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Gent is at the service center to pick up his car. He was bang on time and bubbling with delicious anticipation of the kind usually reserved for special occasions.
Ruddy place, thought Gent, but where were these buggers who were to hand over his shiny new car to him? Oh, there they were!
He saw a tousled head bob up from behind a car. Ugh... Why was he bobbing behind a car? Did that mean the buggers hadn't touched his car? If that was the case, they sure had something coming.
Gent walked gingerly into the service area of the service center, straining to catch snatches of conversation to arm himself for the verbal duel he was sure would ensue.
"Who that?" he heard a guttural voice.
"Man for Hunndei Guesstt..." a faintly feminie voice trailed off in answer.
Obviously Guttural hadn't heard Feminine, for he repeated his question.
"Man for Hunndei Guesstt..." Feminine hissed.
It was all that Gent could do to hold back his smile. Hyundai Getz should have been christened here. Right here, he told himself and pictured a design that was a cross between Attila the Hunn and a gazebo on wheels. Ha! But he mustn’t laugh. He was almost near them now. Guttural was speaking again.
"You holding light. I oorain first" said Guttural in answer, catching the general picture of the setting. But our visitor didn't quite catch on.
He what first? A puzzled Gent wondered as he saw Guttural head for the back door. Well not that there was a door, or any proper walls to hold up the roof. The only proper wall was a fallen hoarding.
"Why you going there, you going here" Feminine shrilled pointing ahead of himself.
Immediately Guttural changed direction and headed behind the hoarding. Shortly thereafter Gent suspected he heard the sound of falling rain. Or oorain as he quickly realised. Guttural was taking a leak.
He couldn't stand there anymore. He quickly decided that he'd pick up his car a little later and presently nip away to some place where he could laugh out loud.
Guttural can wonder where he'd disappeared to when he gets back from making oorain.
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Showing posts with label gent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gent. Show all posts
Bachelors Raise Hands!
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Ashmika fretted. Anita fumed. And their respective rogue husbands relived their bachelor days in shameless nonchalance. Now if you think this is a one off thing, you must be from Planet Daft. It’s been happening ever since these poor damsels fell for the evil enticements of their respective gents and sacrificed themselves at the alter of matrimony.
One of this wicked twosome, is the quintessential ‘sweetheart’ oozing dollops of innocence and charm. All sugar and spice… that you could almost picture a manservant walking in his shadow shooing the flies away. He patronises stores with a higher female staff ratio, ostensibly for economic gain or so one is to believe. But this gent knows which side of his toast is buttered. So what if he makes an occasional innocent pass? So what if Anita fumes? Isn’t he renting DVDs from a respectable store, paying next to nothing (considering that he’s managed a lifetime waiver on Horribly-Late-Fees, a category that didn’t exist in their ledgers ever before)?
“Oh yes!” The other gent would eagerly admit his vigorous support for gent one. Birds of a feather! Now, gent number two is a different salad altogether. My! Talk about salad! Even the dressing (read: the pretext of situations he eases himself into) is all gooey innocence. See a pattern here that you can borrow for your own escapades? Gent two still lives his excruciating post bachelor blues. For instance, he has always introduced his sweet wife as his friend. “Always, without fail” Ashmika will tell you. Blame it on selective amnesia in the presence of the fairer sex. Poor man. How he suffers!
Once gent number two was at this party laced with liberal amounts of braggadocio and the whiskey that accompanies it. He was in his element. At his shining charming, laugh-aloud best. Some time into the wining and dining, someone asked for all bachelors to raise their hands. “That’s me!” said gent number two to himself and quickly raised his hand. Looking around surreptitiously, it was apparent to him that he was the only ‘bachelor’ at the table. “Oh Yeh!” he blushed…
But wait! Ugh! Wasn’t that angelic face opposite him familiar? He remembered driving her to the party. He even remembered seeing her around the house! Ugh! No, he was dreaming. He was being visited by a past life experience. Whiskey sometimes does that to you. But what was all that sniggering and giggling around the table? And why was ‘angel face’ looking daggers at him? No! It can’t be true!
