Talking about the stark contrast between their handwritings…his so ugly that a complete generation of professors at his school had cursed their career choices while marking his exam copies (all great men had bad handwritings…but vice versa?)…and hers’ so calligraphic that by the time she wrote his name on a ( The only...of the promised many…) book she gifted him, slanted her head and gave it one final look , he fell in love with it… ………………………………………………………………………………………….

Joking about people’s pot bellies one day when he vowed he’ll never have one…little did he know that pot bellies like death were inevitable, especially if one’s hatred of pot bellies was never greater than one’s love for good food…and he was to remember for the rest of his life the promise he could not keep…averting a self fulfilling prophecy of pot bellies…and many other prophecies which he had inflicted on himself…

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There was vodka in munnar…a new brand called ‘romanov’ (2002)…obtained from a shady malyalee ‘ llll’liquor shop stinking of piss…it was the first time it struck him that she was beautiful....the way her hair swung while she danced …her eyes were just the gentle medium brown colour…reflecting the bonfire…with a drunkard’s confidence he wanted to tell her all that...but wisdom prevailed…atleast once…

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She was listening to Sufi music when she thought of him…(or was she listening to Sufi music because she wanted to think about him)…she was not comfortable with not having ended it on a positive note…she wanted to finish it clinically...leaving no lose ends…no hard feelings….she would have liked to be in touch, once in a while…exchange of mails…or a message on social networking…but she supposed he would still be angry…jerk…

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