Rendezvous with the nouveau riche
There I was. Naïve & Excited. The disaster called exams was over and we had to dutifully go to a Mangalore ice-cream parlor to celebrate our hopes melting before our eyes. My friend rushes in, panting and tells me that it’s his birthday. Where are you when I need you, Orkut? A small group of his friends have started to Mangalore for a cheap sundae and if we hurry, we could join in.
Before we know it, we are in a Service bus to Mangalore. For the uninitiated, there are 2 kinds of buses - Service and the more expensive Express, with fewer stops. For the NITKian on a shoestring budget, Express is a bad word. So if you like the idea of having "Mangalore, Mangalore, Mangalore" bellowed in your ears every 5 minutes, and saving the princely sum of 6 bucks while you’re at it, Service is your best bet.
Pradeep is still sore over his scores. Late night carom never did anyone good. He starts using the seat in front as a punching bag to vent out his frustration, just ending up scaring the hell out of the old ladies sitting there.
Varun, our famished college topper, has spent more time in early morning duties, than asleep. He seems to be changing colour with every road bump. That magic elixir, the panacea for all evils, Maaza is still 20 minutes away.
And me? I am still recovering for some unsolicited advice from friends, on which notebook to buy. Should I buy the one with more memory, or that comes with preloaded Windows? Or the one with a 64-bit processor?
The bus conductor is an old drunkard. He makes his living by pocketing fivers and not giving tickets. He keeps his conscience clean by giving a whole rupee off to those in his amiable win-win.
In Mangalore, we meet this large gang of people who plan to take us to another restaurant. The leader of the motley crowd, A, gives us an impromptu pep talk on why our youth is passing by and we need to do something quick. Hmmm. Before we know it, we are at the entrance of an up market 4-star hotel. Even as people count their dough, the guard rushes to throw us out! This is no small insinuation for A, who marches us in, pausing only to exchange some revolting scowls with the impudent guard.
We enter the rooftop restaurant. And the gang could not get more boisterous. Drooling at the décor. Waiting to call home and brag to the neighbours. We have finally arrived.
Well, what should we order? Always our saviour, A grabs the menu, glances at some exotic stuff to offer and dishes out what suits us best. the brief: half of us will have "Hong Kong" and other half "Shanghai". A has some sympathy for our budgets and has decided to "by-2" our meals. We have much to learn!!!
For the rest of us, who sadly don’t share the quiet sophistication of A, it’s a jubilant moment. Even in unchartered territory, the engineer in A is not lost. "Listen frainds - ladies and gentalmaan - can you give me the praabability of finding on page number 2 the word" - (an adept pause for effect as S surveys the looks of anticipation) - "Chicken?" People feverishly begin the search.
Even the waiters seem to enjoy the moment, and their clients: an almost unending supply of water!!! Hands and legs move up in a struggle for the saunf!
The bill runs into the thousands. Students squirm and cringe. One even reminds us that he is on a scholarship! A, now surprisingly flushed, offered to pay with his expired Debit Card. A la Electron. Numbers surprisingly add up and the bill is paid. In the words of the immortal Snagglepuss: "Exit. Stage Right". The now tame guard watches us leave.
This day simply couldn’t get any worse! Or could it? We have missed the last bus and have to walk across the city to the KSRTC bus station. We can choose between hitchhiking with a Tempo-Trax at 12 or the Nandini Milk vans even later. A has a speech ready for every occasion and begins to explain how we ought to pay more for sitting together.
At the bus stations, all the benches are used by the homeless. The less lucky amongst them sleep on the ground. To the homeless, who have not heard of condos and high rises, this is their idea of Real Estate. We are relegated to old and broken seats. Even the homeless had torn blankets. We have the stench of the men’s urinal and a condom-vending machine. My friend, Varun, almost looks like a drug addict sleeping next to the bin. I tried to ask around for a rupee coin to check if my paltry weight had finally moved up. The enthu was simply not taken well.
At 03:30 in the morning, we jumped into the first state transport bus which would take us back to Surathkal. The conductor expected an extra buck to drop us off at our hostel gate. Nobody dared argue.
