From Breswana to Bangalore - for Metallica

My blog post in Mint Lounge a couple of days after the Metallica concert.

Basically, it was fantastic, and Shro and I were doing silly shit like this before we headed out for the gig that day:

The complete, unedited, much longer version follows:

It is only fitting that months of planning, excitement, long-distance travels and pre-show jitters came to fruition with a very satisfactory attendance of the Metallica concert followed by temporary deafness in the left ear. Yes. Metallica. I was there.

The magic of attending any live gig lies mostly in the tremendous buildup to it. What goes down at the concert is only the culmination of everything up to that point – scrambling to get initial information, shrieky high-five behaviour with other fanbois and fangirls, huddling with friends to plan attendance and logistics, procuring tickets, travelling to concert city, rendezvous, make-up, costume, emotions, excitement, and… BAM! …final body frisk as one walks into the venue.

Anyway. Here is a full personal account of travels on my noble Metallicause [apologies in advance, this sort of word play will be rampant throughout the piece].

A few days ago, in my village in the mountains of Doda, Jammu and Kashmir, a full day’s travel away from the nearest city, I sheepishly told the parents I had to head down to Bangalore.

‘Why? It’s very far away.’

‘I know. Music concert.’

‘Whose?’

‘Metallica.’ [*awkward silence followed by quick exit stage right*]

Early next morning, I was packed and ready to leave for the city from the village. Downhill walk for a couple of hours, then on horseback for some time till we got to a motorable road, and finally the highway whence I traveled to Jammu at day’s end. Final packing, more shrieky behaviour and expensive last-minute ticket-booking later, I was ready to begin the final leg of the journey. Overnight on a near-empty train to Delhi – it was Diwali - with phosphoric celebrations in the night sky outside through the lands of Jammu, Punjab and finally, the capital. And the last easy bit - plane hop to Bangalore and its naturally-chilled climes. Two full days of travel concluded, I was here.

Preparations for this had begun back in April 2011, when the first vague rumblings of a possible Metallica gig in India were doing the rounds. As soon as a confirmation came in that Metallica [oh, my God, METALLICA!] was playing in India, one knew one would attend somehow, come what may. By the time tickets were up online in July 2011, with dual options of Gurgaon or Bangalore, I had decided on attending the latter gig [fortuitous?].

Forget about everything else; Bangalore has rock concert vintage. We have had the best of the best here over the years [and we have also had the other sort]. When jokes are made about ‘Bangalore’s knowledgeable crowd,’ it’s not all jokes, let me tell you. More than anything else, Bangalore is known for its rock. From school and college level up, you get a good schooling in indigenous and international rock music. The underground rock scene is booming. Teenagers and their coolth infest garages and makeshift studios across the city. High quality Bangalore bands like Thermal and a Quarter, Galeej Gurus, Kryptos, Synaps have made it big across the country. Let us look proudly on Bangalore’s modern concert history, in no particular order: Mr Big, the Scorpions, Elton John, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Sting, Deep Purple, Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, Mark Knopfler, Roger Waters, Megadeath, Lamb of God, and IRON MAIDEN for the love of God [phraseology to be noted] – they have all played here. It thusly followed that Metallica would too, and that I would witness the event in my home away from home in ‘Luru. And so, on a hot July afternoon in Jammu, this writer purchased concert tickets for October 30, 2011 at the Palace Grounds, Bangalore.

Cometh the hour, cometh the band. With great trepidation one watched news of the Gurgaon fiasco and Metallica’s cancellation there. Bangalore was on the edge of its seat. We waited. And waited. The gig was still on! Celebrations! By the morning of the 30^th, the interwebs resounded with many variations of: ‘In Bangalore, Metallican.’ Ha. Ha ha. Precious.

One knows that good people from all over India [and maybe abroad?] had descended on Bangalore to see the band perform. The most obvious travelling fans were identifiable across the city by their unique appearance – in their grungy tees, dirty jeans, long, greasy hair and a certain look - thronging M G Road, loafing in malls, being sullen in pubs. Complete strangers would glance at one another, exchange a slight nod, or alternatively, show the finger affectionately in a spirit of oneness with Metallica. It was almost spiritual.

