24th June 2009 16:02 P.M
Me: hey girl! are you on Facebook?
Her: uhum … yes why?
Me: wanted to add you. I talk to you pretty much every day so it doesn't really matter ... but...
Her: added you
Me: how you doing?
Her: well … my brains being fried since the weekend
Me: but why?
Her: Have you ever had Brain Fry before? Like fried goat’s brain?
Me: I think I did ... found it rather rich and complex
Her: It’s like... mushy cheesy globules. I'm trying to get things organised and set up for incorporating soon
...
24th June 16:19 P.M
Me: hey R
Him: hey! Where are you now? Are you in Bangalore?
Me: Hyderabad
Him: okay. I got your card
Me: have you ever had brain fry?
Him: bheja fry?
Me: yes?
Him: what is this?
Me: Bheja fry? Have u ever eaten bheja fry?
Him: ille pa (No dude). Why? What happened? May be I have had it when I was really small, but I can hardly recollect. Not sure. What is this about?
Me: How do you think it tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Maybe like molten meat. Slimy. But should taste pretty much the same.
Me: Same as what?
Him: Meat ... Mutton …
...
June 24th 2009 16:28 P.M
Me: Saala. kahaan hai tu aaj kal ? (dude … where’ve you been of late ?)
Him: Same ol' place bhaai
Me: London ya Delhi?
Him: Delhi. How is it going with u boss? Making loads of money I assume?
Me: not loads ... but profitable...
Him: Where these days?
Me: Hyderabad. Was in your Office in Bangalore the day before
Him: Political consulting or more services?
Me: I had come to Bangalore on some work. Political consulting and Govt. consulting only
Me: Ever had bheja fry ?
Him: Why don't you sell some services of the old company as well? Yes I have ... a few times
Me: How does it taste?
Him: Pretty awesome!!!
Me: Can be sold, but aap log ka cost bahut hai (you guys cost too much). Abbe saale, bolo ki kaise taste karta hai, describe it.
Him: value derived is worth the cost
Me: Hello! Not in this field. Here, value derived is not value till it is derived at 1/10th the cost
Him: Quite like Keema but with a very specific aroma and flavour
…
June 24th 16:45 PM
Me: Boy. I was in Bangalore but couldn't meet you. Maybe the next time, which is, on Friday
Him: Bad dosth. Alright come home. You know my place anyways. How are things otherwise?
Me: Going good... You ever had brain fry?
Him: illa (No) … Where did you have that?
Me: Why not?
Him: Never got a chance
Me: 'coz u a sissy who wants to have Chicken Biryani wherever you go...
Him: Where did you stay when you came to Bangalore?
Me: How do you think brain fry tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Why are you behind the brain fry...depends on whose brain it is…
Me: I mean the ones in restaurants. How do you think it will taste?
Him: Hopefully good
Me: Arrey dosth!
Him: never tasted dude
Me: Thoda imagination lagaaa ... (use your imagination...). How do you think it will taste?
Him: You are not leaving this topic is it? It will taste yuck (disgusting)
Me: Okie. Married life is good?
…
25th June 2009 00:19 A.M
Me: Hi ra...
Him: Hi don
Me: Have you ever eaten brain fry?
Him: ya
Me: Yeppudu? (When?)
Him: Nuthan's brain is tasty. Suri doesn’t have a brain at all
Me: Serious ga cheppu …(Tell me seriously)
Him: Nope. Nenu NV neee tinanu (I don't eat meat)
Me: I know you are a veggie ra. How do you think brain fry should taste?
Him: How do I know?
Me: that's why I am asking how you think it should taste
Him: Nee yenkamma (No translation exists)
Me: Cheppu ra (Come on tell me dude)
Him: hmmm… Something like Vankay Koora (Brinjal Curry) … Kammaga koddiga kaaram ga (Buttery …. A little spicy)
Afterword: This is for her. We've known each other for 12 years after meeting in a sleepy, dusty, university desert town. We've "known" each other ever since we met at one of my Best Friend's wedding
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Wonder Years
It was the summer of 1999. He was returning to university to start his third year. As he got onto the train and said goodbye to his folks he realized the enormity of the task that lay ahead. The 3rd year was a make-or-break year. One delved into course work that one would end up majoring in. His mind, however, was occupied with something of far greater import. He was running to become the University President. He had to win. Having alternated between being a complete a$$h0!e and a total recluse for the better part of the first 2 years, he had his task cut out. But, he was a fighter and he fancied his chances. It didn’t matter that most people thought he was a headstrong moron. He trusted his team. He had a great team of friends and they were a great team of strategists. His head was racing. Manifesto. Votes. Campaign debates. Speeches. Waking up in the wee hours of the morning as he reached Hazrat Nizamuddin Station, he realized that the luggage which had his best clothes was stolen. Things could have been worse. His other bag with his semester pocket money, his footwear and innerwear was still there. It wasn’t chained to the lower seat like the stolen piece had been. There must be a silver lining to this he reasoned. Maybe it was divine intervention. The Gods had decided he needed a new wardrobe. He had to look Presidential. An FIR later, he was shopping at Karol Bagh and he bought his first branded Khaki trousers. It was Olive Green. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label just above the right butt pocket.
