More Coffee? No thanks. Chapter 1


 

It was a fair enough morning. The early birds were up and about, catching their respective worms and making a great deal of fuss about it. The Homo Sapiens, on the other hand, were only beginning to stir and wake up to a slight chill in the air. The general atmosphere was that of contempt and mild surprise at the generosity of the weather. If the poet Keats had been around, he might have been bally-ho about the whole scene and would have surprised no one by writing about seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness. I sat on the porch of Surya Nivas and stretched the weary limbs. The last thirty odd hours had been spent in the rickety metal carriage of a train and I was glad to finally be in a place where I could swing my arms around without the conscious fear of slapping a bloke inadvertently. Not that I was someone who does that frequently, but it is a nice feeling to know that one can swing one’s arms around without fear if the need arise.

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More Coffee? No thanks. Chapter 2


On the subject of surprises, I have strong opinions. There are times when they are welcome, but others when life would be better off without them. Besides the timing itself, the general subject that causes the surprise can also determine the open-armness of the welcome that is offered to it. To cite an example, it would be a wonderful surprise – one to be welcomed with the openest of arms, if life is dawdling along and a long lost bosom friend pops up out of nowhere. On the other hand, if you have just left a location grateful about not having run into a certain bloke, it is less than a pleasant surprise to find the same bloke awaiting you at your next destination.

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More Coffee? No thanks. Chapter 3.


There are two kinds of men in the world – those who know that they don’t know what is on a girl’s mind, and those who don’t know that they don’t know. On the other hand, there are two types of women in the world – those who are quietly satisfied about the fact that men know nothing about them, and those who get increasingly frustrated about the fact that men know nothing about them. I had my feet firmly planted in the first category of men, while Reva quite clearly belonged to the second category of women. So, it wouldn’t have taken an overpriced psychologist to predict that Reva and myself were never really on the same wavelength. Ever.

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More Coffee? No thanks. Chapter 4


There are wise men who have said – There is nothing fair about the fairer sex when they have their mind set on something. Had I chanced upon those men, I would have shaken their hands out of sheer admiration and maybe even thrown in an embrace or two. My cousin of course, was at the forefront of this community that the wise men spoke of. It wouldn’t be too far fetched to imagine that she was ‘Sample A’ while the wise men conducted subtle experiments to form conclusions on human behavior.

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More Coffee? No thanks. Chapter 5.


Aunt Jaya was an impressive female. During her better years, she was the headmaster of an elementary school in town where she terrorized every student who would be sent to her for detention. She held a PhD in literature and had the most enchanting collection of classics in her study room. I must remark, that room was where I spent most of my time when I visited her in my juvenile years.

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