My Wedding - a Funny Affair My wedding was a funny affair. It happened in a crowded hall. My bride and I sat on the raised stage under a lovely flower canopy. It was a short ceremony. Rings were put by the betrothed on each other’s right hand. A gold chain was hooked around my bride neck and a pair of thick Jasmine-Chrysanthemum garland was exchanged amid much fanfare and shouting and flash bulbs. It was while having the prodigious feast that I started scratching my neck. By the time I had reached the middle of the feast, I had to discontinue the eating business and get on earnestly with the scratching business. My bride sitting beside me was bemused by my new- found passion. Couple of well-decked good looking teenagers sitting in the opposite row had started giggling. Now I was scratching away quite unashamedly! It’s allergy! My uncle, who was a medical practitioner, seemed to understand the reason behind my not so acceptable behaviour. He quickly got me to a private room adjacent
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FARRTING
The college hostel where I was admitted turned out to be a virtual prison, with a priest warden to control and constrain. Father Stephen, a tall lean hungry looking man, was a tyrant and ruled his dominion with an iron hand. At least that’s what he thought, until some of us showed up! Prakash and Anthony were terrors; George and Gopalan were the wicked ones; we were no saints either. Anyway, to cut the long story short, we started a farting spree as a way of getting at the warden, who felt the numerous tubers planted in the hostel campus should be used in our diet. The farting Satyagraha rocked the foundation of the hostel. Scouts would spy for the warden’s arrival. The moment he climbed the steps from the porch, the collective farting would start. There would be different types of farts, the silent and deadly ones to the rumbling and thundery ones. Some creative boys managed to make the sing song ones while the amateurs got a variety of gassing going - longish ones, several short
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