The Best Cake Ever: Happens only in Kerala

So one of my house mates, the beautiful (now a celebrity after her debut as an actress in the Malayalam cinema) Dominica Mencel has planned to go back to her country, well she is Polish. Oh yes I live with two white chicks and a brown man (I am darker shade of grey so have to respect the superior race or some shit like that). We have a beautiful house, thanks to our beautiful landlady Parvathy Janardhanan.

So to the story, Dominica informed me that she is leaving Kochi this weekend and so she wished to cook dinner for us, also wishing to spend the evening with us. We were game, even after having known her for a long time, because we still have that rush of excitement every time we talk to these white chicks. (Blame the Porn effect or Pron as Varun-the brown guy often pronounces). I was unnaturally sad and soon realized that I would miss some of her funny questions in her beautiful accent. When I say funny questions, I really mean funny. To cite an example “What are you doing with your coconuts?” in a heavy Polish accent that emphasized so much on the nuts. The only thing you can do is to stare at her in disbelief.

So this sadness had to be overcome and so I decided to give her a surprise or more like buy some cake for ourselves to eat after the delicious dinner she had promised.

So, while at work, I call up one of these Bakers and ask them to prepare a cake and make sure that the cake is completely white. The conversation

Me “Please make sure that the cake is completely white”

He “This will be the best cake saar”

Me “Thank you and also, I want  ~Good Bye Hot Chick~ Written on it”

He “Just a minute, let me write it down”

Me “Sure, it is ~Good Bye White Chick~ and put that in red”

He “Got it, just come and collect it by 10:00 PM”

Me “Yes, I will but do you want me to send you ~ Good Bye White Chick~ in an SMS”

He “Whaaat sir? You will get the best cake tonight”

Well that was an assurance and sounded very promising.

So she cooked the food and all of us were sitting together about to have dinner, suddenly the Promising Baker calls me up and tells me that the Best Cake is ready.

I jump off the bean bag and rush to get the cake. Tell them that I have to meet a friend; the usual Tanya (the other white chick) comments come pouring down on me for being rude and asocial. I ignore her ramblings because she happens to be one of the closest people I am with and I know she can be ignored if and when needed.

I drive to the baker’s and see this guy standing there, he didn’t seem very promising. I tell him that I am the guy who has come for the ‘White Chick’ cake.

The cake is packed in a box and with a plastic knife stuck on it. I am impressed but out of excitement and curiosity I ask him, if I can see the cake before I take it home. The guy nods and cut through the thin tape and opens up the ‘Best Cake’ to me, I am not so sure if words can describe the disbelief

This is what it opened to

I am not sure what I was supposed to do; I took the cake and left because they were waiting for me. I wasn’t sure about the reception I would get back at home. I knocked the door and Dominica was happy to see me bring a cake. Tanya was surprised and Varun appreciated the gesture. I asked them to open the box. The only thing I remember is Tanya and Dominica bursting out into a nonstop laughter. It turned out to be the Best Cake Dominica had ever had in India and Tanya has got something to pull my leg for. As for Varun and me, we will go back home today and finish the White Cake sorry the Best Cake.

The Short Stories.#55WordStories

Vacation
In an excitement he rushed out of the examination hall like every year
to celebrate his summer freedom, forgetting how this excitement had
orphaned him last summer.
Void
Eyes still closed, he wished she was gone. Love they made the night before was
still hurting his soul. Total strangers lost in lust and impulsiveness. As he
opened his eyes, he realized her absence and the void.
Sanctuary
She knew they would leave her there, amongst many her age, until she was no more.
They told her it was for her own good, to be taken care of and to be safe when they
are away. Uncertain she felt for this new home that seemed like a sanctuary. Protected
yet not her home.
Silence
Silence was echoing in the darkness, anxious for they knew it was bound to happen. Nothing
but his touch broke the silence, love was made. No words were uttered but sounds of passion
filled the darkness. Legs wrapped around, lips against skin and they sighed together. Tired
and once again they found themselves in silence.
Train
Watching this child sitting across her in this slow moving Train, she felt nostalgic. Her
life was spent studying, understanding and helping them grow. The mother smiled and said
“He cannot hear, he is deaf” and with a smile she replied “I understood. I am a teacher
for specially gifted children and I Train them”
Stories
She was in love with his words ~ She pursued him for his anonymity ~ He kept away for his own reasons
~She was determined ~ Love happened ~ He unlike his stories turned out to be shy and silent ~
She felt betrayed and she questioned him~ He smiled and answered “They were stories”

Thanks to Vivek and his #55WordStories

Without You…

Watching you from a strange distance that is strangely close enough,
Million thoughts tied up in a single smile of yours,
Words unpronounced and thoughts talking,
Fear of the moment and a life without you.

You are not mine, not yet and yet the belonging,
Gripping pain for the uncertain future and you,
Few words and nothing I give, not even the promise,
While your smile, in silence, has promises withheld.
That enchanting smile and I decipher nothing but mysteries,
Love, am sure about, and then there is more to it.
Like I said there is fear of the moment and a life without you.

