Bhains ki taang!

En route Bhopal:

I was returning to Bhopal after doing my internship at Indore. I was in a sleeper coach bus and the road was so bad that no one could sleep in that sleeper coach except for this one guy who was on the same seat as mine. He was soundly sleeping (or so I guess) while we all were rolling here and there like football in a field because the road was so bad. It was so bad that instead of Highway it could as well have been called as Khaaiway. So anyway, this guy is sleeping and my head is lolling arbitrarily and then suddenly – a bump on the road and my leg goes and hits the guy in the stomach. He sits up almost instantly as the color drains off my face and says loudly: “Bhains ki taang!” (Buffalo’s leg).

I look at him with an innocent face and say, “Nahi Sir…meri hai ” (No Sir, it’s mine.)

The guy tried to give a faint smile and went back to sleep and I went back to rolling and falling here and there.

The tea with cloves

It was her birthday and she was sitting by the window, watching the road that led up to the door. On that rainy dusk with misty windows and pearly leaves, she was waiting for him, her face rested against the window glass. He had never been late on her birthday and he never forgot. But today was different. He had been out for days now and hadn’t returned. Her heart would talk to her, speaking to her about what might be the reason of him being late and that why he hadn’t returned. It would tell her of all things possible including the most ominous ones. At that she would just calm herself down and tell her heart, “He will come.”

-

Fifteen summers ago she had met this particularly silent guy with good looks and deep blue eyes. She fell for him immediately.  She talked to him and she liked the way he listened to what she had to say. He listened to her patiently and she told her about everything. She found herself opening like a book in front of him and that’s what she liked the most about his company. She didn’t have to hide anything. 

As for him, he spoke less but whenever he did, he made profound statements in his deep voice. He too told her his story, things about his life and liked the way she cut in and asked questions.  He liked her curiosity and the childlike interest with which she heard him. While talking he noticed how a small curl of her beautiful black hair would slide down her right ear delicately and would come up to her lips. She would then use her slender fingers to take it back behind her ear.

“Don’t,” he said. She didn’t ask. “You look so beautiful when the hair come on your face.”

She just smiled, blushed a cherry and said, “It’s my birthday today.”

 “Oh and I don’t have anything to give to you.”

‘These moments are more than I can long for. Let’s just take a walk.’ she said.

And so, they took a walk when it started to rain.

“My home is near. Let’s go there. We are both wet,” he said. She felt unsure for a moment but then she looked into those deep eyes and stopped thinking.

He took her to his room upstairs in his apartment. The room had a window with a beautiful view of the entire countryside. One could look the road that led up to his beautiful apartment situated on a hillock. She cleared the window glass of its mist and looked outside.

“It’s beautiful. Isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.” Was it the view or the moment?

“Take this towel. There are some clothes in the cabinet. I will go downstairs and bring something warm to drink.”

And then he went to the kitchen and came back with two cups of tea. The room was filled with aroma. Or was it his fragrance?

“Drink, I put in some cloves so that you don’t catch cold.”

She drank deeply, her hair in disarray due partly to her attempts in drying them: Zulf-e-parishaa’

She left when it stopped raining and the taste of the tea remained with her. He looked at her as she went down the path hoping that she would come back.

She did. She came back to return the clothes. That day they didn’t talk much. Neither could say how much they thought about the other between these two meetings but the eyes said it all. She left and he watched him go down the path again. As she disappeared from view, he took the clothes and went to put them back in the cabinet when a note fell down.

If you could make me the tea every birthday, I am ready to spend the rest of my life with you.

He smiled and just like that, they got married and since then, every year on her birthday amidst the November rain, he would make the tea with cloves for her and she would drink it as if it were nectar. He would watch her and drink the moment with his eyes.

-

She woke up with a start and found the room filled with the aroma. Or was it his fragrance?

“I didn’t want to disturb the sleep,” he said. “The tea is served madam, happy birthday.”

Jonah and the silver watch

“Please father, please let me have a look at it. Please let me have it just this once.” Jonah pleaded to his father.

 Jonah had seen it with father ever since he came to sense. He dearly wanted to have a look at it. But his father knew there was more to it than just having a look.

“Jonah I know what you will do to it once I give it to you. You will render it useless.”

“NO father I promise, I will not break it. It will be as good as new. Please give me this once and I promise there will be nothing wrong.Please father, please.”