The morning of the 30^th. Comfortable shoes had been purchased just for the event. Attire selected carefully. Rain predictions in [it would rain], we were prepared. Metallica merchandise and jeans for them as had it, and mostly black for the rest. By noon, we were ready to leave. We had decided we’d watch India’s first F1 race after lunching somewhere and then head to the venue. We zeroed in on The Biere Club, renowned for its, well, beeru, and as for my teetotalling sort, I recommend their fresh lime soda [sweet and salt] also. Heady mixture. The flat screen TVs served our F1-viewing motives and it was a most pleasant interlude. The Biere Club was packed to the rafters with other Metallicans, and smug, knowing looks were being thrown around like it was someone’s coming-out party. It was all quite silly, and quite beautiful.

By midday on the 30th, well before the gates opened at three, an ocean of black T-shirts, jeans and otherwise comfortable attire was slowly making its way across to the Palace Grounds. ‘No drinks at the venue’ was the weird rule for this heavy metal gig, so enterprising concert-goers planned an early start to the day and tanked up at various watering holes across the city before staggering in to Palace Grounds. All the contraband that need be smuggled in *wink*nudge* was arranged for also, with bags and pouches concealed artfully in hair, inner garments and footwear.

At five in the evening we pushed out towards the Palace Grounds. Nodding and grinning at all fellow concert goers in other vehicles headed the same way. In a pre-planned maneuver, we parked the car at a friend’s house, quite a ways from the entry at Gayatri Vihar. Hopped an auto and oh-my-God, crazy traffic as we neared the grounds. What a sight. Thousands of black tee shirts inching their way along roads and in vehicles, and streaming in through the gates. We were borderline manic happy. A crush at the beginning where tickets were being checked, and then the final walk towards the stage grounds.

The high-level security at the entrance has to be mentioned specially, and appreciated, and giggled over. We had the faintest of pat downs, and the lady checking one would ask apologetically, ‘Cigarette toh nahin hai?’ [You’re not carrying in cigarettes, right?’] ‘Maachis?’ [‘Matches?’] All one had to do was shake head in the negative, and they would take our word for it and we’d be politely passed on without so much as a ‘But-wait-let-me-check-properly-anyway’. I suppose the men had it easy as well. Let me tell you, a LOT of stuff got in. *grin*

There we were. After decades of fandom and adoration, we were going to watch Metallica [oh, my God, Metallica!] live, in front of our eyes. Right there. Ah, but we could have peed our collective pants. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was ready, all tens of thousands of us.

And so into the crush of bodies, in the rain, trying to home in on the most suitable location to settle down into for the rest of the concert. A few moves and attempts later we found our sweet spot. By this time the opening acts had kicked in. We walked in on Biffy Clyro, a Scottish rock band, warming the crowd up. Apparently two other acts, Guillotine and Inner Sanctum had gone up before, but we missed that lot. It was past 6 now, lightly raining and everything was most enjoyable, even the minor scuffles and shoving that is natural in huge crowds of very drunk, quite stoned people. Biffy Clyro were tight, impressive and did not get booed off stage. That is saying a lot when you’re opening for Metallica.

Then. A lull. Tense moments in between as organizers asked the crowd near the stage to move back a little. ‘We need you to move back so the security can move in.’ ‘Come on, guys, cooperate.’ ‘Safety first.’ What, after the opening acts they realized this needed to be done? I can tell you we were pretty nervous about things turning fugly again. Obviously it took a while, but the knowledgeable Bangalore crowd worked it out in time, much to the chagrin of many people who were hoping for a second cancellation. Ha to you! Ha!

For almost an hour there was nothing except music playing on the speakers. And amusing incidents with cops chasing down people from the scaffolding and sound towers. We waited.

