Quipper Snapper

Given my current spring-cleaning state of mind, I’ve ruthlessly hacked through my burgeoning shoe rack and closets, discarding everything that hasn’t been used in the last 24 months. In keeping with the anti-clutter spirit, I turned to the random store of photographs on my mobile. The ones that I keep clicking and saying, “I so have to blog about this!” and then doing nothing about. Here is some of what I found:



This is possibly the closest I’ve come to doing it like an Indian man (peeing, you know, in maximum public view et al - if goats count, that is). The ladies restroom at this Kamat in Amboli, while on a road trip to Goa, took some getting used to. I walked in, whooped and did a bit of an “oh-my-god-I-did-not-expect-to-win-this-crown” pageant winner act while the washroom attendant eyed me expressionlessly. I then clicked a couple of pictures, which got her to raise an eyebrow before shaking her head, calling upon some God and returning to her mopping. Shrubbery made up most of the missing fourth wall, and I battled with performance anxiety as a few curious goats peeked through the foliage every now and then.



I know, I know. Misspelled signboards are a dime a dozen through our land. Don’t you just love them? I cannot get enough of them. So this guy seems quite capable. He can vanquish your "enemy" "abrode". As long as your problem does not pertain to beating that enemy at the national spelling bee, all is good.



Appetising, innit? Available at your nearest Barista. I must add here that KO loved it. But then KO would, considering her penchant for rotten food. Yes, you read right. Spoilt, stale, rotten – any food item in its dotage. At the top of the list reads rock-hard buns and putrefied paav bhajji. See, KO is the type, who, while the rest of us are gagging and rolling up the car windows in a hurry while going past a sewer, will wind down her window as much as possible and inhale deeply. She claims "seweromatherapy" is aphrodisiacal in nature. Personally, I think this donut would tackle that enemy better than aforementioned Mr. Life Problem Solver.



What exactly does one say to a friend who has exited a suffocating, dead-end relationship, none the worse for wear? While most people fumbled with what to say, BC, Bin and KO did it with typical panache. Nothing says “Hurrah! We’re glad the gangrene’s gone” better than a surprise plate of gooey Mississippi Mud Pie and a cheery “Congratulations!”



This is a picture of BC’s foot preparing for attack. BC has crab claws for feet, I swear it. One word out of place and you feel those pincers pinching an apology out of you instantly. I am quite certain BC's dreaded foot must be part of the country’s clandestine cache of torture implements.

Right. So my mobile is all cleaned up. Next stop: Facebook "friends" list.

All this getting rid of old and useless stuff reminds me of Chennai's "Bogi" festival, which I heard about during a (mercifully short) stint of schooling there. I was clueless about "Bogi" so a classmate condescended to explain it to the alien child. The conversation went something like this:

- Everything old and useless is burnt in a giant bonfire. Do you want to contribute anything?
- Oh. How about Radha Miss*? She is old and useless, no?
- Radha Miss! White Pig** wants to kill you in the fire!
- White Pig!
- Yes, Miss?
- That is a bad joke. Good girls do not joke. They work hard for centum***! Get out I say!

Tsk. And to think I wasn't even joking.

*A crochety Math teacher
**Literal translation from the Tamil nickname my endearing class had given me. I love their originality.
***Chennai's obsession with 100% in every subject.