This is a short story that one of our readers, Sanyo John sent us. We read it and we could not resist but publishing it here. Its a story we all can relate to..

Clear skies, tranquil climate, perfect for bird watching were my thoughts at the end of another boring day in office. I don’t know whether I was saying it aloud, but somehow my friend JT had the same idea. I have found mysterious the ways of nature, on how guys can always synch their thoughts when it is to do with chics. The next thing to do was to decide upon which area of the city to cover. Pubs and Coffee joints were automatically discarded, as we both were barely scraping through the last remains of our salary. ”Hey Anil, how about Oberon mall man, Lotta chicas there when we last paid visit na”, JT asked me with an evil glint in his eye. “No way Man, I don’t want to be seen as a mall stroller, it’s too degrading for our image bro”, I replied like an expert. I really don’t know why, but JT always considered me as an expert in the field of chic-science. Maybe it’s to do with my constant brag on my numerous scoring with chics (the characters were real, but the experiences were mildly (not so) exaggerated). Being the genius of the two, I suggested that we go to panampilly nagar (or so called chic paradiso) and have “the eternal pani puri” -cheapest junk food on planet earth.

We parked our vehicle a few meters away from ‘Yaadav Chaat Shop’ (A Chaat Franchisee). Getting out of the car, I looked at the skies; the clouds had started to group up now like some bullies threatening to spoil my day. I appealed to them telepathically to move apart, the clouds stubbornly but slowly seemed to listen to me and started to disintegrate. Yes, I had conquered the clouds; this is my day, now any chick would be piece of cake. As I strolled on, my left eye caught three senoritas standing by the side walk eating ‘Bhel Puri’ rather briskly. I didn’t pay much attention to them, since bhel puri according to me is a low grade Chaat (too much gas, I tell ya). “Chic’s who can eat full plates of ‘bhel puri’ can eat almost anything, even your pockets, so better stay away” said my accumulated knowledge from previous experiences. The king of Chaat is the one and only Pani Puri, and my dream girl is the one who asks me for Pani Puri every single day rather than gold, diamond or cars (Yes, a rare kind). The rain clouds had started to gather again, and only a few talkative school kids were there in the chaat stall, I cursed my luck and ordered a plate each for me and JT. Waiting for the order, I dropped into a late evening reminiscence of all the chicas I had Pani Puri with. My strategy was simple, when the pockets are tight, always give elaborate speeches on how the American culture and food are corrupting the minds and health of our people, and how I wish we could go back to the good old days, suggesting at the end of the (inspiring) speech to try out some good ol Indian Pani puri (which ain’t that great for health, but very easy on the purse). I can still remember the day when me and Sheetal were in this stall, I was standing exactly in the same place where I stood now, we were going strong back then (or so I thought) and my immature brain had thought that she was the one. I had, with great convincing power (and a hundred rupee note) asked the pani puri wala to slip in a ring (45% gold) into the pani puri. Luckily before she consumed it, I stood on my knees and proposed. It took less than 1/4th of a second for her to decide, she gave the ring back to me and said “I don’t think I deserve you Anil, You are too special” (WTF woman, if I am so special why can’t you be mine), she then walked away and that was the end of it (Adding salt to my injury, she later married my boss).
I was brought back to present tense by JT, who nudged me to mark the arrival of two Punjabi kudis into the stall. One was wearing a red salwar kameez and the other had tank tops and jeans on her. Now JT was this true blood Mallu who considered it disgusting to even hook up with a manglish speaking chic, dating a northie would be thus a terrible sin. Only a puritan Mallu bird will do for him. I was of a much different kind; I liked birds of any flock. No racial, regional or even rational barriers ever proved any hindrance to me. The Punjabi kudis would do just fine, especially the one in the red salwar. Any moment now, she would order a pani puri, we would start talking and then later go dancing around trees (Ok, I wasn’t imagining the last part). With bated breath, I awaited her order, the words came slowly, but it registered in my heart. “Do paani puri dena bhai saab, aur ek pack kar dijiye”. I started moving towards my prey; she turned to her friend and said “You know what; my kid really digs paani puri”.
I stood still, it started to rain.

- Sanyo John

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