The Black Album or 'Metallica'

And just past eight, the lights went out, the crowd roared, drums and a familiar riff screamed through the air… AND METALLICA TOOK THE STAGE! Starting their set with Creeping Death and right through the two plus hours they played, IT-WAS-ON. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammet and Trujillo [My heroes! My heroes!] blazed through a mix of their best songs from all albums – Fuel, Ride the Lightning, Sanitarium, Sad But True, One, Master of Puppets, The Memory Remains, Cyanide, Nothing Else Matters and the performance of the evening – Enter Sandman – pyrotechnics and all. The encore closed with Battery and Seek and Destroy. The older music definitely took it, especially songs from The Black Album, because people of a certain vintage [like me] know that music better. So the kids enjoyed the newer numbers more, but the classics were for everyone. The opening riff of Enter Sandman caused a near-frenzy, and the crowd sang as one. Roaring, head banging, smoking, drinking – it was a true-blue concert. Great sound on the speakers [though we lost audio on one set for a couple of numbers in the beginning – fixed soon] and enough big screen projectors for those who couldn’t see the stage that well. From just past eight till about ten thirty, Metallica gave us heavy. For me, Hetfield’s clear vocals, Ulrich’s crazy drumming and Hammett’s guitars-from-the-gut always win it. The gig of the year wound up with the band thanking us, us thanking them, them throwing souvenirs into the crowd, emotions running high and overall awesomeness.

As the band disappeared, we hung around on the grounds taking it all in. Thousands of happy fans – Bangaloreans and guests of Bangalore - with our once-in-a-lifetime experience. Metallica’s first ever gig in India. With the promise of more as they left. All of us were mud-stained, tired and happy. Feet killing us. Many smiles. The throng moved out slowly. There was the long trudge out to the gates, and then the horror of exiting the car park. By the time we worked our way out it was well past midnight.

As always after a late night, Bangalore headed to the very few restaurant chains it knew would still be open – the most popular being Empire. We headed to the Infantry Road joint and one hears that all the Empires were hit alike. So also those comfortable eats in the heart of Shivajinagar that know how to care for the nocturnals. It was like a spillover from the concert. Hundreds of hungry rock fans laid siege to the restaurant, some eating outside on the street, some seated, some waiting. Everyone was served, the entire black sea of concert goers - it was slightly surreal.

That was a special day. A good day. Completely worth the long pilgrimage here from my mountains. As the deafness in my left ear wanes, let me end the narrative with a suitable smarmy something I read online: ‘If you like Metallica, raise your hand. If you don’t, raise your standards.’ Such Metallicads we be. And well done, Bangalore, you do us proud again and again.

Kalimpong Calling....

Spoke with 'My Lovely Bones' after ever so long today. Heart-warming-cockles and whatnot. And, and, and....!

Bones tells me about her family's wonderful guest retreat in Kalimpong, and it sounds and looks delicious. 'WindSongs' is the name, and from what we know of Kalimpong, and what I know of Bones and her family, this is definitely one place I'm headed for soon. So here I am shamelssly passing on inside info.

A little bit about WindSongs, from their website:

"WindSongs is a luxury retreat located in the picturesque town of Kalimpong in the sub - Himalayan region of Darjeeling- a place which even the residents of the surrounding towns of Darjeeling & Sikkim envyingly call Heaven. With our eastern belief in reincarnation, we often tell our friends that as residents of Kalimpong, we must have done a lot of good in our earlier life to have been re-born here."

Pics here: http://www.windsongskalimpong.com/accommodation.html#

Let's go, let's go!

Memoirs of a Momo

Here's something Chy and I do ever so often. We write nonsense short stories especially targetting the other. Some time ago I started on this one. Dedicated esp. to Chy Chan and Ozz. All other important creatures in my life will eventually feature. That's the plan anyway.

It's a WIP. I repeat, still working on it...


Memoirs of a Momo
-by Sabbah Haji

THE PLAYERS: (so far…)

Momo-Hahaha / MoHa / MoHa the Magnificent: Saab

Sayuri Grapes / Sa-Grapes / SaGrapes / Sa-G (this name especially in her old age): Chy

Dumpling Bones / Dumpy/ Bones / The Lovely Bones: Karishma

BeefBall / BBall: Ozz

Achmed Arachnid / Spiderman: Helpful but ugly spider. (Heavy, throaty, phlegmy pronunciation on the Achmed bit)

The Evil Matron Jukebox: Mrs Jukes

THE SETTING:

Bishop Linen’s Asylum for Loose, Forward and School-Going Ladies [ASL-FAS-GoiLs]

Bangkok-galore

THE TALE:

Momo-Hahaha was ecstatic. She gazed dreamily into her Crystal Skull’s* hollow eyes for confirmation and giggled in amusement.