This isn’t fair, he said to himself as realisation slowly dawned. He was in all probability married! He hazarded a quick look at ‘angel face’. “Mummy! That’s her! My wife! I’m married!” Could it be that he was... err... hallucinating? Didn’t whiskey do that to you? Pin It Now!
One of this wicked twosome, is the quintessential ‘sweetheart’ oozing dollops of innocence and charm. All sugar and spice… that you could almost picture a manservant walking in his shadow shooing the flies away. He patronises stores with a higher female staff ratio, ostensibly for economic gain or so one is to believe. But this gent knows which side of his toast is buttered. So what if he makes an occasional innocent pass? So what if Anita fumes? Isn’t he renting DVDs from a respectable store, paying next to nothing (considering that he’s managed a lifetime waiver on Horribly-Late-Fees, a category that didn’t exist in their ledgers ever before)?
“Oh yes!” The other gent would eagerly admit his vigorous support for gent one. Birds of a feather! Now, gent number two is a different salad altogether. My! Talk about salad! Even the dressing (read: the pretext of situations he eases himself into) is all gooey innocence. See a pattern here that you can borrow for your own escapades? Gent two still lives his excruciating post bachelor blues. For instance, he has always introduced his sweet wife as his friend. “Always, without fail” Ashmika will tell you. Blame it on selective amnesia in the presence of the fairer sex. Poor man. How he suffers!
Once gent number two was at this party laced with liberal amounts of braggadocio and the whiskey that accompanies it. He was in his element. At his shining charming, laugh-aloud best. Some time into the wining and dining, someone asked for all bachelors to raise their hands. “That’s me!” said gent number two to himself and quickly raised his hand. Looking around surreptitiously, it was apparent to him that he was the only ‘bachelor’ at the table. “Oh Yeh!” he blushed…
But wait! Ugh! Wasn’t that angelic face opposite him familiar? He remembered driving her to the party. He even remembered seeing her around the house! Ugh! No, he was dreaming. He was being visited by a past life experience. Whiskey sometimes does that to you. But what was all that sniggering and giggling around the table? And why was ‘angel face’ looking daggers at him? No! It can’t be true!
This isn’t fair, he said to himself as realisation slowly dawned. He was in all probability married! He hazarded a quick look at ‘angel face’. “Mummy! That’s her! My wife! I’m married!” Could it be that he was... err... hallucinating? Didn’t whiskey do that to you? Pin It Now!
Fucks Pas in Murugan Idily
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Idily can be idle lunchtime joy if you have it at the right place accompanied by your tablemate’s extreme unease at his faux pas. Ask me, I wolfed down a dosa, tomato rice and another dosa in languid bliss while Gent sweated over his tamarind rice and choked on his channa and potato wafer sides. The reason for his disquiet was Eric. Eric Manikovich, whom he’d directed to lunch at Murugan Idily. Ah! Those idlis! Soft as virgin breasts and smothered in the most delicious sambar! You must try it sometime before you die.
Or before you die laughing, like we did. It started like this. Lucifer’s most ardent disciple is a friend of mine. I sometimes have a sneaking suspicion that master and disciple do switch places. After he successfully lured us to Murugan Idily for lunch a week ago, he repeated his tempt again today. I had just ordered lunch for me and the Soos (remember the Neanderthal I’d mentioned before?) when Gent called in to ask me cancel my lunch order. They’d made coconut rice for me today. And it’s exactly what I hate eating for lunch. Maybe the Lucifer had arranged for that too.
Like he arranged for Eric’s lunch to be given to one of our colleagues’ after he’d persuaded the poor man to part with it, invisibly thrashing and fuming. You don’t say no to the Lucifer! Eric sacrificed his home cooked lunch at the alter of vile persuasion. Little did he know that it was a sad bargain. So the Manikovich left for a quick meeting before the rendezvous at Murugan Idily near Sundari Silks. Here’s the fun bit. There’s another branch of this gastronome’s delight at Usman Road.
