An Excerpt from Hardy Potter's diaries

(Hardy's adventures so far- episode 1, episode 2, episode 3)

So here we are, Trichy, India. I had a rough time in the bus to NIT, and somehow, I feel that it's going to get more hostile. Nancy is drpping with sweat, and that's washed away all her makeup. She looks like Emma Watson now, yeuch.

Anyhu, we entered the gates together, only to be stopped by a strange khakhi clad man with a huge potbelly and a bigger moustache. He looks at us and asks, "Thambi, which year? Which state? Which hostel?"

I looked at Nancy, alarmed. She nodded assuredly at me and started speaking, "Sir, the year is 2008, we're from California, and we don't live here. We just came to investigate the possible extinction of humankind." She gave him one of her 'thankyou' smiles.

The man did not understand a word. He just stood there and looked at us. More at Nancy than me. I was considering punching the guy in the face and running, when someone behind me spoke.

"Is there a problem?"

It was a tall guy sporting a t-shirt that had weird figures on it and a caption which said "Something, somewhere went terribly wrong". He seemed to be our age.

"Yeah! This guy won't let us in. He doesn't understand what we're saying," I said.

"I'll speak to him," he replied, and turning to the weird man, he said something in the same loud, nasal dialect that we had heard so much ever since we reached here.

"He says ok. Let's go."

"Thanks!" said Nancy.

"You're welcome!" he said, blushing slightly. What is it with Indian men and blond chicks?

"Let's catch an ice cream while we talk, shall we?" he suggested.

"Sure," I said.

So he led us about a kilometre into the wasteland, where a group of shabby shops had sprung up, not unlike an oasis. There was an ice cream place there, and I was amazed at how they got a huge bull to guard it. But then I remembered, hey, these buggers worship them. Probably returning the favour. We walked in and sat down.

"You guys didn't introduce yourselves, I'm Siddharth Mahesh, but my friends call me Mapute, or just Mapu."

We mumbled introductions, but I was curious about his nickname, and I asked him.

"Oh! It's a long story. But it has a nice tribal zing to it, doesn't it? Anyway, let's order."

We walked up to the counter and saw the menu. Very imaginative spelling. They somehow seemed to convey that they were special, not like any other ordinary ice cream place.

So we had our ice creams, and Mapute paid for us, despite my protests.

"Hey," he said, "I'm an NRI! Let me do my job!"

I didn't know if that was National Resources Institute or Negative Refractive Index, but neither seemed to make sense. I didn't enquire.

...to be continued.

Potter and Carpenter, and the Mystery of Mysteries-Episode 3

Click for episode 1, episode 2.

Our teen super sleuths now landed in the strange faraway land of Trichy in their two seater supersonic jet. Potter opened the door, and the two spoke simultaneously,

"What heat, we'll get fried!"

"What stench, we'll probably die!"

And so started their sojourn in Trichy.

Now they had picked a random spot to land their aircraft, which turned out to be near the central bus stand at Trichy. They got out of the plane, an noticed a huge congregation of people of all shapes, sizes, colours and ages staring at them and speaking with each other in a loud voice in what seemed to be an almost completely nasal dialect. Bewildered, they walked towards the first person they saw, a short, stout man clad in an bright orange shirt and a very long waistcloth with a flowery pattern printed on it.

"How can we get to NIT, Trichy?", asked Carpenter.

The man looked at her, with a dumbfounded expression, screamed out "Enna, enna ithu? Paithyam, paithyam!" and ran away.

Two more people they talked to reacted in a similar fashion, so they gave it up. But as luck would have it, they spotted a bus with NIT written on it, numbered 128.

"Hey!", said Potter, "Let's get on than one!"

"Ooh! What an awesome sixth sense you have!"

"Awww, it was nothing!"

Everyone in the bus stand had to close their eyes for a while- two buses collided with each other and two hundred people were badly injured. The government was blamed, and a movie star, affectionately called 'chinna thala(small head)' by the people rose to power.

"Let's get going then,"said Potter.