*Normally, powerful witches and oracles would make do with a crystal ball, but Momo-Hahaha was so diabolical and superb, she had a Crystal Skull from Swarovski. (To be even clearer, a Crystal Skull STOLEN from Swarovski.)

Momo-Hahaha, or MoHa for short, looked at the Mirror-Mirror on her wall and gave herself a high-five. Her complex plan, laid out years ago to entrap the high-handed (and for that matter, long-legged) Sayuri Grapes was finally in the penultimate stages of execution. Sa-Grapes was behaving in an abominably predictable manner. It was like she was taking stage directions.

MoHa’s plan, in short, follows.

MoHa had grown increasingly tired of taking care of her younger and far-less-appealing male sibling, BeefBall. She thought back to the summer of ’91 when BeefBall was born and her subsequent obsession and fanatic love for him as he lay in his crib. How she’d coo and gurgle at the babe. How she’d apply aloe vera to his diaper rash. How she’d soothe his injuries after accidentally dropping him ‘sometimes’ etc. (sometimes = this happened quite a bit unfortunately, and mostly on BBall’s head, which probably had something to do with his inadequate mental development in later life.)

In other words, MoHa’s was the usual smitten behaviour of a loving elder sister who had unnecessarily taken on the role of young mother. (I say ‘unnecessarily’ because they had, after all, a real young loving mother, very much alive and doing her job quite well.)

But now things had changed. As with everything in Life, Nature must take its course. BeefBall had gradually grown from a tiny, well-groomed, regularly bathed, sweet-smelling angelic boy into a giant-sized, hairy, smelly, definitely non-angelic Man-like Creature. And when we say ‘grown’, we of course mean only in the outer, physical form of growing. Upstairs, BBall was still in his infancy. Rooms to let, as it were.

There was a joke in the MoHa-BBall household about the rarity of BBall’s baths. What the joke is, I can’t exactly recall, but it was a good one.

Anyway.

Over the years, MoHa’s blind love for BBall changed into a sighs-and-resignation sort of caring, as well as a definite teeth-gritting-grimace at the quality of BBall’s ‘humour’. (The quotes are deliberate.)

So, the wheels in MoHa’s Magnificent Mind (alliteration also deliberate) started churning. ‘How to Rid Self of Gargantuan BeefBall?’ became the staple of her thoughts. In the summer of 2007, an idea presented itself. And what a presentation it was! Like a horrible, scary apparition from a past life, MoHa came into contact with her old nemesis…. SAYURI GRAPES! (Kill Bill – Vol. I soundtrack plays as MoHa and Sa-Grapes go into flashback….]

It was a dark, rainy night at Bishop Linen’s Asylum for Loose, Forward and School-Going Ladies [ASL-FAS-GoiLs], the pinnacle of Bangkok-galore’s freaky underground ‘education’ system. The wayward residents of the Senior Dorms had snuck into the Linen Closet (a.k.a. the ‘common room’) and were watching an average film on the Forbidden TV, or FTV for short. (Blink, I think it was, starring Madeline Stowe.)

MoHa was leaning precariously at the back of the room trying hard to get a clear view of the screen. The trouble was, a huge tree seemed to have materialised right in the middle of the Linen Closet, exactly in her line of sight. How to rid the locality of this annoying arboreal growth was MoHa’s main concern. Suddenly MoHa spotted her old buddy Achmed Arachnid (an ugly spider if ever there was one, enough to make one lose one’s appetite, but completely harmless in every other way) at the top right corner of the ceiling. In subtle yet very clear sign language, she asked him to go and quietly plant himself on the tree. Achmed Arachnid, being the kind, gentlemanly spider he was (a kind gentle Spiderman, you could almost say), obliged at once. He positioned himself on the tree’s extension and put on a menacing expression like he had seen his distant filmy cousins do in Arachnophobia. And MoHa saw her opening. She knocked hard on the tree trunk. Slowly, very slowly, the tree turned its head. (MoHa’s mind inexplicably flashed neon signs saying “Treebeard” and “Ent”, who knows why.)

