The location was right, and strangely, so was the price. In fact, almost everything was right and she told the current owner so. To make it perfect, she decided to ask him anyway. After all, they had done it before with soups at restaurants. “Excuse me, can you make it a three bedroom from two?”
The alarm rang, as it did, usually. He snoozed, stretching his sleep time a bit. But he knew he would have to get up soon. He was already late for his other kind of stretching. That’s when he figured the alternate reason for the name of the new concept they had come up with – Yogalates!
PS: Yes yes, pronunciation, I know!
The area was perfect. They called the number mentioned at the site, to be told that the price was Rs.13000 per sq.ft! The plan was simple – get a friend everyday to call up and start laughing hysterically as soon as the builder quoted the price. Hopefully, sense would prevail and the price would come down!
until next time, remember Part 1?
Knowing all about the new guy’s ‘secretary’ fantasies, (browser history checks during his smoke breaks) she cockily walked in, and sat on his desk. Ignoring her perfect figure, he replaced the hourglass, checked his daily engagements, and showed her the finger. Wedding ring. To the persistent caller, he answered “Yes, I’ll return the laptop soon”
As he sat down at the table, he heard one of the girls exclaim, “The sequel has Sunny in it too!” “Remember Balwant Rai ke kutte?” he excitedly joined the conversation, surprised they had seen Ghayal. Looking at him strangely, they left the table. “Sunny Leone in Jism 2, you idiot”, said one, before leaving.
until next time, Big Brother vs Bigg Boss
They would’ve loved to live here. A relatively hidden area in the heart of Koramangala, such that the EMIs would karmically commit them to several rebirths. But they had a plan. A group deal involving like minded people – to dump garbage there everyday until the rates came down. This post is the first step.
Already running late, and three minutes into the ride, she realised she had forgotten her purse…and the tickets in it. Cursing, he paid the auto driver, asked her to wait, and started running. Easier than getting the auto to go back. As he ran, the coincidence was unmistakeable. The tickets were for Paan Singh Tomar.
(Based on a true story. No really!)
While he lived, they made fun of his art. After an entire life bemoaning the fact that he sucked at art, he finally bled to a slow painful death. But then, his art became immortal, as did he. Suddenly everyone wanted a stake in his works. Of course, you all must know his name – Drawcula.
until next time, arty stick stake
His wife was shouting, again, but despite being at the receiving end, he knew he couldn’t fault her. They tried healing it themselves, with no success. A few days later, as they sat with the professional, answering her questions, her voice was still ringing in his ears, or so it seemed. The doctor diagnosed Tinnitus.
until next time, a heard mentality
He stood watching the children play with the car. The car reminded him of himself. Ravaged by fate, time and humans. He still remembered the day he had left it at the crossroad, trying to escape the cops. Five years ago. Time to start afresh. Maybe he would start with finding the car’s original owners.
For those unfamiliar with the genre, that was a 55 word story, something I haven’t done in a while. The story behind writing this is probably more interesting. I met Ideasmith for the first time recently, and the first thing she asked was why I no longer wrote them. I could only smile. The 55s were a phase. So this one is specially for her.
Later the same day, I met a few other friends for dinner. The conversation somehow moved to how, on a cold morning a long time ago, I had abandoned my first vehicle (the ‘famous’ Kiney that fell in love with the mechanic and found excuses to visit him) in front of the workshop because I couldn’t take it along to our new accommodation. By that time, many of its parts had been spared for the newer vehicle. The conversation thus moved on to abandoned cars. You must’ve come across a few parked on the road – without tyres, insides lined with dust, torn seating, the model usually belonging to an earlier era, and now either ignored or the local kids’ play item . I have always been fascinated by them. For me, they are like snapshots in time. The end of some story. A cross road. A decision. To move on, the car not factoring in the rest of the story. The humans involved and the circumstances that made them abandon the car is always a potential story. Just like the 55 above.
until next time, it’s a caaaar story