It all begins when Munna is born inconveniently just one or two months late for LKG-admissions cut-off in a given year. So the parents concoct an “official” birthday that’s one or two months earlier (carefully counting three-four times from their wedding date), so that their darling chut-put will not waste his time running around nunga-punga when he could be getting a serious education and be on his way to taking the IIT-JEE one year early. Imagine, he will always be-ahead-in-life!

And so all the paperwork from then reflects this fake birthday: school records, passport, driving licence, and eventually—oh so inevitably, given that Munna had this shiny headstart—his H1B visa application for America-based employment purposes.

You swerve and narrowly avoid being flattened by said bus. You go up to the driver and express your outrage at being nearly killed by his foolish behaviour. Driver leans out of the window and says, "Nothing happened no? Why are you getting upset?"

Nothing happened no. The standard response to anybody on Bangalore roads who is outraged at having been almost killed or maimed for life by a bus, tempo, Sumo or auto.

The story above ends happily. The Yezdi rider delivered one left-hand slap so hard, the bus driver's face actually rippled and the Yezdi rider's hand stung for ten minutes after. Something happened. YES!

Do not attempt to eat masala toast when you have the munchies. There aren't enough Iyengar bakeries in the world. (Plus, they're always running out of the damn things.)

Ancient secret mathematical formula that is passed from student to student in Indian colleges.

The derivation of this particular equation is much sniggering mirth, the amount of which is inversely proportional to how much kai putting the little mathematicians are indulging in.

Two breast-like mounds of semolina, one savoury, the other sweet enough to make your teeth melt. Sweet one usually a disconcerting neon orange. Savoury one has beans or something. Cashew nuts in both.

Eat one and then the other? Sure, but for a truly mind-blasting experience, eat them together. With chutney.

If someone from a "business community" (let's not get into the stereotypical details), calls you 'business minded', it's praise--though perhaps reluctant. If someone from a non-business, supposedly intellectual, community calls you 'business minded', they are spitting in your moonji.

However, the books are always kept open during said activities, so the conscience stays clear. Until the next morning when lying to the mother about how much of the potions were covered.