wherever-u-go-I-follow - 1 (Girls version)

I'm sure this happened to most of you guys, but I bet, not the way it happened to me. So, I guess it's worth sharing. 

Like most women I claim that I'm not much of a shopaholic but I do a window shopping when I have nothing better to do. I was having a stroll on a forlorn autumn dusk, tucking my hands in the pockets of my Nike jacket, playing hide-N-Seek with the moon lit shadows on the pavement . I love it when the breeze caresses my cheeks pushing away the stray strands of hair that bothered me. I was so engrossed in my own world that I hardly noticed the towering shopping mall until I was standing right under its nose. Bunches of plastic roses of all colors, huggie-bears, Swarovski crystals, porcelain dolls,  coffee mugs showcased in the mall begged me to come and have a peek at them. I walked in to the store, all twinkle eyed and jewel smiled.

No sooner than I stepped in to the store, I was face-to-face with this jeans clad sales person carrying a truck load of stationary. He split in to an ear to ear grin like a eager beaver, who waited all his life for this very moment in his life. I smiled a courteous smile and walked my way in to the books section of the store. I was ogling at a pile of Mills-N-Boons when I noticed that I'm being stalked.  What for? I questioned myself.  The very sales rep who welcomed me with a daisy fresh smile now tailed me cautiously as if he were an undercover agent and I were a Kleptomaniac.  Do I look like a thief? or Is he the kind of person who takes his job way far too seriously?

He looked every bit of those showy kinds. He wore a glittering gold chain, Denim jeans with a white polo tee, some sports shoe and most important of all, a cocky smile, which of course is now laced with a little of vacillation and suspicion. What does he think of himself? James Bond in disguise? In fact reading his face was like rapidly flipping through the pages of a ghatiya (boring) thriller.  Kabhi nervous, kabhi suspicious, kabhi hesitant toh kabhi cheesy. 

I didn’t showcase the surging annoyance on my face lest he might validate his faulty allegations.  Instead I pulled out my hands from the pockets of my jacket and brushed them through my hair with etiquette while my insides howled  'How the hell am I supposed to choose the most romantic pick with a nosy stalker snooping around?'  

I decided to give him a loose. I ducked behind the racks trying my best to hide myself from this unwanted escort, but no luck. He followed me pug faced like the hutch-dog with a BGM (Back ground music) "you and I, and the beautiful world…..green grass, blue sky and the beautiful world".

I stared at him in a 'why-don’t-you-go-and-mind-your-own-business' manner while I moved on to the next segment. I gawked wide mouth at the marble Taj-mahal, the musical jewel box with a dancing couple, the kissing bears, and laughing Buddha. He was in pursue with his obsessive 'where-ever-you-go-I-follow' stand.

I sauntered in the women's wing intriguing to lose the trail. He waited patiently as I spent my time checking out the bilng jewelry. In fact he seemed to check me out top-to-toe perhaps for a red-flag-sign. I'm infuriated and insulted by all of this haunting. I'm not stuffing my pockets doggie. Stop licking me with your looks. I threw him a really dirty look. It worked just a itsy bit but nevertheless stopped him from tailing me.

I grew tired of this hide-n-seek and tried to ignore him. He seemed to be encouraged if not differed by my change of attitude. I walked to the rack of soaps, he followed. To the pastes and brushes, he followed.  To the scorch bites, mosquito repellents, toilet cleaners and sanitary pads. Yea!  you guessed it right. He followed.

I braced my pride and decided to buy something. I turned around on my heels and paced to the groceries. I scooped a Maggie packet , kurkure, Haldiram's Khatta-meetha and a bunch of chocolates in my shopping basket. Hello! For your information, I'm not window shopping either! I handed him the basket and asked him to get it billed. His face fell as if I did the very unexpected thing. Ah! I get it! He must have placed a bet that I'm window shopping. You see, he was wrong. I smiled graciously enjoying the confused look on his face. How much did you lose Johnny?  I walked suavely  to the billing counter, my ego placated, my eyes serene and my pride esteemed. It no longer mattered weather he trailed me or not.  

At the billing counter I found my take-away's sitting cozily in a paper bag, my bill paid and stamped.

"who paid my bill?" I thundered on the cashier. Unlike my escort he wore an orange tee and a cap

"your consort" he replied casually.

"what? " I yelled.

"your male companion madam" his colleague explained. He too wore a orange tee and a cap. "The person who walked by your side" he added. I gawped for I-Don’t-know-how-much time and all that I managed after that was an inaudible "SHIT".   

