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F*R*I*E*N*D*S

A cacophony of television blare and vociferous exuberance awoke me early yesterday. Santosh had just returned from work and was enthusiastically talking to Mani. My slug vanished in a flash as I listened hard to the import of words. I soon discovered the cause behind the unusual ebullience – marriage.

Santosh’s relatives have been scouting for a bride for him and they seem to have finally found the perfect match. Everyone says she’s pretty, Santosh reminds us with annoying regularity. The girl is a science graduate and can adjust to city life – just what the doctor ordered. Our newly-in-love boy is desperate to catch a glimpse of his phantom bride-to-be, but there seems to be no means to this end. He can’t visit her place for now, there are no scanners or internet access in his village and he’s too embarrassed to ask for her photo to be couriered. I hope my roommate is pulled out of this misery soon.

Sam, who now visits our place less regularly, dropped by after noon and almost immediately set about hunting for his shorts. He finally discovered them blissfully worn by the napping Mani. Sam was a man on a mission to reclaim his shorts; he made this amply clear when he tugged at the pants with all his might. Mani, awakened suddenly by the prospect of going bottom-nude, put up a spirited fight against Sam’s invasion and held on to the shorts. Sam relented after a mercy plea; Mani wrapped a towel and let the shorts slip. They went up Sam’s legs just as quickly.

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