The nouveau riche returns. Peeved. Pooped. Much Enlightened.
Before we know it, we are in a Service bus to Mangalore. For the uninitiated, there are 2 kinds of buses - Service and the more expensive Express, with fewer stops. For the NITKian on a shoestring budget, Express is a bad word. So if you like the idea of having "Mangalore, Mangalore, Mangalore" bellowed in your ears every 5 minutes, and saving the princely sum of 6 bucks while you’re at it, Service is your best bet.
Pradeep is still sore over his scores. Late night carom never did anyone good. He starts using the seat in front as a punching bag to vent out his frustration, just ending up scaring the hell out of the old ladies sitting there.
Varun, our famished college topper, has spent more time in early morning duties, than asleep. He seems to be changing colour with every road bump. That magic elixir, the panacea for all evils, Maaza is still 20 minutes away.
And me? I am still recovering for some unsolicited advice from friends, on which notebook to buy. Should I buy the one with more memory, or that comes with preloaded Windows? Or the one with a 64-bit processor?
The bus conductor is an old drunkard. He makes his living by pocketing fivers and not giving tickets. He keeps his conscience clean by giving a whole rupee off to those in his amiable win-win.
In Mangalore, we meet this large gang of people who plan to take us to another restaurant. The leader of the motley crowd, A, gives us an impromptu pep talk on why our youth is passing by and we need to do something quick. Hmmm. Before we know it, we are at the entrance of an up market 4-star hotel. Even as people count their dough, the guard rushes to throw us out! This is no small insinuation for A, who marches us in, pausing only to exchange some revolting scowls with the impudent guard.
We enter the rooftop restaurant. And the gang could not get more boisterous. Drooling at the décor. Waiting to call home and brag to the neighbours. We have finally arrived.
Well, what should we order? Always our saviour, A grabs the menu, glances at some exotic stuff to offer and dishes out what suits us best. the brief: half of us will have "Hong Kong" and other half "Shanghai". A has some sympathy for our budgets and has decided to "by-2" our meals. We have much to learn!!!
For the rest of us, who sadly don’t share the quiet sophistication of A, it’s a jubilant moment. Even in unchartered territory, the engineer in A is not lost. "Listen frainds - ladies and gentalmaan - can you give me the praabability of finding on page number 2 the word" - (an adept pause for effect as S surveys the looks of anticipation) - "Chicken?" People feverishly begin the search.
Even the waiters seem to enjoy the moment, and their clients: an almost unending supply of water!!! Hands and legs move up in a struggle for the saunf!
The bill runs into the thousands. Students squirm and cringe. One even reminds us that he is on a scholarship! A, now surprisingly flushed, offered to pay with his expired Debit Card. A la Electron. Numbers surprisingly add up and the bill is paid. In the words of the immortal Snagglepuss: "Exit. Stage Right". The now tame guard watches us leave.
This day simply couldn’t get any worse! Or could it? We have missed the last bus and have to walk across the city to the KSRTC bus station. We can choose between hitchhiking with a Tempo-Trax at 12 or the Nandini Milk vans even later. A has a speech ready for every occasion and begins to explain how we ought to pay more for sitting together.
At the bus stations, all the benches are used by the homeless. The less lucky amongst them sleep on the ground. To the homeless, who have not heard of condos and high rises, this is their idea of Real Estate. We are relegated to old and broken seats. Even the homeless had torn blankets. We have the stench of the men’s urinal and a condom-vending machine. My friend, Varun, almost looks like a drug addict sleeping next to the bin. I tried to ask around for a rupee coin to check if my paltry weight had finally moved up. The enthu was simply not taken well.
At 03:30 in the morning, we jumped into the first state transport bus which would take us back to Surathkal. The conductor expected an extra buck to drop us off at our hostel gate. Nobody dared argue.
The nouveau riche returns. Peeved. Pooped. Much Enlightened.
posted by Nitin at 6:23 AM
2 Comments:
funny how you get unsolicited advice on notebooks, everyone seems to talk only about its portability if you mention it in gb
nice post
Post a Comment
<< Home