Why the hell haven't i noticed that the jeans wala flirt never wore the orange tee n the cap?

                                           

Man evolved from monkeys

Is your kid a naughty-witty-cutie? I bet he/she is! I mean it when I say each kid is unique. I love the way they pop out their twinkling eyes and ask mind blowing questions, pouring innocent faces.  At times you would be so tongue tied that either you laugh out or walk out.  I had many of those tongue-in-cheek moments with my 4 yr old daughter  Jaaji (Jasmine)

Each night I tuck her under her quilt and read out bed time stories. But she needs a new story each day. I could never satisfy her ever-demanding-appetite-of-stories. Off late we are in to a rapid-fire round of questions before her catnap. She asks me "Mommy! who lives above the sky?"

I casually answer  "God"

"Doesn’t god do pee-pee or poo-poo?" she adds innocently.

"No" I reply without hesitation.

"why not? where do you think the rain comes from?" her dad adds malevolently. He hardly helps me with the household chores and gets on to my nerves with those extra cheesy lines.  I threw him a nasty look and patiently explained her how water evaporates to form clouds and rains.

"Mommieeee! where do babies come from?" she comes up with a fresh topic the next day.

"God gift wrapped you in a pink ribbon and gave it to me" I said fondly stroking her cheek.

"And the name of the god is Dad" he adds with a grin pausing the rapid punching of keys on his lap-top.

"But Aarnav told me that the doctor gave him his sister in a hospital" she inquires. Her dad rolls on his couch with laughter.

I don’t have a choice but to tell her a carefully tailored version of how babies grow in a mothers tummy and how a doctor operates to bring them in to this world.  She is over whelmed when she heard the story, kissed me and said "Is that why you cried with tummy pain yesterday momie? Am I going to have a baby sister?" How can I explain her that the pain was not due to 'having a baby' but rather due to 'not having a baby'.

I decided that I had enough of this viva-voce. So one fine day I passed the buck to her dad and declared myself a holiday. I made myself comfortable on the beanbag with a cup of fruit salad.

"Daddy! why do all boys have a tail in the front?" she asked blinking her groggy eyes.

"A what?" her dads jaw dropped. It was my turn to roar with tumultuous laughter as I said "because man evolved from monkeys".

That day her dad realized as children grow up, we need to grow wiser and older parenting them.

My dear terrorist - A poem

                                                               

My dear terrorist, 

My dear terrorist

come, slit my throat,

like a slaughter goat,

but expect not

blood to flood

cos its love and love and

love and love that floods.

Love, which u deserved,

yet deprived.

Love of which u were

hungry & thirsty,

and made u take decisions

hasty and nasty.

yes! Its Love that floods in ur blood,

and every drop your mother has shed,

and every drop of milk u were fed.

but expect not

to clench thy thirst,

with thy bloody fists

cos love divine can't be handled in bloody bottles unlike wine.

My dear terrorist, 

My dear terrorist,

come shoot me dead,

to earn your bread.

but expect not your hunger to die

cos hunger dies with thy own death not thy neighbors.

A lot can happen over a cup of coffee

                                          

I sat sharing a cappuccino with the person who was my prospect groom until a week ago.  With great mutual regret we had to call off the alliance as our horoscopes didn’t match. My orthodox mom declared "you guys are like two parallel tracks of a train which never meet".  I'm not an atheist but I'm not a great believer of these horoscopes either . His profile is quiet impressive but it's just a profile. Not a person. I've never met this guy. The point is mom could have been absolutely right.

I said 'That’s the end'  to myself  and kicked back to life only to receive a mail from him saying "why don’t we meet for a cup of coffee?". Now I had to brain storm and spell check 'Perhaps it is an AND, not  END'.

He is a team lead in an MNC in Bangalore. I'm a maiden graduate from Geethams, vizag.  Now, where do we meet to have this pricey cup of cappuccino? He chivalrously offered to fly to vizag and so be it. We decided to meet at the chocolate room overseeing the picturesque R.K beach.  

"why have you got yourself in to this mess? You don’t even know him. The alliance is on the rocks and yet….UFFF! you must be crazy" I accused my mirror. I looked ordinary, just like any other day, but for the excitement twinkling in my eyes. 

"Exactly! you don’t know him. So, go meet him and get to know him" my mirror baffled me. I decided not to primp myself. No facial. No hair cut. No creams and no brushes. I'll present as-I-am.