As soon as we’d crossed Usman Road, we had a tired call from Eric enquiring where we were. “There in ten minutes” replied the Gent. And we were too only to find that the Manikovich wasn’t anywhere. Where did he call from then, saying he was waiting “there”? Well, we started out waiting “there” too. But then, you can’t wait at a table too long without ordering. Our first orders arrived while Pradeep, another ‘disciple’, albeit, in a different mould, started the rubbing-it-in. Gent was getting progressively uneasy. It reached a point where, when anyone dipped into his pocket, he’d ask if it was Eric calling!
I reached for my hanky and just as I blew my nose from all that laughing, the Lucifer promptly asked me if that was Eric’s call! Right! “Why isn’t the man calling…” went the Lucifer while we were on our last order. Once we paid the bill and were outside, Pradeep pulled a fast one. He picked up the Soos’s phone, which was on vibrator mode (sounds lurid doesn’t it… vibrator mode…) and spoke into it like he was answering Eric. And then as if to confirm something to the Manikovich, he handed the phone over to Gent, who went “I asked you no…hello, HELLO” before he realised the prank.
Murugan Idily. It’s the place to go to if you want to sample cooking of a different kind. The onion oothappams are great too, though they can be a wee bit bigger. The coffee is typical folklore fare. You know, the kind they call filter coffee. No meal is complete without it. Meanwhile, we are back in office and till about now, no bloodshed has been reported. Maybe the Manikovich hasn’t returned. Maybe he’s plotting retaliation over a sour lunch at some godforsaken joint. Even Lucifer can’t tell. I’ll have to enquire if he’s alive once I post this. Some fucks pas that! Pin It Now!
Or before you die laughing, like we did. It started like this. Lucifer’s most ardent disciple is a friend of mine. I sometimes have a sneaking suspicion that master and disciple do switch places. After he successfully lured us to Murugan Idily for lunch a week ago, he repeated his tempt again today. I had just ordered lunch for me and the Soos (remember the Neanderthal I’d mentioned before?) when Gent called in to ask me cancel my lunch order. They’d made coconut rice for me today. And it’s exactly what I hate eating for lunch. Maybe the Lucifer had arranged for that too.
Like he arranged for Eric’s lunch to be given to one of our colleagues’ after he’d persuaded the poor man to part with it, invisibly thrashing and fuming. You don’t say no to the Lucifer! Eric sacrificed his home cooked lunch at the alter of vile persuasion. Little did he know that it was a sad bargain. So the Manikovich left for a quick meeting before the rendezvous at Murugan Idily near Sundari Silks. Here’s the fun bit. There’s another branch of this gastronome’s delight at Usman Road.
As soon as we’d crossed Usman Road, we had a tired call from Eric enquiring where we were. “There in ten minutes” replied the Gent. And we were too only to find that the Manikovich wasn’t anywhere. Where did he call from then, saying he was waiting “there”? Well, we started out waiting “there” too. But then, you can’t wait at a table too long without ordering. Our first orders arrived while Pradeep, another ‘disciple’, albeit, in a different mould, started the rubbing-it-in. Gent was getting progressively uneasy. It reached a point where, when anyone dipped into his pocket, he’d ask if it was Eric calling!
I reached for my hanky and just as I blew my nose from all that laughing, the Lucifer promptly asked me if that was Eric’s call! Right! “Why isn’t the man calling…” went the Lucifer while we were on our last order. Once we paid the bill and were outside, Pradeep pulled a fast one. He picked up the Soos’s phone, which was on vibrator mode (sounds lurid doesn’t it… vibrator mode…) and spoke into it like he was answering Eric. And then as if to confirm something to the Manikovich, he handed the phone over to Gent, who went “I asked you no…hello, HELLO” before he realised the prank.
Murugan Idily. It’s the place to go to if you want to sample cooking of a different kind. The onion oothappams are great too, though they can be a wee bit bigger. The coffee is typical folklore fare. You know, the kind they call filter coffee. No meal is complete without it. Meanwhile, we are back in office and till about now, no bloodshed has been reported. Maybe the Manikovich hasn’t returned. Maybe he’s plotting retaliation over a sour lunch at some godforsaken joint. Even Lucifer can’t tell. I’ll have to enquire if he’s alive once I post this. Some fucks pas that! Pin It Now!
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