In shadows we play, often hiding our bodies and playing with our souls,
Wanting each other more than the other,
Pain withheld and forgotten for we live now and this moment,
Wanting and yet not promising to be together forever,
With no fear of being wrong and without rhymes,
I write my thought, yet again the fear of the moment and the Life without you.

Almost Another Story

Out of boredom and curiosity I thought of reading through her tweets; it was just another exercise of mine. I wasn’t following her and I had no intention of doing so. Another handle, another woman, another human stuck in #140 characters and a lot of similar ideas crisscrossing my mind.

So, reading through her tweets I decided to go further and check her blog and that did the trick. I read through a couple of her blog posts and found them to be simple, meaningful and honest pretty much similar to what she seemed to be on Twitter. The blog was bookmarked and forgotten, so was the handle. Almost a month later, I saw her on my timeline through a retweet and this time it was her DP that got my attention, her almost hidden face, flowing hair, eyes that seemed to make you believe there wasn’t much pain around and she was just beautiful. Once again, I went through her tweets; they were mostly simple opinion, jumbled thoughts and random instances crowded in 140 characters.

Following her wasn’t much of a problem but the growing fondness for her simplicity, honest approach and the beautiful DP was irresistible. I liked her and before long I knew I was ‘crushed’. Have been following her for some time, should say a long time and have grown out of, rather pushed myself out of that crush.

I was not sure what kind of a person she could possibly be and didn’t see a point in perceiving her but then this

“And I cried yesterday, when the whole world was rejoicing the dawn of new year, new opportunities, new joys. 

 

I cried for the things that are bottled up inside, hurting me, getting accumulated year after year and just making me as stale as the year that went by. I cried for the opportunities lost, relations lost, feelings killed and some wait that never ended. I shed tears for the desires that were never fulfilled and people who never understood and lastly I cried for myself, for I have reached that stage that no decision here is no decision ever.

 

………………………………….. I will hold these memories close to me but I will now release all the desires, expectations, hopes.”

 These words made me go through her posts, tweets again and made me ponder the kind of person she could be. Life is beautiful and so is its ways, I was looking for some PR opportunity and eventually got in touch with her, she thought she could help so gave her a POC and it was forgotten. Weeks later I got a message apologizing for her inability to help me and I knew it was her, the innocent and honest human being that she was.

I spoke to her and she sounded like a person who could be honest with herself if not anyone else, an almost impossible feat these days.

I am not sure if the crush that I had for this beautiful woman has survived the time but for now I like her and she holds a special place in my random poignant thoughts.

An Uncertain Friend

Learning has always excited me and more than that it was the vast knowledge and those wise people that kept me in awe (read disgust) of my own ignorance. Anup Joy is one such person who has added to my pain of ignorance and the joy of learning. I was new to this company, learning the culture and the tricks and trades for survival, when I met this guy. Not just me but anyone who meets him for the first time would assume that he is a Doctor, well that friendly doctor who would rub you wrong to treat you right. I can reflect at the conversations I had with him over the last two months and, to me, it seems like a classroom wherein I learnt a lot more than I thought I knew. I have come across a lot of people who are mature, understanding and particularly the ones who are excellent communicators which helps them to win too many fans but unlike them this guy tends to provoke your brilliant ideas, tease your stagnant thought process and push you to prove yourself. You might feel the urge to overlook his opinion and move on with your life but his communication skills and his ability to understand your fucked up ego/ complexes/ low self esteem will prevent you from ignoring his blunt yet honest opinion. I am writing this not because I have something to share with him or to show my gratitude but because of this stupid urge to write/share about people who have added to my life, like I always did. The thin line of difference between arrogance and smartness is what this guy tends to play around with. His down to earth nature, gentle convincing smile and the thought provoking sense of sarcasm is well complimented by his honesty towards himself; if not anyone else. I am not sure if he lies, I don’t see a need for him to do so, and so every time I walk up to him with doubt and particularly when I am confused I know I am going to get the most honest opinion and that helps me to analyse where I stand amongst the debris of confusion. This stupid yet beautiful connect that I feel with this random guy whom I have started admiring for his ability to make me understand myself has a certain beginning and for some reason I call him my uncertain friend. Like they say, People who happen to you are the ones who last long. *fingers crossed*

Complimentary Vada: The Controversial Piece

Like most mornings in my life, since I moved to Kerala, I decided to get myself something to eat. Feeling like a woman and not wanting to cook, I left home and walked into this small restaurant right across my work place and ordered for a Masala Dosa. The generous restaurant, if I can call it so, decided to place a complimentary Vada along with the Masala ‘Dull’ Dosa.

Now out of curiosity I asked the waiter, who threw the plate with the Masala Dosa and Vada on my table (hospitality is rare in Kerala), about this complimentary Vada. I asked “Boss, I just ordered for a Masala Dosa” and pointed at the Vada. He grinned and winked at me and said “Have it brother, it is delicious.” Now that did the trick, coz delicious food with a review from a guy who has first hand experience is a must try. Also, the smile and wink suggested that this complimentary Vada was a part of the so called hospitality.