And father got lost in the innocent blue of Jonah’s almond eyes.

“Okay you can have it but do not break it. Do whatever you want to but I want it back, in the same form as I am giving it to you.”

“Thank you father,” said Jonah and put his arms round his father’s waist.

Father stroked Jonah’s hair and handed him what he wanted. It was an early christmas for Jonah. For moments and moments together he just looked at it, marvelling at the beauty and the shimmer of it.

“This is boring,” said Rose, his friend.

“Then you can go,” said Jonah, his eyes still marvelling it.

“Okay then. Sit here with it, I am going.” And Rose left.

As soon as she went, Jonah closed the door. He started doing what he actually intended to and what father feared.

“I will take it apart, look at the inside and join it again. Father won’t even know.”

Jonah took it apart, carefully collected each part and observed each of them. After much observation and thinking he started to assemble it again. But, given the child in him, he failed to do so. Father was sure to get angry… ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Why am I telling this story? I am telling this story because I think human way of understanding things or atleast trying to do so is in many ways similar to what Jonah did. For long, we have been following a reductionist approach in many fields and in solving our problems. Be it physics, life sciences, business, psychology or problems of ecological, social, political and economic nature, in most of these things all we do is to break things up into more manageable, simpler pieces. It is a useful method. Seeing that it has yielded results till now, the method has a value to it. But as our understanding goes ever so deep and as the world progresses, we need much more than reducing things. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle. What we have done till now in most of the cases is that we have taken individual parts and we have done a helluva lot study on them without giving much thought to what I think is the Bigger Picture, the whole puzzle itself. With our progress the things that effect us are becoming increasingly interwoven or let me correct myself : things are now being revealed to be increasingly interwoven. It is no longer a good idea to break down things and analyze them and putting the fullstop. We are in a period of transition where our understanding is shifting from simple linear ideas to lateral and non-linear phenomena and no such system can be understood through reductionism. Indeed nobody can deny specialization but we do need to have a look, may be crude but still, a look over the entire picture. A look to how the pieces connect. A look on their interrelationship and their relationship to the complete whole we try to understand. And this approach is needed in almost all the walks of life. The idea is not new. It was always there. It developed almost parallel to reductionism, ever since Kanada propunded the theory of Anu. The hindu philosophy has had a firm history of holism. The Gestalt psychologist propounded the same theory with reference to the human mind. The debate of whole and parts has been a long standing issue in philosophy and elsewhere. The Gestalts appeal a lot. Especially the whole idea of emergence with reference to figur-ground perception phenomenon. For example, look at the  picture at the beginning of this post. The dog here ( hope you are able to see it ) is not identified by first identifying its parts and then inferring the dog from the component parts. Instead the dog is perceived as a whole, all at once. This is in line with what I want to suggest here. The individual parts of dog do not make sense here if the problem concerns an understanding of the dog. You may identify the components but if you want to see the dog, you need to realise in the back of your mind the relationship between the individual parts; the configuration. The phenomenon is called Emergence in Gestalt Psychology. What I want to suggest is the same age old stand against reductionism : The sum of parts do not make the whole. Whole is not merely a sum of parts. Whole is larger the the sum total of the perceptions of its parts. It is the parts plus the configuration. What we are missing out is the configurational properties. We know the whole anatomy of human body. Given parts of human body however, can we make a human? The configuration is missing. One might go as far as suggesting that this is what the whole concept of soul, atman or mind is. I will not enter into the discussion of what the configuration is. My point is made.

To be continued

Dreams

Chase your own dreams… 

Your dreams are the only thing that you shall ever truly own. You are a unique person and your goals and dreams must be your own. So chase your own dreams and not the dreams of other people. Don’t just do a thing because all the other bozos are doing it. Have your own reasons.

…and break them

Break your dreams. Now what does that mean? There are two ways to break a dream: Number One – surrender it to reality and Two – make it a reality. Go for the second option, make them reality. Walt Disney once said, “If you can dream it, you can do it.”  So dream it and do it.

–

 

It’s not just the tea

My brother and his wife who was my best friend were going through tough times. There had been tensions lately and situation was so bad that they would have gone for a divorce.  So my friend, worried about her marriage, came to meet me one afternoon.

She was completely broken. It wasn’t like her for her to complain but obviously she had been in trauma for quite some time. She did most of the talking because I thought it was best that she vent out her feelings. So I listened patiently.

