Chicken

Note: Only Srinand the Class Rep's response was actually uttered.

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?


Poornima: Heeeyyy!!! The chicken crossed the roooooaaad?? Yaaaayyy!! I'm sooo happy for it .

Jayavel: It was a vital step as part of the simulation program we are all components of.

Vivek: Is there any use by answering this question?

Srivatsan: Let us first verify whether the chicken managed to cross the road. Let the chicken's natural velocity be 'v' and the traffic velocity be 'V'. If the chicken attempts to cross the road perpendicular to the traffic flow, by the parallelogram law of vector addition, it crosses the road at an angle of tan inverse of v upon V. Find the co-ordinates of its destination and check whether it is within the road length or not.

Mahi: Nice chudithar, chicky baby.

Durga: It was tempted to. Temptations cannot be resisted. What do you say?

KVA: I know, but I can't tell you, I'm sorry.

Sridhar: Appadiya? Ennadhoo?

Nikhil: Either to go further DOWN the road or get ACROSS it.

Arjun: Fuck it da.

Ananth: How many marks does that question carry?

Class Rep: Gen.

Krishnakanth: Did you listen to the rhythm created by the patter of feet created by the chicken as it crossed the road?

Rajesh Bou: Upload it in Yahoo! briefcase.

Nita: The chicken has changed a lot these days...it's not what I used to know it as...

KNR: It crossed the road? High funda! God level!

EP Ravi: Let's pack it.

Ravi Shankar Sir: Where is it? Where is it? I love chicks!

Nirmal: Simple. It was Christmas. Don't follow me? Well, it was Christmas, and Christians ate chicken biriyani, and when they crossed the road, the chicken in their belly crossed the road too.

Lavanya: Chaat.


Chicken: Come on, there wasn't anything else to do when the green light came up!

Frogs in Bogs

I'm sure that if a clandestine census is taken, 90% of IITM would be found suffering from constipation of sorts.

Half the time it's the defecatory urge that wakes me up and not the alarm that had been patiently waiting all night to do the job. My usual procedure is to spring out of the bed, de-pyjama, wrap a towel, fetch the soap-box and make a dash for the restroom. In my second sem I used to wake up after half the wing did, so invariably all three voiding chambers were occupied when I reached the toiletting complex at the corner of the wing. Invariably I had to run to the other end of the wing lest it gets filled too. This sem, however, I'm always the earliest to rise and shine in the half-wing, hence I merely need to choose my porcelain.

I don't know about your preference, but I dislike being watched when I excrete. This right I am denied every morning. Just when you settle to empty your body and soul, out pulls a small toad from a hidden crevice under the door. 'Not again! Shit!', you mutter, without intending the pun. He looks at you dolefully. You make sure you look back at him so that his eyes are on your eyes and nowhere else. Whatever be your mental might, your stools freeze inside you. All your dreams of happy neverending disembowelling wisp into thin air. You want to flush the frog, but his wife or live-in-girl clambers out of their little creek too and appears to ask him 'Is everything okay, dear?'. You decide to move to the next room, and come to your feet.

And he jumps onto your toe.

You yell. You screech like a ghost-witness and grab the towel and (without wrapping it around) bolt into the next lavatory. There matters are only worse. A king-size specimen, the biggest amphibian you've set eyeballs on, awaits you on the flush stand. He balloons his neck and breaks into a croak ('Welcome to the Pee-er's Parlour!', he seems to say) . You throw him an expletive and enter the next loo, determined to lessen your weight, frogs in or frogs out. Sure enough, one guy peeks out of the basin lining, but you don't care. You squat, and just when you are about to set it rolling, you hear a familiar sound...its pitch increases with every round of beeps...gawk! It's your alarum wailing off in your room! It's bringing the whole wing up! And there goes your solitary reaping...

When you come out at last, there are two or three guys (non-frogs) already flossing. The alarum had finished its minute-long duty. You wring your hands with soap, bring your brush-tonguescrubber-toothpaste kit and lock yourself in the centre bathroom. Once again, your batrachian friends creep out of nowhere and watch you bathe, silently, intently . It's show time. And when you take the towel off its steel rod, you find one of them leaping off it. Gawd knows what he's done on the towel!

Despite all their naughty little pranks, I love those creatures...once one visited my room but didn't stay long, especially after he was broomed away. When I'm on my own, don't be surprised to find an anuran aquarium in my house. And a small fenced beach for their terrestrial life too.

Crazy frogs!

Creation

And the Class Representative, all of His six feet and a half, descended from the Heavens, and said 'Thou shalt start blogging!', and the blog was created, and all was merriment and rejoice.