"what can possibly change over a cup of coffee?" I asked myself a question which echoed through the tunnels of my heart . A lot can happen over a cup of coffee. The tag line of CCD (Café coffee day) tantalized me with quixotic possibilities.

All that he said is he never met someone with such a 'you-are-so-just-like-me' vibe  and is looking forward to have an one-to-one intellectual talk. That’s something to think about and I said yes! After all my teacher taught me that birds with like feathers flock together.

Talking of like feathers, we have a lot in common. Apart from the similar upbringing and socio-economic strata, both of us are cancarians. Both of us are Jack-of-all-traits-master-of-none. He plays guitar and I violin. He sketches portraits while I paint on canvas. Both of us are huge fans of Sachin Tendulkar, A.R.Rehman and Hrithik roshan. We like the same color, same fruit, same genera of books and movies. Phew! And yet our horoscopes claim that we are parallel tracks of a train. And here I'm, sharing a cappuccino with the person who was my prospect groom until a week ago. 

He is tall, dark and handsome. He is all that any girl dreams for. I looked at him in the eye, yet my heart never skipped a beat. He smiled, I never blushed. We shook hands, yet my nerves didn’t tingle and jingle. My feet were firmly planted to the ground.  The day appeared like just-another-beautiful-day-of-January. Jan never metamorphosed in to an over whelming June. And I understood why people say it's always green on the other side.

He is impressive but not expressive. He is Calm but not cool. He is admirable but not amicable. He might be august (majestic) but I'm the December. (Honestly I didn’t mean that I'm the daughter of the italic god Faunus who is named December or 'the great one'. I just meant I'm the type of person who would curl my toes under my quilt until ten on a good winter morning)  He loves to jog, while I'm a lazy butt. He detests the junk and quotes "few moments on lips and forever on hips" while I chomp on my garlic bread with extra cheese.  I indeed realized we are not even the tracks of the same train but of different ones.

The day after my first and last date, I got up before my mom and fixed her a cup of coffee.  After all, the other night I learnt that 'A lot can happen over a cup of coffee.'

                                          

Something fishy

                                                          

I'm head over heels in love with this guy Swas, for the past 3 yrs. There is something fishy about this guy.  I delude that I know him perfectly well. yet he surprises me each new day with something more. He owns half a dozen cars and loves to give me a ride in his favorite red BMW. He is handsome, witty and can charm any woman with his mesmerizing smile and coax her to give what he wants. Yet I'm the only woman in his life apart from his mother and grandmother. But let me warn you ladies, he isn't as naïve as his innocent face claims. At times he breaks in to one of those eye narrowing, nose wrinkling cat-shire-smiles when a particularly naughty thought brain wires him.

I'm sure you would love to know what I meant by  'Naughty'. No! It's not how we planned to hoodwink everybody at home to go biking  on the beach road.  It's not how he stole kisses and hugs from me. It's not how he got to sleep with me. It is about how he made my mother  erupt in to pearls of laughter and kiss him until his face blushed deep red.

The other day my mother was gobbling on a tangy fish curry and spicy chicken wings when swas parked his BMW on our dining table and asked "wot are you eating granny?"

"I'm eating fish kanna. Do you want some?" my mother dutifully replied. Swas being the only veggie in our clan, puckered his nose and said "Donth eat it"

A Dazzled mom asked "why?"

Swas patiently replied "Hen are for laying eggs. Not eating".

"what?" exclaimed my mom totally taken aback.

"And Fisses are fore swimming in da vater" he continued as if he was never interrupted. He picked a banana from the fruit basket and added knowledgeably "fruits are fore eating".

My mother did a double back and then broke in to pearls of laughter. she kissed him until he ran for his life screaming "Momie! Save me. Granny is doing notty things to me".

That day I rushed to a nearby pet store to buy him a fish bowl and a gold fish.  He loved to spend hours by the side of his fish bowl, pouting his lips and imitating his "Goldie".  Each day he would wake up eagerly to feed the fish and watch him chomp those tiny red and green colored balls in a gulp. He learnt how to care for others and the joy of serving the ones who depended on him. But when it is time to leave Goldie and go to school he would throw a nasty tantrum and his mother gives me a Why-the-hell-did-you-buy-this-fish? look. I would ease my guilt with a "What are aunts for? if not to cuddle their 3 yr old nephews!"