“I don’t know what to do? I mean we had a very beautiful thing. It’s dead and I just don’t understand why? We are just dragging on and living like complete strangers in the same apartment.” 

She was crying now. I took her hands in mine and rubbed them gently.

“Don’t cry. Everything would be alright. Look I will make some tea and you will feel good.”

“Yes, that would be good,” she said between the sobs.

I went to the kitchen and she joined me a few minutes later.

“Umm…the tea is good. I have always liked tea made by you,” she said as she drank, leaning on the platform.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You know these days we fight about petty things like tea also. He doesn’t like the tea made by me anymore and would directly say: ‘Please don’t make tea, I will make myself.’ How much more can he dishonor me?”

I looked at her. I didn’t know what to say. She was my best friend and he was my brother. She continued, “Tell me, how do you make tea? I will do the same and probably he will feel good.”

And then the words came out of my mouth, “It’s not just the tea. It’s also the love you put in.”

She looked at me as if I was her messiah. A week later they visited me for dinner. When she was not at the table for a moment, my brother and I had a conversation.

“You saved our life. What did you tell her?” he asked me.

“Why do you think I told her anything? Don’t you believe her?”

Men, hopeless.

“No, I mean I could use the same help too. She has changed completely.” I saw his point and smiled.

“It’s not just the tea.”

Snippet

With mother 

 “Fuck, I missed ten again,” said Sidhharth.

“Mind your language Sidhhu,” remarked his mom.

“Sorry Ma, but do you see what I mean?” asked Sidhharth.

 

­

With girlfriend

 

“Fuck,” said Sidhharth.

“Mind your language Sid,” remarked Shefali.

“Sorry Shef, but do you see what I mean?” said Sidhharth

–

Previous

जब-भी-तिरा-ज़िक्र-आए

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–

?????:

???-?-???? – Cloudy day

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????-?-??? – Letter from the beloved

????? – Messenger

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??????-?-???? – Light of full moon

??-???? – Moist eyes

??????? – Uninformed

Chhapak!

Another sweet ending story. 

I was walking on the footpath with my bag hanging on one shoulder and umbrella, which was closed as it was not raining at that time, in the other hand. Bus stop is close to my office so I routinely walk down to the place every day after the Office hours and then I take a bus to go back home. On the road beside the footpath, rain water had accumulated in small pools which occurred every few paces. I was walking thinking deeply about something when a two wheeler went past me at speed.

‘Whoosh’

Only that it did something else too which, is common during rainy season:

‘Chhapak!’

And before I could do anything, my light colored shirt had black pants had changed their color, texture and moisture content.

‘What the…’

I couldn’t complete the yell as I saw that the person responsible for the mess had already stopped a few yards ahead of me. The vehicle was parked close to the footpath and this person removed the helmet. You don’t usually yell at a beautiful young lady.

She started towards me. She was wearing a raincoat. I thought of television commercials where the endorser walks in at this pristine moment and hands over the detergent or soap to you.

“Zyaada safedi, kam daam”

That didn’t happen here.

“I am really sorry. I was in a hurry.”

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter.” What else could I have said? How many people care about stopping and apologizing after doing this? But this alter-ego of mine, it did not stop. So:

It does you moron. Think! What will you wear tomorrow?

“Oh it does! I ruined your shirt,” she said looking at my shirt and moving her hand as if trying to remove some dirt. “Oh and pants too,” she said looking completely devastated now.

I have other clothes dude.

None of them will be dry by tomorrow. Morning would be quite a show at the office.

“It’s alright. Just carry on. You were in hurry. I understand”

Bloody flirt. If it had been a man you could as well have been shooting a Mumbaiya fight sequence here.

Shut up!!

“Please, can I do something for you? I am feeling bad.”

Oh yeah! Marry me and wash my clothes from today till eternity.

Marriage isn’t such a bad idea.

“Oh no, please, I am fine. Please proceed. In any case I was going to give them in the laundry.”

You are wearing them moron. And that shirt is brand new. What will Ma say?

“But…please, you were obviously going for some important work.”

Yeah. I am meeting Elizabeth II today. Wanna come with me? And I wonder how come nobody has hit that Boeing 747 of yours parked on the road yet?

“No I was actually going back home. I mean to the bus stop for taking a bus to go back home.”

“Let me drop you.”

