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Somewhere near the outer space, the mutant mercenaries with mangled limbs declared war against the Emperor of Hindustan and planned to uproot the empire with chemical weapons which spewed gases of rotten cabbage.

They first raided the MICA mess for ammunition. They were lucky, there was no cabbage. There were enormous quantities of cauliflower though. More lethal than any other weapon of the times which we are talking about.

The mercenaries before raiding had hi-jacked three bullock-carts and replaced the bullocks with stolen Rajdoot motorcycles from the scrap-yard. With these mean machines they roared into the campus. Panic struck across the length and breath of the campus. Scholars had left laptops behind, unsipped cups of chai beneath the trees, some spilled some not. Within minutes the view seemed devoid of any human presence. They had vanished like the true practitioners of occult.

Unchallenged, the mercenaries entered into the confines of the steely-cold mess. All in an attempt to fortification. Their radar gadgets pinned to their mouths could detect both offending and defending smells and pointed out directions and they discovered the huge hillocks of cauliflower. Nothing can be better than this. A-class rotting cauliflowers. Ready to be done anything with. Notorious grins flashed through their noses.

Now there was just one small glitch. In small quantities, cauliflower also acted as a psychoactive substance. And mutants are known to have gorged on cauliflowers throughout history. Right from the time when their ancestor Ghobolik was created by the alchemists of Taliban near the Molotov Sea beneath the farms of X-cauliflowers.

So there were mutants, there were cauliflowers.
And there were mutants and cauliflowers together.

----------------------------------------------------------------------That's It



When she met him, some sparks flew across several yards, a few mindless-harmless accidents occurred across the streets, people spilled coffee, kids fell down while shooting and pigeons lost their way back home.

BUT! Both him and her were oblivious to all these insignificant happenings elsewhere. Tumult occurred internally too. All the churning chilling shivery shivery intestines....ooooo love.

Externally, Ronald Mc Donald with a Big M was grinning down them in the midst of crammed traffic. He loved the scene too, of him and hers. He was bored with yucky families who wipe the faces of yuckier kids inside the outlet(there's another Ronald inside). Anyways, we ain't talking about Ronald here. The only thing he did was that he twisted the M with both his hands and made a heart:)

She kept looking at him...like a smooth caress...continuos and loving. He kept looking at the way she looked...this time dazed, colossal caress. His hair fell a few inches down his trickling forehead, her hair a few inches flew sideways. Blue dress for the lady, soft and kind...coffee brown for our dude...humble, rumble and round.

The chai-wallah put some more sugar in the pot, while gazing at them in vain. He filtered it too, through the old shirt gauze and spilled tea here and there again. The consumers they drank, happily I say. They didn't complain a word about sugar, when they too looked at him and her. In the midst of cardamom mist. Layers on the internal skin of their noses, sweet and fresh.

He too inhaled, whatever fragrance of hers that he could salvage from the army of toxic fumes mingling around in glee. There were smelling men everywhere, but she could smell him. Like she would't mind clutching his shirt in both hands after he would come back from work. In both hands, yes.

Outside, the red Kingfisher billboard loomed above like a glam-cage, glittery and captivating. But they had stirred the kingfisher's heart too. Restlessly it fluttered, after six long months...dust settled on her feathers two inches deep. It wasn't tough, when these two were there. She set herself free and a few luckier one's saw a two-dimensional, colorful bird flying across...leaving a name alone behind.