“Aaaaargh!!!” screamed MoHa’s insides as they turned to pulp on grasping the features of the Tree, but outwardly she maintained her calm. “Excuse me, Tree,” she said casually, “but there seems to be a horrific, venomous arachnid on your upper left branch.”

(Years later, Sa-Grapes, for that is who it was, changed this opening dialogue to a far more romantic, “Excuse me, HONEY, but there seems to be a cute and tiny bug on your left shoulder,” when relating the anecdote to incurious passers-by.)

Back to the scene…

On receiving this most disturbing news, Sa-Grapes to her credit did not jump up, screeching and tugging at her skirt as a normal, weak-hearted and stereotype female would have done. Instead, her pupils dilated and she broke out in a cold sweat. But did not move. She Kroaked (deliberate spelling) out for help, “Please, oh Gorgeous MoHa, come to my aid!” To which MoHa gave a lopsided half-grin like heroes in Western flicks, winked secretly at Achmed, and gently tickled him away (quickly passing him a dead fly or two for his efforts). Sa-Grapes promptly collapsed in a tidal wave of relief (because a ‘flood of relief’ is for normal-sized people and we know that is not the case here.)

She remained collapsed for the rest of the movie, which worked out very well for MoHa the Magnificent. Just as the flick ended, Sa-Grapes revived and was going to start singing songs of love and adoration for MoHa, when threatening footsteps were heard from without. MoHa sensed danger. It was the only thing to sense at that point of time, but there was one important personality who did not get this. Her dahling friend and comrade, the innocent, pure-hearted and very lost Dumpling Bones, just sat and blinked. This was a moment of action if ever there was one and MoHa could not see the sense in anyone sitting and blinking. She tried to drag Dumpling but Dumpling only budged a little. In her state of catatonic shock, Dumpling had taken on dead weight and MoHa, Magnificent though she was, could not move her alone.

She lost no time. Where lesser mortals would have admitted defeat, she was already finalising a brilliant alternate plan of action. She turned to Sa-Grapes and said hurriedly, “Nobu-san! Toshiba. Sashimi. Harakiri. Hai.” SaGrapes nodded and in perfect sync MoHa and SaGrapes lifted The Lovely Bones from her backside and swung her through the secret door to the Senior Dorm. Just as the secret passage clicked shut behind them, the Evil Matron Jukebox exploded into the Linen Closet and was met with… well, nothing. Except for a fat, ugly, Middle-Eastern-looking spider that was looking very pleased with itself. The room was just as she had left it three hours previously after watching a C-grade Danielle Steele movie adaptation. Yuk. Disappointed, Jukebox retreated to her dungeon.

In the Dorm, the excitement of a close shave was just beginning to die down. All the girls in their various outfits of bunny PJs, frilly nighties and outdated Bermuda shorts were recovering from the adrenaline buzz of a few moments ago. Whispering and giggling were rife in all corners, except one. That’s right. It was Dumpling’s corner. Where MoHa and SaGrapes were gently laying Dumpy’s inert form in her bunk bed, tucking her in and stroking her hair for effect. SaGrapes threatened to break out into a Mallu lullaby but a warning glance from MoHa put an end to that. In a few minutes, Dumpy stopped blinking, her eyes slowly closed and she started snoring in a lovely, guttural monotone. The danger had passed. MoHa turned to SaGrapes at this emotional moment and said sincerely, “Arigato. Okinawa. Samurai. Iwo Jima.” SaGrapes, tears in eyes, replied, “My pleasure, MoHa-san. I am honoured to know you.”