One day his school teacher called up his mom to complain that he doesn’t do what he was asked to.  He knows every rhyme by heart, but doesn’t sing with his peers. He says "No disturb" when the teacher interrupts his play and asks him to recite alphabets or numbers. He hardly sits in his chair when the rest of the class is in a post-lunch-nap.  He sings Jana gana mana atop of his voice while everyone is  in a deep slumber.  The list just goes on and on.

His drawing teacher has come up with this particular incident. She handed out a drawing sheet with a sturdy little fish sketched on it and asked the class to color it.  Swas corrected his neighbor Megha who picked the wrong crayon and gave her a 'This-is-how-you-are-supposed-to-do-it' demo. But he never touched his own drawing sheet. In fact he simply pouted his lips and talked to his sheet in a gibberish-fish-language. when the teacher  asked him why he failed to crayon his fish, he gave her what I said you 'A-eye-puckering, nose-wrinkling, cat-shire-smile' and said "How can I color it miss? The fiss is swimming and I can't catch it"

Amazed, the teacher said "Either he is a jerk or he is too intelligent for his age". I broke in to a fit of laughter and said to my sulking sister-in-law that if swas were a citizen of united states of America, he would have been  celebrated for his "lateral thinking". He would have hit the news papers and the T.V screens but alas he is not so appreciated here, right in his home and by his mom. This made her chill and somewhat smile. The day went down in the odyssey of his terrible twos and horrible threes but each day, he comes up with something new.

Now folks, isn't there something fishy about this guy?

My first kiss

I had a brimful of tears in my not-so-water proof-kajal-primped-eyes, as I turned back to wave my dad at my bidayee. My mom spilled a bucketful and my sister drained a tank-full of tears already. My dad waved his sturdy little pink palms as cheerfully as he could muster. I adjusted my ghoonghat, biting my lower lip doing my best, not to cry. I have promised someone special that I wouldn’t ever cry. so I dwelled upon my happy memories to keep that million-dollar-smile alive. Particularly the memory of my first kiss veiled my eyes, when I actually made him a  promise that I would enter his life as a bride with the best-pearly-smile-ever.

Few days ago:

I held my breath and closed my eyes tightly anticipating my first kiss. I've always wondered how my first kiss would be. so, finally this is how it is!!! I had a very bad urge to break in to a fit of laughter. At the same time I'm tensed as hell. I had never been this close to a guy in the whole of my 28 year-ed spinster life.   My heart thumped in my throat convulsively.  'Don’t be crazy. you aren't a juvenile deliquescent sneaking out of bed at the dread of the night' I told myself to calm my nerves.  'He is your fiancée and you are his future wife. This is how it is meant to be '

"so are you ready?" he asked huskily.

"No" I said half truthfully, butterflies tussling in my tummy. Sridevi's hit number "Mere  haataoin mein nau nau choodiyaa hai. Thoda teharo sajan majbooriyaa hai…" blared from the speakers of my music system serving as a perfect BGM (back ground music).

'MUAAAHHHHH' I heard him kissing me. My ear tickled and tingled. My nerves hit a frenzy of ecstasy. The mobile which I held between my ear and shoulder, as I hugged my pillow with mehandi- laden-arms, slipped and landed on a pile of cushions on my bed.  The laughter that is suppressed in the pit of my stomach exploded in to a hurricane. I'm no longer watchful of how I sounded. Shrill? Tilling? soprano? Girlish? Maniac? I laughed until my sides are in stitches.

"Damn you girl. whatz so funny?" he cried, his voice laced with irritation. I broke in to yet another fit of laughter.

"I'm telling you, don’t mess with me. you will pay dearly for this ridicule" he warned trying to sound malicious. But the fact is he sounded even more sexy. I activated the hands free mode and propped myself on my elbows lying on my tummy.

 "Aha" I enticed him.

"If I could fly 'THERE' right now, I would have kissed you until you are literally gasping for breath " he said in a very-very corny tone.

"where?" I said wondering whether he really meant to fly all the way from Delhi to Banglore 1 week ahead of the schedule.

"ummmm….Depends….on what I want to tell you and what I want you to realize" he said amorously. It took a few seconds to comprehend what he meant. I rolled over on my bed.

"Did you really mean kissing at each place has its own sub-textual meaning to be deciphered?" I asked thoughtfully  like an obedient student.

"of course" he said  proudly like a professor of non-verbal communication.

"Accha! Then tell me more about it. what does a kiss on the…..errrr…forehead mean?" I asked with genuine enthusiasm.

