They can't steal your jokes!

Vivek reached home one night to find that his room was ransacked. The cupboard door was flung open with some clothes hanging on to the shelves while others piled up, feeling the floor. Books were scattered here and there. The drawers weren't where they were supposed to be. Also, they were upside down as if hiding something from Vivek. When he lifted the wooden thingie up, there was nothing underneath them. Surprisingly, the only thing orderly was the window as it was tightly shut. Whoever visited the room before him was thorough with their search but didn't have the decency to tidy up the room before leaving. Well, then, robbers are popular for lacking the most basic of etiquettes. They had taken away his jeans, recently bought shirts, shades, runnings shoes, two external hard disks, a trek backpack, camera—among other loot. When something like this happens to you, your first resort isn't humour. Laughing about a hapless event happens after a month or so; not the very next day. But then, Vivek ain't your regular guy. He somehow found the courage to find a funny sub-plot. Apparently, after going through his room and the disdainful condition it was in, he felt a bit dizzy and went for water. Guess what? There was no water in the house. The robbers emptied the 25 ltr water can. "They were either very thirsty or thought of bathing with bottled water," was his apt conclusion. 

Choice best served cold

It's that time of the weather when icecream and popsicles mean a lot to our throat. The lil' girl in this story remembers her childhood as those days when the icecreamwallah meant much more. He'd arrive in her neighbourhood with his box of icecream rolling on small wheels accompanied by a ringing bell. His entry wasn't as ordinary as it seemed to adult eyes. He was indubitably the star of the summer afternoon as kids would encircle him. His tiny customers didn't know how to maintain decorum because some things were much more important than discipline. It was a matter of taste and (almost) existential crisis: Kids squabbling about one flavour over another was routine for a reason. Just like grownups silently wonder what to order at a restaurant. Our minisized heroine happened to be of the silent type so the noise wouldn't make much of a difference to her choice. She knew what she wanted...for the most part, that is. She had tried orange a few days ago so it was not going to be orange again. She wasn't fond of milk so white was out of question. She liked the plum-y coloured one but she wasn't really sure whether it'd be worth the bet. What if it disappointed her the way pomegranate disappointed her as a fruit? She couldn't go back and demand another one, now could she? The parental quota was restricted to just one. So chocolate flavour it'd be—usually—followed by her cute young triangular smugface.