Bargain first. We had selected the perfect bad business day to explore the otherwise busy Moor Market. Hardly half a dozen of the bookshops were open apart from a few aquarium stalls (Well.. what do you call a shop that sells fish to grow in your home?). So throngs of people who normally make this place a buzzing mess hadn't turned up. Without the people fishing for books and booking for fish, the sellers had a rather dull day, waiting for any slightly prospective buyer, and to catch him or her h(b)ook, line, and sinker. I'm not that good in bargaining and my brother nudges me to ask about the price of the pirated Godfather book he just found out of the heap. The seller hardly knew Tamil, but that didn't matter at all. Here you only speak Business. After our stints and stunts with him for a while, he called us back and finally offered to give Godfather and Critical (by my favorite Robin Cook)for 140 rupees. That means 80 for Godfather and 60 for Critical. We purchased the books and headed towards the train terminus. Curiosity, that often kills the cats, made us enquire about the cost of the same books in a stall a few yards ahead. The man in-charge told: 60+60, meaning you can easily settle for something between 100 and 120. Staring at each other, we reassured ourselves telling that the copy we had bought was better. At least we could bargain with ourselves.
Back to the train station, we came to know that the flying train arrives at another station called Park Town. The newly constructed subway and the terminus looked sinister. Ironically, there was no light at the end of what seemed to be a deadly tunnel. I was wondering how life would be behind that ticket counter, in a strange station like that. Twice I asked on which platform the train would arrive. Only on the second attempt, the man responded, gesturing towards a hand-written signboard, declaring it to be on the second platform. The man should have been terribly fed up, as people unfailingly asked the same question, despite the signboard just staring straight at them when they were asking. He should have been screaming "I'm not a tourist guide. I'm a ticket-issuer. Well, that's another issue.
At least 50% of the commuters were new to the place, or they didn't know about the timings or the route. Maybe familiarity breeds knowledge. There were plenty of seats, as many think that it's a cumbersome process to get the train. It took 40 minutes from Park station to Velacherry. Some of the stations were waiting to be painted, and some even to be baptised by any minister. After a few twists and turns, the train reached the destination. And it's not yet over. We have to walk a tiring one-and-a-half kilometer through the misleadinly named 100-feet road. And we had yet another task at hand - Cooking!
We the Burners and Scrubbers were up in arms to avenge each other, scrolling through the home-made recipe for the best form of attack.
