More Coffee? No Thanks. Chapter 11

When a woman keeps calm, you’d better run for your life.

Priya breathed slow and calculated breaths. We stood next to the bench in the back garden in the whereabouts of the lemon tree. As my readers might remember, it was also the backdrop for my fateful showdown with Reva earlier in my story. A casual reader with more time to spare than the others might even flip back a couple of chapters to glance over the aforementioned scene again. Speaking of time to spare, I clearly had aplenty. With Priya resorting to this rather curious form of yoga before me, I devoted my attention to the ripening lemons upon the tree and endeavored to pluck one of them. People who know me well would know that I am a fanatic when it comes to lemonade; and people who know their lemonade well, would know that there is nothing in the lemonade world that comes within touching distance of the one prepared from freshly squeezed lemons. So pluck I did, and being the gracious gentleman that I am, turned around to offer the fruit of my labor to the lady in my vicinity. However, the lady gave me a look that plainly said she would like nothing better than to grab the lemon and stick it into my right eye. It was like she had subtitles.



More Coffee? No Thanks. Chapter 10

Bad fortune needs no introduction.

I sat on the teak table, idly poking the contents of a fruit basket that lay upon it. Cleo’s barks continued ceaselessly. I wondered if this member of the canine species never got fed up of its own voice. I mean, if I were to talk aloud for that long, I would end up either dying of asphyxiation or simply boring myself to death. Clearly, Cleo was not well versed with either of those theories. Even if she did, she was clearly viewing this case as one worth dying for. I heaved a sigh laced with exasperation. Where was that Priya when you needed her the most?


More Coffee? No Thanks. Chapter 9

A girl can only pretend to not know what is on a guy’s mind.

I remained seated on the bed clutching the painting, not daring to breathe. If you were to walk into the room, you could have easily walked past me, mistaking me for an oddly shaped log with a painting stuck on it. And then you might have meandered back out into the living room to where Gopal and Reva stood, preparing to depart. I, on the other hand, would have opted to stay back in the confines of the room, awaiting an opportunity to escape.


More Coffee? No Thanks. Chapter 8.

Man, this Sun TV really knows its audience well.

Uncle Sridhar watched an effectively dumbed-down detective series on the channel with me by his side.

“I think the driver is the killer. Right, Hari?” he thought aloud, his mouth full of Pongal.


More Coffee? No Thanks. Chapter 7.

Gopal, contrary to his usual habits, was rather late. He rushed into the house just as the final relative had finished licking off the last drop of coffee off the rim of his tumbler.

“Dei Hari, where are Priya and Reva?” he asked, spotting me gathering up the used glasses off the table in the living room.