And so began a bizarre yet poignant friendship between the most unlikely creatures in Bangkok-galore. Dumpy was a constant adhesive between the two. Whenever SaGrapes screwed up and MoHa was infuriated with her, it was Dumpy who gave useful suggestions like, “Sa-G, why don’t you show MoHa how you can burp out the Linen school song?” Or, “MoHa, see how Sa-Grapes bangs her head on the chapel ceiling when we go in for evening mass,” etc. You get the drift. The three ladies would be seen at all hours sneaking around the campus, the hostel, the hockey field, the Canned-Tin, attempting to pole vault over the gate and doing things of that sort to while away the time. It was, in a way, pathetic (hell, it was pathetic any which way you look at it), but it was also endearing. The scenic grounds of the Linen campus served as an adhesive to the as yet immature alliance between the three. Some might even say they ‘bonded’. All this romantic stuff happened circa 1998-1999 which was the year MoHa and Dumpy would graduate. SaGrapes had flunked a couple of times, or was it thrice, and she was still a year behind. Mmmpppfff.

Part 1 of many concludes.

...To be continued...

Jai Iyer's INGA: The Secret

INGA. Meaning Indian Manga...
Created by the wonderful Jai Iyer, whom, as Fortune would have it, I have met less times in the flesh than is preferable. Chance meeting at Chance Chandra's house etc. And Koshy's....
So, presenting THE SECRET.
Brilliant fun, inside jokes and all, set in Koshy's, Bangalore, with famous personalities dotting the landscape and playing important roles.

Enjoy on Jai Iyer's blog.

Jai Ho!

Haaalow!

Excuse me, Boomsa. I am missing you. Come back.
Okay, bye.

Moooahahahahaaaaa...

Was reminded today by Pinkah about this insanely funny cow video, and how we had enjoyed it back in 2005, at DigiCaptions.
Presenting "Cows With Guns." Enjoy.

Hyaahhahaa @ 'Bad Cow Pun'.



Credits:
Music by Dana Lyons
Copyright 1996 Lyons Brothers Music (BMI)
(http://www.cowswithguns.com)
Animation by Bjorn-Magne Stuesol
(http://www.shagrat.net)

In the meanwhile....

(Meaning the week and more that I was out of action - interesting news items of interest not in chronological order)
1. Pakistan won the penultimate and utterly useless final ODI, garnering a face-saving 3-2 scoreline. Hah. Big deal.
2. Imran Khan was released.
3. Nandigram became uglier and uglier and now it's par for the course so expect it'll move to Page 8 or 10 of the dailies soon.
4. Synchronised triple blast in UP, some b@$-turds taking innocent lives again for another incomprehensible motive.
5. India wins first test at Kotla easily. Kumble shines as captain, Tendulkar shines as always, Shoaib whines as always. Well, okay, he didn't whine. I'm a pissed fan. I can say anything. I'm waiting for hi to grow up into a captain. And I really think he should eat more. He looks near-death.
6. Saab in Bangalore researches life in Mumbai and readies self for the big Heave-Ho.
7. Pakistan still simmers under Busharraff's dictation.
8. Taslima Onscreen in another silly controversial attack-escape routine.
9. Kolkata sees fire.
10. Darjeeling sees the GNLF spring back into action after a while now.
11. Fedex and Sampras played three exhibition matches around Asia [Seoul, Kuala Lumpur and Macau]. Fedex won the first two - they were pretty tight matches though they were both straight set wins [6-4, 6-3 and 7-6, 7-6]. And then Pistol Pete, balding ever so slowly, took home the third. Another tight match with the first set tie-breaker going to 10-8, and then 6-4. Experts and laymen are all agreed that in current form, Sampras could be in today's top 5 in the men's world rankings. Yayyyyy! Sampras quietly shooed away any hopes of coming back into competitive playing. [Full BBC story on the third match.]
8. Yet another Middle-East peace conference scheduled to be held in Annapolis. Yawn.
9. I had a farewell party thrown in my honour at darling Titla's place o Saturday. There was biryani, there was Cranium, there were friends and there were new friends. I got a super MP3 from a Ryanotaurus, earrings from an Annettie, Fab clothes from Doc Iqbal, jvellries from a Thirtha and a losing place in Cranium on account of some very shite luck. Whatte fun it was! Pics up soon.