Now as I sat there digging my finger into the complimentary Vada and often taking a chunk off from the Masala Dosa, I felt as if the Vada was grinning at me just like guy who served it to me. I know I have a stupid imagination. As I sat there I decided to have a cup of coffee, I called the waiter and just then a guy walked in, occupied the chair opposite to me, looked into my plate and ordered Masala Dosa. I smiled at this new table buddy and ordered my coffee. The waiter brought the Masala Dosa along with “The Complimentary Vada” and my coffee arrived in a steel glass which was placed in a flat small steel bowl which was again in a stained saucer. The breakfast table buddy was munching onto his breakfast and he seemed in a hurry, I assumed that Monday was the reason for me eating slowly and him hurrying up. He quickly finished his Masala Dosa along with the Complimentary Dosa and waved at the waiter for the bill as he rushed to wash his sambhar dipped hand at the wash basin. I smiled at him as he walked away from the table collecting his bag and he ignored my smile as if I didn’t exist at the table. I ignored the way he ignored me and looked back at the grinning Vada, suddenly I heard a ruckus taking place at the bill counter.

My Breakfast table buddy was pointing at the long wooden menu hung on the wall and he said “I ordered for a Masala Dosa and the menu says it is 35 rupees, you can’t charge me 42 rupees” The guy at the counter with the same Vada/ Waiter grin said “You also ate the Vada, which will cost you 7 rupees.” The Complimentary Vada, my idea of hospitality had suddenly become a complicated subject of argument. My Breakfast Table buddy slammed his hand on the counter and shouted “I never ordered for it and you served it, I thought it was free.” The guy at the counter frowned and said “If you didn’t want the Vada, you could have told the waiter and he would have taken that back.” I looked at the waiter who looked at me and walked into the kitchen. Seconds later another guy walked out of the kitchen, walked upto me to ask if I wanted anything else. The ruckus at the counter mellowed down and the Breakfast buddy left after paying. I asked for the bill and pretty much knew that the Complimentary Vada wasn’t complimentary anymore.

The Vada tasted better than the Masala Dosa but I realized that nothing comes for free, atleast not the Complimentary Vada.

Lost Words: An Untold Story

Drops of dream and all falling on to my closed eyes

All the more I am lost and all the more I am in love

She spoke of what I knew I would feel and she

She spoke of us and said it was never; wish it was true for it seems forever

 

She walked out of the bed and stood by the window. It was dark outside, enough to blind her, but she could see some light faraway or she believed she did. Tears flowing down her cheek down on her naked breast, she knew she didn’t deserve this pain. It had been more than two years that she had felt this pang burrowing her thoughts and leaving enough pain there to hurt her. It was a random search for poems and beautiful words, she landed on this blog, read some posts and found them to be interesting rather enchanting. She commented and forgot about it.

An anonymous response for the comments on one of those posts is where it all started. He never gave away his name and kept his identity under cover. He was smart with words and intriguing for his anonymity and playfulness with words. A man of few words and would ask questions that would provoke or mostly leave her shallow. They started exchanging mails, initially about his blogs and her comments, and later they started speaking of ideologies. He kept her intrigued with his anonymity and his blog posts. Soon it became a ritual for her to read through his words and comment, to wait for his mails on her comments and for more exchanges.

On his part, he would write mails explaining his blog and expressing his opinion about her comments. The anonymity prevailed. She felt connected. She found a friend in a nameless, faceless and an unknown man. He understood her even she spoke less. She cried reading his blogs and she waited to hear from him. She wept upon his lost love and she wept upon his painful youth, all in his words. She loved his words, she loved him and she knew not who he was. She hated another woman commenting. She hated the hundreds and thousands of visitors on his blog. She would suggest her discomfort when he replied to women but he would always come up with something to cheer her up and the reading continued.

Faraway on some land unknown she lives,
With a wish of being with her, I endure the pain here.
Know her as a tigress clad in the velvet of life,
Thoughts of tacit pleasure, her words arouse me,
Fear of her parting and the pain there after,
I dread my thoughts as I express them in words.
Not that she is unaware of my thoughts,
But the fear of her judging it.

And this she knew or believed was for her. She felt the love, the belongingness and his love for her. She didn’t comment, she couldn’t and she believed that would leave him restless.

Another week passed by with no mails from him, there were no new posts. He was gone from her life and his own. Was almost a month, she had checked his blog every other day. She read them over and again. She wrote to him, nothing about his blog, asking about who he was and with a want to meet him. She wrote about her love, the pain she went through and sense of betrayal she felt. She cried as she wrote and the pain reflected in her words.

Next morning, she woke up with a heart filled with expectations and the fear of being hurt. She was hopeful for a reply, even if it meant pain. There was no mail from him and in disbelief she sat there. Anger took over pain and she decided to let go. After all, it was just another guy and someone she never met. She knew it was hurting but more than that she knew it was necessary to get over him and his words. The good bye was needed; a comment, she believed would be suffice, and so she visited his blog. It wasn’t there anymore. Two years and he hasn’t written ever since, at least not known to her.

Fiction