Well here we are...

Where am I? What is this place? Why are all these people here? How do they live their entire lives in this God-forsaken hellhole? Are they superhuman? The next step in human evolution? Or are their olfactory nerves severed when they are born? How else can they bear the unbearable Trichy odour? And how do they live right in the center of the same mind-numbing stench? So many questions, so little answers...
These and other thoughts ran through my mind as I sat on a bus to Chatram bus stand. I was going to buy textbooks. A harmless expedition. I tried to guess where we were by the stench outside. Thiruverumbur has sort of the smell of a thousand people who have never seen a deo in their lives, a very strong BO. As you go further, the stench changes to resemble a hundred year old compost pit in a state of pure putrefaction, highly toxic, hell, captain planet would've given up. And when this stench ends, you know you've reached the bus stand. And oh, yes, the bus stand. You would think that people forgot to build toilets in their houses- nature calls all of them to the bus stand, and they leave their offerings to mother earth in a puddle that could've made Noah anxious.
Oh, and where were we? Yes, I'm on the bus, when a couple of women board carrying four huge bags filled with vegetables and the like. They walk straight at me and hand me one bag and say something in rapid tamil. I nodded and smiled and held on to the bag. A few moments later:

Woman 1: "mani enna thambi?"(what's the time, little brother?)
me: "Six Forty Five."
Woman one: "enna six fofofof vaaa? enna thambi? ha ha haaa..."
Woman 2: "ha ha ha...."
Man in the seat behind me: "ha ha ha..."
Man in the seat in front of me: "ha ha ha..."
Conductor: "ha ha ha..."

In short, practically the whole bus went mad with laughter when I told the woman the time.
Well, I am not trying, now, to give an explanation for this, this phenomenon. I just thought it would be good that all of you know now that when asked the time on a bus in Trichy, just smile and nod. And if you have an explanation, email it to me at kc.hcyke@gmail.com.
Hell, where am I?

Ooh la la la la ley oh!

Ah... those legs!
Spick and span red uniforms that end six inches above the knees, a fake smile that stretches from ear to ear, an even faker accent, coloured hair, weird hairdos, an overdose of mascara and so on and so on... but what catches the eye are the long, bare, real life advertisement for hair removers. Man... those legs!
Yes, I confess. I was ecstatic when I knew I was flying Kingfisher. But it was really refreshing to see that the feeling was reciprocated. "Good morning sir, thank you for flying Kingfisher!." I didn't reply. How could the legs talk?
Yes, I confess. I swelled up with schoolboy pride, almost blushed, when another pair of legs asked me, "Will it be fresh lime or orange for you, sir?." I don't remember what I drank, but I remember those strawberry legs...
Yes, I confess. I waited intently for the for the legs to wave their hands around to show me how to save myself if I was drowning. But the bloody killjoys showed it on the little tv screen in front of each seat. There of course, the focus was elsewhere, so I had to strain my neck to look a live pair serving juice to someone.
Yes, I confess. I asked for extra coffee to see them again. Then I asked for extra mint. Then I asked for tissues. Then I ran out of things to ask for, so I just smiled. I think they turned a little red for me...
And then, it was time to bid farewell. "Thank you sir, and wish you a pleasant stay in Chennai!." I was too depressed to reply. I was leaving them. The piece-de-resistance of Kingfisher Airlines, lost to me forever... for this sem, at least.
Yes, I confess. I will save money this sem for a reunion. My dearest pairs of Beauty herself, I hark to thy bidding. We will meet again...

Disillusioned resolution...

It's 2008 finally. I had been given a clear heads up about the coming ocassion by the constant chiming of my cellphone, about a dozen e-cards, a couple of refreshing, actually personal, e-mails, and of course a scrap from each orkut contact which said "click to send scrap to entire friends list" in big, bold letters and "wish you a happy and prosperous new year" in tiny, undecipherable hieroglyphics.
I spent a major amount of the festive week from christmas to new year under two, sometimes three blankets as Delhi temperature hit the lowest recorded in the last six years. I would get up once in three or four hours to eat and charge my laptop before I would curl up again. So, all in all, the whole week was was pretty uneventful. I passed my time playing NBAlive, listening to music and watching tv.
And thank god for good tv. Typically, I would wake up at 7:30 am (pretty early, huh?) and switch on the tv. My day would start with 'Rodney' and 'Hope and Faith' on Star world. Though these can never hope to achieve the success of Seinfeld or Friends, they're pretty good to just pass time. Later, I'd watch EPL highlights on ESPN, followed by certain other stuff, followed by certain other stuff...
About six or seven hours of tv, and I'm worn out. I switch on the computer and browse through arbit stuff. Listen to the radio, watch some videos, and so on and so on.
But the highlight of the whole week was the 31st of December. I went to watch 'Taare Zameen Par" with my family. Though the journey was chilling, the theatre was warm and the movie was excellent. A thorough recommendation. We had a new year's eve feast of shawarma, chicken legs, chilly paneer and lots of chocolate ice cream. I skipped the booze:P
And because of the totally shitty stuf they were showing on tv on new year's eve, I slept off at the stroke of midnight.
So ended 2007.
I sign off now, hoping that 2008 would be a renaissance for all the lackadaisical, shabby, overweight(only slightly:D) people like me, so that we wake up into a year of determination, spirtit and constant hard work.
Hah! January fool!!!