I will not tell you which edition it was. I am sworn to secrecy. +
I was on the bench the entire season. I didn't play a single match. I fielded as a substitute, for a couple of overs in our tenth game. I took a catch and saved 7, maybe 8, runs. I didn't get picked at the auctions ever again. But it was my paati who helped us lift the trophy.+
I should probably go back to where this story starts. My childhood. I was a habitual liar. And a really good one. My amma and appa could never spot my fibs. And I got away with a lot of stuff. +
When we were dating, I thought Vir's time saving hacks were oh-so-clever. Silly me. I treasured every second he saved in queues, theaters, parking lots, shops, and restaurants. A minute less in traffic meant a minute more in his cozy apartment. +
I didn't realise I was slipping into serving a sentence of stolen seconds that would hang heavy the rest of my life. His urge to crunch critical paths went from being cute to nails-on-chalkboard even before our honeymoon ended. +
Vir's mind was always on the next thing he had to do. He was thinking of dessert during the main course, which credit card he would use during dessert, and calling the driver while settling the bill. +
Last month my wife and I visited an antique shop the size of a double bed. The walls were lined with shelves precariously stacked with figurines, statuettes, clocks, carvings, toys and bric a brac. In no sense of order whatsoever. +
Every available inch had something stashed there. When we were in the shop, the owner had to stand outside on the road. We picked a few things that caught our fancy. Correction. I nodded at a few things that caught my wife's fancy. +
A wooden frog that croaked when stroked. A wall hanging made of coconut shells. A rusted tin toy. A brass statuette. A porcelain pig. An old watch. +
K.L.Cycle was a familiar sight to the locals. He looked forty when his lips smiled. And sixty when his eyes did. When he sang a Saigal song, which was often, the world turned sepia. It was only a matter of time before some wisecrack gave him his name. It stuck.+
He wore a theadbare three piece suit even in tar-melting heat. And a sola topee that had seen British days. A 25 litre ice box rigged to his cycle held his daily needs. Among them a notebook, a newspaper, and a pen. +
He wasn't cuckoo like the man in dreadlocks who believed he was managing all the traffic at Lucky signal. Or the woman who talked to her reflection in the talaab. But that didn't stop kids from yelling 'Pagal Cyclewala' when they saw him. +
Dhruv reached into the box of rubber bands. There were just three left. He smiled nervously. There were almost a dozen a few days ago. He coughed involuntarily. No cheating, he reminded himself. +
He fastened the packet of sugar he had just opened with the rubber band he had just extracted. Now there were two left. He coughed again. +
Was he imagining it, or was he getting worse? Was the silly game he was playing with himself getting out of hand? Was it killing him or keeping him alive? How long had it gone on now? 15 months, he reckoned. +
I saw this full page ad in the ET today. As a copywriter, I felt obliged to read the copy. Needless to say, I couldn't leave something as juicy as a Silver Snoopy award ungoogled. +
So here's what it actually looks like. It's a sterling silver lapel pin that has actually been in space. An astronaut pins it on to the recipient. In recognition of work that contributes significantly towards space safety. +
Charles Schulz, an avid supporter of space programs, designed the pin himself. There's even a statue of Snoopy the Astronaut at Kennedy Space Center. I guess this is America's answer to Laika. +