"A forehead kiss is a farewell kiss" he said without pausing to think. I pictured him leaving me behind in the airport, all set to get back to Delhi, where he worked.  He continued in a velvety voice "I would take a step closer to you. Place a hand gently on your mangalsutr bhara neck and brush my lips against your sindhoor bhara forehead. It  says ….ki….I'LL ALWAYS BE THERE FOR YOU. No matter where you are! No matter where I am!"

"That’s …that’s ….really really sweet of you" I said head over heels in love with my future husband.

"And when I want to tell you that…'YOU ARE CUTE' and as bitable as a chocolate, I would scoop one of your chubby cheeks in my hand, tilt your head to a side and kiss on the other cheek" he said mocking me in a false-baby-gibberish-tone. I giggled shamelessly at this.

"And" I asked tantalizing him to tell me more.

"AND…when I hug u from behind, brush away the hair caressing your neck and plant a soft kiss at the nape of your neck…." he continued in a silky voice.

" Mohith! That’s enough baba!" I urged him to stop as the hair standing erect on the nape of my neck signed with anticipation.

"It means that I WANT YOU. your body….your soul. Now  and forever " he nevertheless continued as if he was never interrupted.

"okay…but…." I said hesitantly wetting my parched lips. He paused to draw a short breath and continued " AND when I step dangerously closer , giving you a bears hug, sealing your lips with mine…." he paused again as my heart skipped a few beats "it means that I LOVE YOU and that I can't live without you". He sounded rough in an attempt to camouflage the suppressed emotion that normally chokes ones throat. I knew he meant each one of those words.

"I love you too Mohith" I declared tears sliding down my cheeks.

"Are you crying?" he asked not at all expecting that I would break in to tears so easily.

"No. why would I cry?" I lied moping my leaking nose on the sleeve of my expensive kurthi.

"ha ha haaaaaa" it was his turn to laugh like a lunatic. "Accha listen! I'll make a new interpretation. whenever you cry  I'll take it as an invitation to kiss you" he said cheesily.

"what rubbish?" I said waving him off.  "If I cry when we fight, would you think I'm inviting you to kiss me?" I asked him a tongue-in-cheek question.

"Ha ha . kyon nahi" he replied instantly. "If u want to fight me fair and square, fight your tears" he added.

" Oh. is it? would u kiss me when I tear while chopping onions?"  I extended my imagination a little farther.

"ummmm. Delicious. Thoda sa namkeen. Thodha sa spicy"  he replied.

"YUCK! Lets say I'm crying  in the funeral of your great grand mother. would you still kiss me there in the crowd?" I questioned laughing playfully.

"yes! ofcourse. How can I deny your request? Aakhir apni Mardaangi ka sawaal hai" he said buffing up a little chauvinism.

"zyaada kush hone ki zaroorat nahi hai. I promise you I'll never spill a drop of tear when I'm with you" I said suavely.

"I'll try my luck and wait for your call" he said crossing his heart.

My eyes filled with tears of bliss as I realized how lucky I am.

At my Bidaayee:

The memory of my first kiss…..(well technically he did not physically kiss me yet….but….according to me the phone wala kiss is my first kiss ever)……..brought tears of bliss in to my already not-so-empty eyes.

"5….4….3….2…" he started counting in my ears. I gave him a quizzical look.

"Almost there…..You can do it. common. Baas ek  jhalak palkoin ka" he said expectantly.

I smiled inevitably blinking my lashes. A huge pearl of a tear set itself on a voyage down the pears of my cheeks.

"That’s it" he declared,  his towering stature leaning down closer to my face which is now locked between the steal of his palms. He kissed my lashes as gently as he can. I heard my sister gasp. My mother clasped her astounded mouth shut with the pallu of her saree. His mother cried "Hai ram! yeh ladka badmash hota jaaraha hai". His dad winked at my dad with twinkling eyes and Dad broke in to a particularly mischievous smile. 

I could neither break myself free nor did I wish to. I spilled more tears. He kisses both my eyes with more devotion and passion. I heard more gasps. The video wallah is recording the whole drama with jubilation.  when I emptied my quota of tears I stepped back. His lips are charred with the kajal smudged from my lashes as a tell-a-tale-sign.

"But that’s unfair. They were tears of bliss" I complained smiling his favorite smile.

"when did I say that I'll not kiss your tears of bliss?" he mocked.  I rolled my eyes while he mopped the kajal on his lips on my dhupatta.