Mumbai: Life in a Metro

"The future is called 'perhaps', which is the only possible thing to call the future. And the only important thing is not to allow that to scare you."
~Tennessee Williams, Orpheus Descending, 1957

My trip to Mumbai has been a little life-changing, to put it lightly. Apart from the regular touristy stuff I pulled off when over there, I managed to fit in an interview and landed a job offer. After a couple of days of deep mental unrest and heavy brainstorming, I have decided to move bag, baggage, life and books from Bangalore to Mumbai.Meaning, I am leaving comfortable, tiny, traffic-jammed Bangalore and shifting base to new, intimidating, noisy, fast, big-ass Mumbai.

And now, about the trip itself. Which started the previous Thursday evening, after a harrowing, adventure-filled delay on Bangalore roads [read as horrendous, hair-tearing, inexplicable traffic jam] causing me to miss my flight and force me to purchase a brand new tickety-boo at the airport. Gaaak. The trip hadn't even begun and I was already down a cool 4k.
Anyway. Landed late-nightish at the airport where hostess of the year Shobhanaaaahahaaahaaa was awaiting my arrival. (She had her i-Pod for company so Indian Airlines/Mumbai Airport Authorities were spared her wrath at the landing delay.) During my stay in Mumbai, Shobs acted as a very professional local Raju-guide. She also graciously invited me to move in with her and her roomies [who are both also lovely ladies, and originally from JNC, Bangalore] once I leave Bangalore. This is, not to put too fine a a point upon it, a huge relief. Shobs was full to overflowing with useful advice, funny hair/clothes/Bombay-bimbette stories, amusing work-related anecdotes and personal tales of great intrigue and human-interest. I had much, much fun.
Other than that, spent lovely day catching up with Bones at her digs and loafing around her part of town. We went for Om Shanti Om and laughed our eyeballs out. Loved her apartment. Bones ordered in momos and we had a delicious midnight dinner over gossip and reminiscings. Brad Pitt was discussed in great detail. It has also been decided that in case of any unforeseen emergency or me going financially bust, Bones will have to step up to the plate and mother me till I'm all better.

Shro joined me after her Goa trip on Sunday evening as per precision pre-planning at Mocha, Bangalore. I collected her and we headed towards her mad, mad, mad,mad cousin Mithai's home. Had a great, fun evening, heavenly homemade dinner [salaad, chingdi-maach, masoor dal, mung-sho and bhaat], chatted long into the night and fell asleep happily at the end of it all.
The next day we had planned to hit downtown Mumbai. Dropped off some stuff at Shro's friend's place in the 'burbs, met her gorgeous, cute as hell boxers, and messed around with them for a while. That's the lady D with Shro on the left, and on the right we see her brother K looming in the foreground while she hogs the chewy-ball.

Shobs, Titla and I decided to rendezvous in Bandra, take the local and hit 'town'. This was the first time Titla travelled by local train and she looked like a kid in a candy store. It has to be admitted that there was much to amuse us on our journey, such as this fantastic advert for PRTTY BEAUTY PARLOUR on the wall of our carriage. The most promising service they seem to provide is probably the 'Full Body Blech'. I have take down their number and will be their most ardent patron once I move. Must also try their 'menicur' and 'pedicur'. Sounds like they are dog-lovers. Good.

Anyway, we reached Colaba, had a stopover at Café Mondegar [or 'Mondy's', as they say in Mumbai] and I am totally smitten by the place. Very Bangalore feel from the music, ambience and food. I shall be gong here a lot, inshaAllah.The rest of the evening was spent on heavy shopping along Colaba Causeway for knicks and knacks. When we were almost ready to drop, we decided to 'drop' in at the darling Theo Broma, a Parsi patisserie on the same street, and got some life back into our tired legs. We decided to wind up for the day and cabbed it back to the 'burbs.
Interesting aside: On Colaba Causeway, every evening around sunset, a kind man comes along with a bag full of meats and he distributes this among the waiting street cats AND dogs. Who, by the way, are totally unfazed by each other, never fight and live quietly side-by-side on the roads. It was beautiful to see. Neither species batted an eyelid nor made a sudden, homicidal lunge towards the other. The cats were especially blasé about the whole coexistence thing.
We spent some time post-sunset on breezy Marine Drive watching the hep middle-aged aunties in their micro-shorts and toned legs walking their dogs. Middle-aged hep uncles were power-walking with earphones and a look of earnest intent. Whatte fun.

