wordzzle maxi - week 142

Let my introduce myself - My real name is Tara, but I'm called Ocean by everyone. Don't ask me why. I don't even like beaches, and my eyes aren't anything close to sea-blue-with-flecks-of-gray like my friend Laila's either. The person who gave me that nickname must have had a warped sense of humour.

Laila, Kriti (musical genius and my other best friend) and I together share a cramped hostel room with hardly any closet space. We are all as different as chalk and cheese and chewing gum, but we coexist beautifully, and have become fast friends in the process of keeping each other awake before exams every month, fighting over who gets to wear the sole existing pair of silver earrings to the fresher's party, and watching cricket matches breathlessly on the tiny television during the IPL season.

Laila is the college babe, for whom life is a soap opera. Her aspiration is to become an actor/model, but I'm warning you, cliches vanish before her. Sure, she may not be completely endowed in the top story, but she has a lot of native intelligence and is, besides, the most heavenly cook. She once made this baked corn that was perfection itself. I've stopped ordering corn in restaurants after that. They seem somehow tasteless and bland after hers.

Kriti, as I've mentioned, is a gifted musician. I'm not exaggerating: nothing less than the extraordinary talent she possesses would have induced Laila or me to allow her to have a piano in our already rather cramped room. There's more to Kriti than music though, she's the very epitome of sweetness and light - the calm and warm glue that binds all three of us into something closer than mere friends. She's a mother without ever having been pregnant.

As for me, I'm a bookworm, a nerd, whatever you like to call it. The library is my most favourite place in the whole world and I can get through five 'hardy' classics in a row without flinching (pun intended). I'm an aspiring writer, with a weakness for horrendous puns and word puzzles of any kind. I never go anywhere without my favourite leather jacket (now rather worn and tearing at the seams) on. Some people have blankets; I have jackets for security.

That's it about the lot of us. When I say we don't have much in common, perhaps that's not entirely true. All three of us show a flagrant disregard for rules of any kind and we love to crib about life, work, and study in that order(bad habit, I know, but it's the only weakness we indulge in besides chocolate).

I'd better get to the point soon. The only reason I undertook this operation of writing about the lot of us is because

a) The other two are too lazy to do so

b) I'm completely convinced that I need a snapshot of these moments, not on camera, but something that gives a more lasting idea - words. Years later, when my kids are all grown up with moustaches, I can bring out these old, faded diaries, and show everyone my authentic thoughts as I was going through college, because mere memories are too shaky and unreliable.

This is only my introduction piece, but that's all for now, folks! I'll be back when the urge to write strikes me again. Till then, I'd better hide this book somewhere safe where no one goes, like the shower.

Wordzzle mini - week 140

"You can get this bug spray at a ridiculously cheap price." announced the salesman in a hopeful tone. He looked as if for two pins he would wave the can in front of his prospective customer's face, while chanting, "buuuuuuy it! BUUUUUUYYYYYYY IT!".

Theo shook his head. He was allowing his imagination to get away with him. This salesman looked harmless enough when you looked at him; but then again, didn't that serial killer in that horror movie yesterday look like a mild-mannered sheep?

"It is my ambition to charter a flight to New York for underprivileged kids" the salesman was continuing. "And any contributions you make will be most welcome."

His tone was definitely menacing now. Not so much menacing as very honeyed and sweet. It made him think of sweet little sheep in fresh meadows and of rosy pink clouds. Man-eating sheep and thunderclouds.

What was wrong with him?

"Um", he said nervously. "I don't want a bug spray, thanks. I have no bugs at home, fortunately." He tried to smile but faltered on seeing the salesman's face. He looked murderous. No, merely disappointed, that's all. The salesman heaved a tiny sigh, so tiny it could hardly be heard. "No, no one in this part of town has any bugs at all. Lucky for you."

"Unlucky for you, I know, but you can try someplace else." said Theo encouragingly.

The salesman looked even more melancholy. "Ah, but I don't want to leave this town, you see. Too many memories." He walked away, looking even more forlorn with every step.

Theo felt relieved as the salesman disappeared around the corner. The air of gloom which seemed to have lighted on him vanished. "It's back to business as usual, Flossie," he told his pet cat who was yawning contentedly on the rug.

He turned into the kitchen and failed to notice Flossie sitting up with a jerk and scratching herself very hard all over. She rolled on the rug frantically from side to side, like a million fleas were on her back.

A few days later, a small paragraph appeared in the local newspaper. It stated that a Mr. Theodore Windermere, inhabitant of The Larches, Newton Road, Tewkesbury, had died on Thursday due to accumulation of formic acid in his body. The newspaper noted a curious feature that the dead man's body had been entirely covered with 'bite marks', as though a thousand bees had stung him simultaneously. 'This is a fantastic description of the body, and no doubt a logical explanation will be provided', concluded the report.

No logical explanation was ever provided.