'Now….should I call this my first kiss ever or the one over the telephone?' I wondered again as I got in to the car decorated with lilies and orchids.

copy cats

                                                        Copy cats

When someone says "I can read your face" just don’t believe them. The so called face reading  may not always pay well. I would rather say 'Never judge a person for his face". For instance, when I fold my hands and say namaste to one of those gollu-mollu aunties, the first thing they ask me is "which grade you are in baby?". How could I tell them I'm finished with my post graduation and working as an assistant professor? Do you think they'll believe me? Nah! I'm fit enough to model any age defying cream on the desk. "Naa vayasunasalu teliya nivvadu naa charmam….santoor…santoor" (Roughly translated- My skin never shows up my age) That’s why I say "Don’t get fooled by facies".

Still don’t believe me? okay! Let me tell you how my students hoodwinked me the other day while invigilating them for their board exams. I was offered a wooden chair, a bunch of question papers and a hall-full-students. After finishing the formalities I have nothing better to do. So I sat there sitting idle, watching all the 'facies' and mastering the art of face reading.

I noticed Hermoinee-ish facies scribbling on their papers with great fervor.  A stalk of color pencils and sketches crammed their desks. I looked with utter bemusement at those eager beavers who innovatively sketched the answers of social and preventive medicine as if it were a master piece of Da Vinci. I mean, how can one use all those colors to answer questions like " types of mosquitoes and the measures to eradicate them". That’s why I labeled them as "innovative."

I noticed mad hatters shaking their legs under the bench nervously as if they are at the verge of an earth shattering  quake. They did display every sort of tic on the books. Every  once in a while they'll look at me and hastily look away when I catch their eye. I always found them scratching their heads, beards and I can't say what!

 I noticed those just-out-of-bed faces, with pillow creases, tussled hair ,blearily eyes and blotches of tooth paste on their crumpled shirts.' Poor guys! I guess they had a night out' I thought to myself. No sooner than the exam began, they started yawning contagiously until they slumped their groggy heads on their desks. I had to put in some super-human-effort to keep my eyes open. 

Thankfully the peon served me a plate of onion samosas and a hot cup of tea to keep me awake. It was irksome to gobble them as the aroma deliciously tantalized the students. So I took one of those' I-will-not-see-you. you-don’t-see-me-either' breaks while chomping on them. <crunch> <crunch> <crunch>. My granny always uses this maxim which is apt for now "pilli kallu moosuku paalu tagi, nannu evvaru chudatam ledu anukuntundanta" ( A cat drinks milk with closed eyes thinking that no one is watching it)

As if to ally my guilt for distracting and disturbing the students with my crunchy mastication, my colleague's mobile ringed in full volume "Dhin ka chi ka, dhin ka chi ka, dhin ka chi ka, dhin ka chi ka rey eee ey". He hurried out of the exam hall with the cell glued to his ear. The last benchers face broke in to an ear to ear grin. A cacophony of the ventriloquists forced me out of my chair and take short strolls between the rows of students.  It is now that I had the opportunity to have a closer look at the 'real drama'.

The hermoinee-ish artists were indeed more talented than they were credited for. All that they did is write the same sentence thrice. Once in ink, one with a pencil and then with a eye-catchy sketch.

well! what can I tell you about the scratchers!!! They apparently had a hidden treasure in their under pants awaiting to be dug out. Tiny tit-bits rocketed all over the place right under my nose and I'm not even aware of them until I accidentally uncovered this index saying  Bio-statistics in back pocket, WHO in right shoe(world health organisation), Bio-hazards in left shoe, Infectious diseases in underwear. It took a great deal of effort to kill that tumultuous roar of laughter in the pit of my stomach.

Ah! The nocturnal pussies! <yawn> <yawn> <yawn>. I erroneously thought they were ready to throw the buck and submit a white-n-white paper. But the fact is they took copying to an all together higher level.  I was jaw dropped to learn that they got a micro phone installed in the helix of their external ear in such a way that it isn't visible to the naked eye. One needs a otoscope to locate it, fix it or remove it. A hi-tech-copy-mafia is operational in this swindle, charging 10k per paper.  All that u have to do is pay the bugs, get the ear fixed, throw the question paper out of the window and wait for the mafia to read out the answers to the microphone in your ear through a cell phone. PHEW! That’s quiet TECHIE! At least they used their grey's in one way or the other.

After all the Hermoinee's aren't  really brainy and all the Ron weasley's aren't really dumb. So, when somebody claims that they mastered the art of face reading, be smart enough to smile politely and reply "Sir, you might be good at reading their face but they might be better at writing what they want you to read on their face".