Aha! A lift from a girl, that’s saying something. Don’t let her go. You are a bloody flirt, remember?

“Oh no please. You said you were in a hurry. Please, I will take the bus.”

Why? Why do you have to suck all the fun out of life at such times?

“Oh no please. Where do you…”

And before she could complete the statement:

‘Chhapak!’

She took the bulk of it this time with some dirty water hitting her face on one side.

“Ehh…,” she said, removing the dirt, eying it with looks I wouldn’t fancy.

Wanky wonky winky, you got stinky.

Shut up!!

It was hard to contain the laughter but I managed to present a twisted face instead of showing the 32 bit treasure.

She looked at me, rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand and instinctively both of us exploded with laughter.

“Like begets like,” she said amidst all the mess.

And yours truly, never one to miss the opportunity, blurted out: “Like can also get some tea.”

She considered it for a moment. She was in a hurry, she had said but that little roadside tea shop had strange customers that day.

–

  

That parabola called smile

She was sitting in the tea shop when the waiter came and put a paper napkin on the table.

“What is this?” she asked her. We ask strange questions sometimes. Anybody could have told that it was a paper napkin. But what she meant was why did he give it to me?

“Madam, the guy on table right in front of you asked me to give this to you,” said the waiter who was young and didn’t know how such café stunts worked.

She realized that she had been crying. She gave the person on the table in front of her a look. He raised his tea cup and smiled.  She tried to smile but ended up making a face which could remotely be called as smiling. She felt insecure and humiliated that someone had seen her cry so she changed the chair and now had her back towards him. And then a few minutes later:

“What now?” she asked the waiter.

“Madam, it’s…this is…the guy on the table right in front of you asked me to give this to you,” said the waiter again, feeling uncomfortable himself.

She looked in front and saw him sitting at the table in front of her.

‘The nerves he has,’ she thought. He had actually drawn, inside a circle left by the tea cup on the napkin, a parabola on the paper napkin – the parabola called smile. This broad shouldered man raised his cup again and smiled.  ‘How many cups of tea will he have now?’

She just took out her own handkerchief and rubbed off the tears just to show him that she didn’t her help.

He started to leave when she thought of talking to him. So she followed her just outside the door.

“Who do you think you are?” she asked.

He smiled through his beard and it was as if every whisker, every thread of his beard was smiling.

“I sell smiles, I am the smile-seller,” he said with a smug expression on his face. He was positively flirting now.

“Look here mister. Don’t try to be smart. I don’t need smiles from you and don’t smile as if that everything is alright.”

He took her hand in his. She immediately pulled her hand back. She would have slapped a stranger doing this but somehow she didn’t do that.

“If it’s not, it will be. Don’t cry.” He had a soothing voice.

“Do you know why I am crying?” she asked him.

“No and I don’t want to know the reason. I just hope that you will keep that smile I tried to give you.”

And then he left. She saw him disappear over the turn and stood there for a long time, moving only when another customer opened the door for coming out.

For no apparent reason, she was smiling. She was smiling as she walked through the crowded sidewalks of the city. She forgot him soon in the buzz of daily life but some days later she went to the tea shop again.  And then it all came back and she couldn’t understand why she couldn’t stop thinking about the person she had met at the other day.

‘He had broad shoulders,’ she thought. The ones you would keep your head on in your moments of sadness and then lose yourself in his arms. She cautioned herself as she had been cheated before and didn’t want to repeat the same mistake again. But somehow she kept glancing around her to check for him.

The same waiter came. ‘Why is he smiling?’ she thought.

“What should I bring madam?”

“Paper napkins,” she said irritably and he actually pointed to a pile already on the table.

“No, I mean bring a cup of tea.”

He came back with tea. Should she ask?

“Do you know the person who kept giving the paper napkins the other day?”

“No madam. I am new here and he didn’t show up this week so I think he is not a regular.”

He kept standing there as she drank. She didn’t notice at first but then she saw him standing.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing madam,” said the waiter and he went back to the counter.

She sat there for a while, took out her book and started reading as she ordered another cup of tea. She waited for long but he didn’t come. Finally, realizing that she had been such a fool waiting for this complete stranger, she rose from the chair. As she left though, she drew a parabola on a paper napkin and asked the waiter not to remove it.

It’s been years now and she has never seen the smile-seller again but she still has the smile he gave her. Even now, whenever she leaves a table in a cafe or restaurant, she leaves a paper napkin with a parabola on it – that parabola called smile.

