Monday, July 11, 2005

TAO CB - Dinner Story 0

Note from the author:
I'd written the first CB post as part of a bet, without any plans to follow it up; but the CB story seems to be the ticket to get someone to actually read my blog, so i've been thinking about how to keep it going. CB is a really unique person, and the strange stuff that's happened to her is enough to fill many more chapters. However, these things don't happen on a daily basis, even to her; So i'm finding it really hard to continue the storyline, unless something interesting actually happens.

Moreover, i don't think her folks would appreciate it if i called every other day to ask if she'd run into MV yet.

So from today i'll post short self-contained stories from long long ago, rather than trying to stich everything together. Hopefully this will also result in shorter waits between posts.





When CB was a kid her parents taught her not to talk to strangers. She probably realizes she can forget that rule when she grows up; but that hasn't happened yet. So when she's traveling in a train she gathers her bags around her and pretends to be a piece of luggage herself. Which she's getting rather good at, given the frequent trips she's made since joining IIT.

One of the most important things IIT teaches you is that your biological clock doesn't really have to follow the local time zone. You would think we slept and woke to some pacific ocean timezone. Or perhaps to mars time, given the way schedules slip as the week progresses. Most people won't feel too uncomfortable skipping sleep completely for a couple of days.

Hunger, however, cannot be tamed so easily. Perhaps it has to do with biology, but we prefer to think that it's because, in sleepy socialist kharagpur, food is available only to strict schedules - even in the dhabas and restaurants.

Therefore when CB goes on her afternoon-to-early-morning train journey, she never sleeps. As passengers around her doze, she sits holding her bags and staring out of the window. But when the attendant comes around with dinner, even CB has to tear herself away from the fascinating pitch-darkness outside the window, and eat.

As anyone unfortunate enough to have had dinner with my friend knows, CB's aura of disasters manifests itself strongest when she is eating. The utensils take on a life of their own, determined to spill their contents everywhere. Stray cats and dogs from miles around gather around begging for food, as if drawn by a mystical force. There are only three things more gross than dinner with CB - the toilets in my hall, the food in my mess, and - dinner with CB in a moving train.

With deepest sympathies for the poor souls who shared a compartment with CB this last time she went home, let me share with you CB's most memorable dining experiences.