There wasn't place to sit, even to place their feet properly, and they struggled for half an hour. Finally, a woman did get down, and Potter jumped and grabbed the seat. His muscles were only relaxing when he saw everyone in the bus staring at him suspiciously. The conversation of two men standing nearby, translated to English, is as follows:

"The nerve of that guy, sitting next to a woman in public transport."

"Yeah man. Who does that? Don't they know that only married couples are allowed to sit next to each other?"

"Of course! That's how we have kids right?"

"Of course man! Who'll pay for the Doctor now? And of course he'll have to marry her."

"Of course, that's the decent thing."

Now, the conductor was yelling "REC, REC, NIT!!"

"I think we get off here," said Carpenter.

"Oh! Ok then." Potter smiled and nodded to the woman next to him. She looked at him, terrified. Bewildered, Potter got out of the bus with Carpenter.

The two men who were conversing earlier broke into an angry dialogue:

"Man, we have to report him to the police!"

"Right! The guy took advantage of an innocent woman and abandoned her!"

The bus sped off, and Potter and Carpenter were stood before the gates of NIT, Trichy, unsure of what dangers would come their way inside.

Will the heroes find Lord Nag inside? Or will this journey be nothing more than a wild goose chase? Find out on the next episode of Potter and Carpenter, and the Mystery of Mysteries!

Now Walk the Walk…

(A little something I wrote for the college magazine.)

“Dude, this sem I’m going to study regularly and become a nine pointer”, proclaims our hero, all of a sudden, on a warm night, up on the hostel roof. “What’s up with you, man? You aren’t even high! All of a sudden, this?” Our hero has a little smile on his lips and an enlightened illumination in his eyes. “No dude, I’m serious. I’m perfectly capable of getting even a ten if I study hard enough. Speaking of which, I’ve got to go and study for next week’s cycle tests now. Catch up later.”
Ten minutes later, the friend finds our hero in his room, all lights out except for a table lamp, Floyd playing out loud, asleep peacefully, dribbling all over his textbook. This classic ambience inspires the friend, and he suddenly walks out of the room as if struck by lightning, with a brilliant idea in his foggy, alcohol soaked brain.

Now the friend, our new hero, can strum a few chords on his guitar. So he goes to his room, grabs his guitar and sets off to find another of his friends who has a beautiful singing voice (self proclaimed, of course). He finds him lying face down on the floor of his room, which was reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap vodka. He wakes him up. “Dude, dude, get up. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Wha..”
“I can play six Floyd songs, a Metallica solo, and two Green Day songs. That’s nine songs. You can sing along. We can start a two man band; make videos, even concerts on the roof…”
The high friend, wide awake by now, laps it all up.
“Great idea dude, we can post the videos on YouTube… dude, we’ll become famous.”
“I’ll make all the arrangements and we’ll meet up tomorrow to practice. Later.”

Our high friend wakes up the next morning with a hangover and a very empty stomach. He finds his way to the mess, only to find that it had run out of food. He grabs a cup of tea and finds an empty seat next to a guy whom he vaguely recognised from somewhere.
“Hi”, says the vaguely familiar guy.
“Hey…”
“So, don’t see you in class too often.”
“Yeah.”
“You know you’re low on attendance, right?”
“Yeah.”
They go on like this through till his cup of tea runs dry, with our alcoholic friend replying in monosyllables. Then just before they part ways, the vaguely familiar guy says, “Hey, you heard about the totally cool techfest that’s happening next month? I’m planning to make a robot for it. It’s tough, but I’ll manage it. See you later.”
As soon as our man hears ‘Robot’, his brain does a backflip. If that nerd guy could make a robot so could he. It’d be really awesome, him and his robot, winning, and more importantly, becoming famous.
So he picks up his pen drive, goes to the internet lab and downloads a dozen e-books on making robots. He’s about to leave when someone suggests a few quick rounds of counter-strike.
Twelve hours later, its terrorists-541, counter-terrorists-540, with enough intensity in the game to last for twelve more. So much for the robot…

This cycle, of planning great things and achieving close to nothing, repeats itself. It has been clichéd that nothing turns out the way it was planned. Whatever groundbreaking feats we dream of realising, we remain nothing more than fickle minded college students, acting on pure instinct. If things don’t work out, always remember Pink Floyd-
“The grass was greener,
The light was brighter…”