Of Black Tongues and Other Mishaps

Today I had a conversation with a friend about kari nakku.This friend is planning a trip shortly and I happened to mention in jest that if something untoward were to happen, I would lay a wreath on this friend's grave. Now , this friend did not share my lighthearted take on this and was plainly offended. And this got me thinking ( no mean feat, those who know me will agree ).

An incident that happened in Chennai some years back sprang to memory. A friend ( who for want of a better name we will call Mr Puli ) and I were going somewhere by bus. Mr Puli happened to remark that it was a wonderful thing that there were no bus strikes in Chennai. An off-the-cuff remark you would say, one which did not deserve a comment much less valuable bytes of storage in my memory all these years. Patience , dear reader , patience. To continue from where I left off ( those who know me will vouch that I can go tangentially any time which is apt to confuse the enraptured listeners waiting with bated breath for the nuggets of wisdom to fall from my pearly lips ) ...uh oh where was I ?

Oh yes, the bus trip. So we continued on the trip, reached our destination ,did some shopping and were ready to return ( see , I can be curt and to the point if I want to). And here , gentle readers, ( Editor's note: Hold on tight. Shocking surprise coming up ) you will Iam sure get the shock of your lives when I tell you with an Alfred Hitchcocksque air that there were no buses to board due to a lightning strike. And from that day on we had a new term - Puli yude nakku. Which brings us to the end of the narrative on Black Tongues.

On to Other Mishaps. This is another incident when I and Mr Puli were returning by bus from office. Since we were housemates , one of us would get the tickets. On the day in question, unluckily for me , Mr Puli got the tickets. Now just before reaching our bus stop , there was a speed breaker. Unknown to me Mr Puli had used the drop in the bus speed at the bump to hop lightly off the bus. I continued on merrily till the bus stop, where I got down and was greeted with elation by a crew of ticket checkers.

What did I have to fear? I waited for the passengers to get down, among which would be my dear friend Mr Puli with the tickets, seeing which the ticket checkers would stop looking at me like I was a you-know-what and fawn on me respectfully like I was a you-know-who . I waited. and waited. and waited. The bus was nearly empty and then I realized how Buddha must have felt when he attained Nirvana. For you see, light ( tubelight probably, since it took so long ) finally dawned on me. Mr Puli had disappeared. AWOL. There was nothing to do. I had to swallow the righteous indignation I was spewing out and pay the fine.To add insult to injury , I could hear one of the passengers commenting loudly "Thiruttu rascal" , "Thiruda" etc - in short showing off his by-no-means-limited vocabulary. I contented myself with giving him a dirty look and walked away in dignified silence ( not too easy when you consider I had just been picked for ticketless travelling ).

p.s : The story doesnt end here, you dear readers will be pleased to note. By a happy coincidence, I was carrying the house keys. Needled with this affront on my pride, I headed straight for the barber shop. And one hour later ( what was the hurry anyway :) ), when I f-i-n-a-l-l-y reached home, Mr Puli was still waiting outside.