Autumn breeze

I was on my way to find a way, when I thought to have my say.

I scatter words as my vision sees, as leaves scattered by the autumn breeze

‘But where’s the smile?’

Maria was student in the local polytechnic. To support her education, she worked at the cafeteria as a waitress.  She made enough to pay her room rent, eat food and keep up with the library membership. Her scholarship took care of the rest.

She worked in afternoon till late evening and the customers at the cafeteria liked her very much. They were mostly in the age group of sixty to seventy and would come to the cafeteria in the evening after walk or in the afternoon if they were in for shopping. There were other customers too but these people formed the bulk.

 They all liked the way Maria would greet them as they walked in. Even though she might not be waiting on them she would just wave a hello from the counter as they would walk in, pass a warm remark as she would cross their table or make a joke that was shared between them. When waiting, she would talk to them, ask about their health and about the goings on in the family. When the customers were less, she would sit down with them and listen to them patiently. She remembered every one and always had a genuine smile on her face which would lighten up the day of a person. Consider for example her relation with Mr. Smith who would come on Tuesdays and Fridays.

“Hello Mr. Smith! How are you today?”

“As young as I always was,” said Mr. Smith with a smile as he kept his bag on the chair next to his.

“So just the tea?” she asked

“Yes, just the tea,” he answered.

“And how is Mrs. Smith? Does she still think that you make those sounds to make her afraid?” she asked her as she went to the delivery counter to take the tea for Mr. Smith.

“Ehh…I actually made those sounds so that she would wake up and talk.”

“What!” Maria was laughing as she served the tea.

“Why do you give sugar with tea?”

“Are you diabetic?” asked Maria.

“No, but your smile is sweet enough. What’s the need of sugar?” answered Mr. Smith

“Are you flirting?” Maria asked with a smile on her face.

“What else can a sixty five year old do?” and this time he winked and both of them laughed.

Today however, she was in a bad mood. Her teacher at the polytechnic had been rude and she felt really bad about it. So when Mr. Smith walked in for tea that afternoon, she just went up to his table and shoved the cup in his view. As she was walking back to the counter Mr. Smith called back.

“Maria, I asked for tea.”

She couldn’t understand him. She had served him tea!

“It’s tea sir,” she said.

“But where’s the smile?” asked Mr. Smith with a smile.

She couldn’t but smile.

–

[EDIT] Earlier the last line was:

She couldn’t but smile. Sometimes, a simple thing can lighten your day.

Prologue – The Ocean’s call

The beach is a beautiful place. I often go there just before sunset and watch the sun going down in the ocean. I watch the waves rising and falling down crashing on rocks that lie albeit removed from the beach. I watch the people enjoying the ocean, roaming around as milling crowd or sometimes alone. They lie in the sun, enjoying the warmth or go near the waves for ocean’s cool feel with the wind touching their faces. They talk, shout, sing, play, run, laugh and cry. And I watch them. I see young boys and girls making sand castles, their joy when the castle is built and the tears when the ocean takes back what it gives to the shore. I see several people going into the ocean, riding the waves and the idea seems ludicrous.  

Every time I go there, the ocean beckons me. It calls me. But I never dive in. Some say that a person should take the plunge at least once while the others tell me not to go. They are afraid of the ocean and they haven’t taken a plunge. I am confused. Should I go in? Something holds me back. The fear of drowning, the thought of people waiting back home for me or is it just that the fear of other people has pervaded me?  I don’t know and I just stand on the beach. I let the waves wash my feet as I see the sun moving towards the horizon. I like that touch and from that I imagine what treasures the ocean has. And I contemplate what it means to take a plunge. But I never dive in and I don’t know what it’s like to ride the waves, to be free as the wind. I don’t know, what it is…to be. 

 But the ocean has never stopped from trying to convince me.  It’s as if it knows that someday I would shed the fear and embrace the waves. In that hope, it keeps giving the call. Only I haven’t answered as of yet. Something holds me back. But soon the sun will go down the horizon. The tide will recede and the ocean would be too far out. Should I dive in? What if I drown and those waiting for me never find out? But what if I come back with shells and pearls? I will never know that until I take my chances. Should I take my chances?

–

Inspired by Sabya. He does the same in lesser words and a better way.

