There used to be this time when we didn't wake up with broken beer bottles in our rooms and ash in our beds. Times when we used to get our kicks out of biking up and down around Chennai in mid-afternoon heat hunting down the ONE soda boy who we believed could give us immediate and indefinite ecstasy. He was our hero, the relief of our parched throats - the rendra rubai soda boy! He's probably a soda man now, but back then - ah, when we rounded the IIT signal and saw his rounded ass, Aj and I used to feel a sense of joy unparalleled by all but the vegetarian cockroach-macroni served at Sweet Chariot (sigh, college days.)
To get our love, you must get.... (a) how hot it is in Chennai, (b) how stupid it is to be OUT in that heat, (c) the value of rendra rubai, (d) the kicku of the soda clamp going fsssscth. Just in case you missed that, that was 'fsssscth.' And it's a kicku, as in, yerudhe. Plus, of course it always helps when your soda boy has a fine ass. There are many soda stands in Chennai and around the world. But this one was - for some reason I'm not sure you'll get even if I could explain - THE BEST. It was inconveniently out of our route, there were flies everywhere, there was no view to look at, nowhere to sit as we drank it, and, let's be honest, you don't get 'soda' for that amount, you merely get a 'fsssscth.' Yet, every day that we got a chance, Aj and I would go, 'Hmmmmmm, lime soda!' and make for him like we were off to the Cannes for summer break.
It's soda that we've snorted through our noses giggling, soda we've dropped tears and snot and on occasion nearly even our mobile phones into. Soda that's seen us through culturals victories and seething anger, through bitching sessions and long internships, through pointlessness and epiphany. The soda.... the soda's practically a member of our family! As for the soda boy, well, to make him family would be incest, so never mind that. I wonder why we didn't get his phone number, it's rare for us not to flirt with a man that has an eligible ass, a decent vehicle (the pushcart) and the ability to cook (Uh. Well. Whatever the art of brewing lime sodas is called.)
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