Where the highway miles are deeply missed, like a missing second spoon before a plate of steaming chow chow bhath

Oh chow chow bhath. How much I adore you. Let me count the ways.

I would pay to see a south indian break into english poetry while praising south indian food. Actually almost any poem would sound funny in a southie accent.

“Ayyo thaar was once an idli so soft and yummmmm,

5 plates even would naat even fill up the tummmm,

Whaar ever I wenttt(uh), thaar I would think-uh,

Oh my beaauuutiful idlee and rasammmm(uh).”

Ok enough racism for the day. Actually is it racism if you call a southie a southie? In all probability, the southie would be like “Oye, who you calling a mallu?” or something like that.

So today the autowallah is like “Meter plus ten rupees” and I did my best southie imitation, pointed fist to him, with thumb facing me and said “Yaake?”.

Lacking any answer, the autowalla nodded his head (full shake here and shake there) and dropped me to my destination. I dont understand why the fuck did he ask for extra (it was like 5 in the evening) and furthermore, why the fuck did he only ask for ten bucks. I mean if you gonna scam then dream big right?

Anyway, last night I belted the spiciest (and I am not kidding over here) chilly chicken I have had in a long, long time. I mean this shit was soooo spicy that today morning all I saw were chilly seeds (please be eating while reading this). Oh good lord, it was wonderful. I mean there were times when my stomach totally went “Dude wtf man. Enough.” and I was like “okay okay relax, just one more spoonful” and the problem was that the sexy chilly gravy that was served with the chicken. I mean this shit was saaxxxxxy. I was literally dipping fried pappad into it, scooping it up and then belting it down. Full proper. Saax.

You know its odd that different things scare you at different points in your life. Or even the way you react to different situations. I find it a bit difficult to believe that people actually change through time. Is that really possible? Weren’t we all born with our characteristics stamped on our heads?

I bet there is this one dude who can go about the world and just stare at your head and figure out who you are. Like the ultimate bar code scanner.

Bar Code.Hmmmm, like what two bartenders would exchange secrets in. Or a set of rules which you have to follow in an establishment which serves alcohol. “Dude, don’t do that. It is against the bar code” or something like that. I wonder what rule no 1 would be?

Do not bite the glass?

I don’t know. I want to be invited into the teachers room at a school of magic. Just to see what the teachers bring in their tiffin for lunch.

So apparently it is time to get a little more serious and grown up and tackle issues of a more mature character. Like, you know, “big people” problems. Like credit card bills and loan repayments, relationship management and the like.

I miss my bike. I really, really do. Cheh. Full senti.

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