tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100242892012-02-11T23:21:13.165+05:30ptbnoreply@blogger.comBlogger61100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10024289.post-77993473785424628852007-08-18T22:41:00.000+05:302007-12-29T11:39:54.679+05:30

Warning: The following story is a fictional piece of writing. It is to be taken in a lighter vein. Any resemblance to any living or dead person, thing or place is purely coincidental (yeah right!)"Trrrrrrrrriinnnngggg..." The alarm goes off. I reach out in the dark, groping for the clock, trying to shut it off. It won't. I get up groggily. Where had I put it last night? Like everything else in my

ptbnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10024289.post-71589905809459546042007-06-28T18:45:00.000+05:302007-06-29T10:48:25.150+05:30

“Anna!” Ramesh shouted out to one of his waiters, “take this order to the Apogee institute.” Anna looked up from the table he was wiping, slapped the wet cloth over his shoulders and ran up to the manager’s seat. “What am I taking?” he asked. “It’s a Mysore masala dhosa and an onion uttapa. Go to the second floor and get this bill signed. And come back soon. There are many deliveries to be

ptbnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10024289.post-89145724409650281192007-06-27T10:49:00.000+05:302007-06-28T16:52:22.320+05:30

I had been chatting with two college students while standing in the ticket line. Now we were running. I was already late. Just as the train arrived into the station, we managed to get the tickets. One of the students pointed out one of the train compartments near us was the general compartment. “We can get into that compartment,” he said. We climbed onto the compartment just as it was pulling out

ptbnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10024289.post-7799543251797094992007-06-19T10:42:00.000+05:302007-06-19T18:28:29.002+05:30

Tushar picked up the keys, stormed out and slammed the door of his house. Yet another fight. He could not take it anymore. He was sure that his relation was at the point of no return. Nothing could be done now. His relation with his wife would never improve, not even if changed half the letters of his name. He decided that he had had enough - both of his life and his wife. Life and wife. Ah,

ptbnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10024289.post-85050214543886510722007-06-14T18:28:00.000+05:302007-06-15T01:25:48.393+05:30

Banians for this story sponsored by Dixcy undergarments.The landlord had done it again. He had stolen my banian again. Not so much as literally stolen, but he had taken my banian and used it as his own. Here's the thing. The washing area where I have rented a room is common with the washing area of my landlord's house. Therefore there is a single clothesline and sometimes the clothes get mixed up

ptbnoreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10024289.post-40499665556043997072007-06-04T17:32:00.000+05:302007-06-07T16:51:07.281+05:30

I knocked on the door for the fifth time. Still no one answered.Finally, one of the neighbours called out from within his house, “They have gone to their native place.”It seems I had just missed him. I had come to Lilapur Colony to meet one of my old friends. I was in his city with some office work and I had called him up. He was supposed to go to his native town but he said that I would catch

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