The patchwork quilt

I went to see him in the jail. The lines on his face had deepened somewhat since the day the resistance dislodged him but he was indomitable, as ever.

I talked to him about what we were going to do to undo the autocracy that had crept under him. I told him about changing the system and he had something interesting to say, something that I will never forget.

“What’s a system? A system is a patchwork quilt. At the genesis it was just a quilt. Someone spinned it to cover his body and it did the job well. The man would look at it and marvel at his creation. In his sleep, his body would constantly fight to be covered by the quilt. The left hand would pull the quilt if it was uncovered. Sometimes the right hand would get uncovered in the process and would pull the quilt back towards it. The legs were all the same. Then some days later the person found a torn part in the quilt and he thought of mending it. He took a piece of cloth and stitched it on the quilt. The quilt worked well.  Some days later, he found yet another torn part and he mended it with another piece of cloth. He slept well for some more days until he found another torn part. He mended it and he continued finding the torn parts and continued mending it until one day, in the fight to be covered, his body threatened to tear the quilt apart because it could no longer cover them all. This was so because it was no longer a quilt, it was a patchwork – pieces of clothes stitched together. In his efforts to mend the quilt, he had lost it entirely and what he had was a patchwork. Every system turns into a patchwork some day and when it does, it needs to be replaced. I replaced a system and you are replacing the one set up by me but be assured that some day your doings would be undone. Change is the only rule that’s static. The rest is all mortal.”

Was I talking to a dictator? When he knew that his system would be replaced, then why did he do what he did? Taking so many lives? Destroying families, destroying hope?

You will do PhD one day.

INTRODUCTION

The most unfortunate part of undergraduate life is this: You find all the girls in other programs beautiful while your own program looks completely barren. This snippet relates to this fact.

 

CHARACTERS

Sidhharth, Shefali, Sriram, Mayur and Tarun: Undergraduate Students

MVK: A particularly notorious Professor in the Department of Civil Engineering, known for his flirt ways.

 

Our scene takes place in an Electronics lecture hijacked by MVK. So here goes:

 

“Welcome Khalifa,” said MVK

“Goo..good morning sir,” said Sidhharth.

“I see that your habit of being on time hasn’t changed,” said MVK

“Yes sir, I mean no sir, I mean..”

“I get what you mean sir. Sit down now,” said MVK

 “He is in love with you,” said Mayur.

“Since first semester,” said Sidhharth.

“What’s with Khalifa though?” asked Tarun.

“Oh that’s a long story. Will tell you some other day,” said Sidhharth and continued, “What’s he doing here anyway? This is supposed to be Electronics class.”

MVK overheard Sidhharth.

 “Oh nothing much sir; I was passing by and heard a bit of commotion in this Lecture Hall. The rest as always is fine,” said MVK looking at Sidhharth and then turned towards the PhD student, “The class is yours now. Take care.”

 

And then he left with a smirk on his face. 

 

“Bloody flirt,” remarked Sriram.

“This time though I would say it’s not his fault. She *is* beautiful,” remarked Mayur. 

“Why are all beautiful girls here in PhD?” asked Sidhharth. 

“I dunno man but it is right. Can’t there be beautiful girls in UG programs?” said Sriram, “If only she was in our program. I would have…”

Shefali, who was sitting in the next row, turned back and glared at them.

 

“Good Morning Shef,” said Sriram with a smirk on his face. Shefali gave the ugliest possible looks to the four boys and mumbled something which in a comic book would have been represented with a speech bubble filled with special symbols bad looks and images of skull-and-bones, bombs, knives and other killer assortments.

 “Uh-oh, why she has to listen to everything we talk about?” said Sidhharth and nodded his head in disapproval as she did the same thing and looked forward again.

 

 

After the class: 

“Oh my god, she is too beautiful,” said Sidhharth.

 “Yeah she is,” said Sriram with a misty eyed expression.

Suddenly Shefali came in front of them. “I heard what you were talking about in the class.”

“Oh you heard? That’s news to me,” said Sidhharth.

“I don’t know why you guys talk the same thing always. You look at all the girls in this way.” 

Sidhharth brought his spectacles down with his finger, looked at her from top to bottom; considered her for a second and said: “No, not all of them, only the beautiful ones.” 

He turned back and started walking away. Shefali frowned. 

Sriram said, “Don’t worry Shef, you will do PhD one day.” He winked and walked away with Sidhharth.

–