She behaved like a CRACK

This was like any other morning, I usually read the morning papers in rapt attention, like I was going to contribute something to society real soon. It's one of those useless habits that people have, that they just can't let go of. I have a neighbor, who had bought a brand new laptop, and said that he was going to use it to make some devotional software. South Indian gospels rock. SIGs consist of a bearded dude singing so loud that the recording studios replace the microphones every half an hour. (They don't charge more, as they get a free sonic cobweb cleaning instead). Behind the BD (Bearded dude) is an army of devout looking blokes with all sorts of face paint and forehead paint, hitting away on all percussion instruments ever invented by man. This neighbor guy actually walked up to me and showed me the laptop and said it was the latest Intel Dual Gore. No, he actually said "Gore" like he meant it. I cocked a few astonished eyebrows and tried to look impressed. I was fiddling around on my SUV and don't usually like to be disturbed, unless it is some form of food. Then this idiot opens the laptop and says "See see see" and there is a huge AMD sticker plastered near the keyboard. I don't question him about that, as it may lead to a sermon about how Intel bought AMD or that he stuck that sticker and it really meant, Anna, M.G.R, Dravidar and so on. I tried a smile and let it be. This fellow, wearing a tie on a hot Sunday morning, walks up and down the street with this laptop in his hand. For, us South Indians such behavior is normal and we don't bother ourselves to look bothered. We know we all have these habits, like if we buy a new stapler for the office, we have to dress in formals and staple all paper at home. Same way, new laptop - dress in formals and walk around the block, laptop in hand.

So, I read the morning papers in the same manner, and was so startled by this small article that I blew coffee bubbles from my navel. The header took me on a mystical journey to my disturbing college years when some creatures from down south (Real South Indians), who studied with me, used to bring these cheap local porn magazines called Thirai Chitra or Marudhani or something. The centrespreads would be gigantic middle aged Mallu women whose private parts can be seen only in X-Rays. These creature classmates used to foam at the mouth seeing these magazines. Well, the title looked something out of those books. SHE BEHAVES LIKE A CRACK. I felt a disturbing urge to actually find this Keralite bozo's number and call him up and find out what he really meant by "Crack". I may be disturbing his crazy schedule of bathing in oil and eating off leaves laid on the floor, and I may even manage to get a free lesson on how to pronounce the perfect "O".

I'd probably ask him, "Tsss.. tsssss.. Aey, Idha pro-o-pur meanink yendha?" And keep saying "Oa.. oa..." intermittently. He may even think I am a distant cousin.