It was 2009. It was not yet summer. It felt like summer though. He was returning home from Visakhapatnam. His state was going to the assembly polls in a few months time. His country was going into a General Election simultaneously. He wasn’t a candidate and it wasn’t University. It was better this time. He knew he was a great strategist and his client was going to win. His client had been building a solid foundation for the past 2 years. Medical Camps. Drinking water projects. Cricket Tournaments for the youth. His client was in this even before he chose to become a strategist. How unlike him in University, he thought. He got off at Annavaram, to get a pulse from the locals. It was one of his client’s weakest spots. He needed to eat first and still needed to figure out a way to get back home. Amma must be waiting he thought. He ate at the dhaba where the bus had stopped and tossed a coin in his head. He turned right at the main road. His search for an auto-rickshaw had begun. He loved auto-drivers in smaller towns. The driver’s name was Sreenu. Sreenu advised him against going to the Bus Station. There should be a train to home in 30 minutes. The Train station is farther but you’ll reach home faster, Sreenu reasoned. He instinctively trusted Sreenu. He also trusted his instincts. They discussed about the Assembly elections. It wasn’t good for his candidate he thought. They need to limit the damage here. Sreenu dropped him at the station. He took a photo of Sreenu and his auto and promised to give him a copy should he return.
They hugged. They shook hands. They parted. He went to buy a ticket at the counter. The counter wasn’t even open. The train was to arrive in another 45 minutes. There was another auto-rickshaw at the entrance and he decided to sit in it for a while. As he sat in the back-seat he heard something ripping apart. He didn’t bother. These seats he thought. He hung around till the counter opened. He bought his ticket. Unreserved. It was just a 30 minute journey and he could easily manage. The train’s arrival had been announced in the Public Announcement System. They said it in 3 languages. Telugu, English, Hindi. Even in Annavaram? Maybe yes, he reasoned. It was a temple town and a famous one. He looked down to pick up his luggage. His luggage was intact. Nothing had been stolen. Something caught his eye on his trousers. Just below his zipper, on the right side of his trousers there was a long tear. It was more than 6 inches long. Maybe more. That was the ripping sound he had heard earlier he thought. He didn’t care to change. He had enough time but he didn’t want to change. He got onto the train. It was overcrowded. There was no place to sit. Hardly any place to stand. He perched himself near the wash basin and strained himself to look at the label just above his right butt pocket. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label on the Olive Green Khaki Trousers.
It was 2009. It was not yet summer. It felt like summer though. He was returning home from Visakhapatnam. His state was going to the assembly polls in a few months time. His country was going into a General Election simultaneously. He wasn’t a candidate and it wasn’t University. It was better this time. He knew he was a great strategist and his client was going to win. His client had been building a solid foundation for the past 2 years. Medical Camps. Drinking water projects. Cricket Tournaments for the youth. His client was in this even before he chose to become a strategist. How unlike him in University, he thought. He got off at Annavaram, to get a pulse from the locals. It was one of his client’s weakest spots. He needed to eat first and still needed to figure out a way to get back home. Amma must be waiting he thought. He ate at the dhaba where the bus had stopped and tossed a coin in his head. He turned right at the main road. His search for an auto-rickshaw had begun. He loved auto-drivers in smaller towns. The driver’s name was Sreenu. Sreenu advised him against going to the Bus Station. There should be a train to home in 30 minutes. The Train station is farther but you’ll reach home faster, Sreenu reasoned. He instinctively trusted Sreenu. He also trusted his instincts. They discussed about the Assembly elections. It wasn’t good for his candidate he thought. They need to limit the damage here. Sreenu dropped him at the station. He took a photo of Sreenu and his auto and promised to give him a copy should he return.
They hugged. They shook hands. They parted. He went to buy a ticket at the counter. The counter wasn’t even open. The train was to arrive in another 45 minutes. There was another auto-rickshaw at the entrance and he decided to sit in it for a while. As he sat in the back-seat he heard something ripping apart. He didn’t bother. These seats he thought. He hung around till the counter opened. He bought his ticket. Unreserved. It was just a 30 minute journey and he could easily manage. The train’s arrival had been announced in the Public Announcement System. They said it in 3 languages. Telugu, English, Hindi. Even in Annavaram? Maybe yes, he reasoned. It was a temple town and a famous one. He looked down to pick up his luggage. His luggage was intact. Nothing had been stolen. Something caught his eye on his trousers. Just below his zipper, on the right side of his trousers there was a long tear. It was more than 6 inches long. Maybe more. That was the ripping sound he had heard earlier he thought. He didn’t care to change. He had enough time but he didn’t want to change. He got onto the train. It was overcrowded. There was no place to sit. Hardly any place to stand. He perched himself near the wash basin and strained himself to look at the label just above his right butt pocket. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label on the Olive Green Khaki Trousers.
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