I'll summarise the next few days now. It's getting bleddy boring.

So, after we were done with town, Shro and I covered the Bandra shopping hotspots [Linking Road, Hill Road, Pali Naaka]. We ate at some nice places like Pop Tate's, Just Around the Corner, 5 Spice and shamelessly crashed a very fancy beach-front lounge bar/restaurant called Aurus for a friend of a friend's Happy Birthday party. I spotted many celebrities, wannabe-celebrities, wannabe-seens and has-beens in only 5 days on the streets. Obviously there's more excitement on the way.
Before we knew it, it was time to leave. And I am back in comfortable, pleasantly cold, tiny, homely Bangalore to pack up my underwear bag and other essentials.

As to what the future holds, who knows. Let's play it by the ear. I trust the Upstairs to look out for me.

“Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.”

-Corrie Ten Boom

Travel, hoe!

A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.
~Lao Tzu

[Me on the left, Shro on the right, travel plans on the table... This is a file pic. Not the thumbs-down Mocha.]

Last evening was fun.
There was my dearest Shro at the other end of the line confirming our rendezvous at Mocha, Lavelle Road. We hadn't been there as yet and were eager to scope out the place, sample the products and rate it on a scale of 1 to 10. I had heard on good authority [girlfriends' gossip] that the crowd at Mocha was the expected cringe-inducing young, flaky, rich kids set who lived on and around Lavelle Road, who either carried wadfuls of thousand rupee notes or Daddy's Platinum Credit Card(s). Back when I was in school/college and planned to meet up with friends, we used to behave in a dignified manner and save and scrounge and have one-by-two coffees at the local darshini. Once a month. Maybe. Bah. The world is going to the dogs. French poodles to be precise.
Anyway, that is neither here nor there.
Shro asked what the crowd would be like and I used that very intelligent and informative and all-encompassing Bengali adjective: 'Naekaa'.
She gulped and said bravely, "Let's do it."
I reached first and immediately got the once-over from what collectively looked like the offspring of the top 2% of Bangalore's über -rich industrialists/biz tycoons/CEOs/steel/liquor magnates set. There were also other assorted fauna of the designer/artsy/fashion/Page 3 genre and the essential firang patron. My eyes couldn't take too much of this for very long and I thanked the Lord for giving me the good sense in having brought along a Wodehouse to occupy myself with. [It was Big Money, which is one of the last few of his works I hadn't yet read.]
After a while, I can't say how long, but my aching cheeks tell me I must have been grinning at the pages for at least 15 minutes, Shro arrived. She plonked herself down. We exchanged pleasantries. We did not make small talk. We immediately started discussing travel plans. Ours.
You see, some time last month, Shro and I had decided that we really had to go see Bangkok. It was essential to our existence and emotional well-being. It was imperative. It was the opportune moment etc. We had all but finalised our Thai dreams (conceptually) when a snag manifested itself in the form of our inability to actually procure the air tickets at a suitable date. Meaning, try as we might, tickets were acting fussy and not falling in with our demands and before we knew it, the Bangkok trip was slipping out of our fingers. [This is the backdrop.]
So you see, there was nothing much to discuss except the quiet death of a possibly very exciting exotic escapade which would now never see the light of the day.
Now some time ago, Shro and I had also discussed visiting Bombay for larks. This thought suddenly reemerged from the depths as we tucked into the substandard fare Mocha provided us. [More on this later.] I looked at Shro. Shro looked at me. There was a strange gleam in both our pairs of eyes, hers more noticeable because she has those big-ass Bengali gogglers. On the spur of the moment we decided that Bangkok could happen some other time, Bombay was totally on.
Me: Shro!
Shro: Saab!
Together: Why the hell not!
And so, in this surreal setting with naekaa spoilt-brats and bad food, it was decided that the two of us are indeed headed Mumbai-wards. We shrieked unbecomingly and giggled and when two young ladies do that, you know the deal is sealed.
I made a few strategic phone calls to friends positioned in various parts of Mumbai to inform them of said impulsive plan and to ascertain whether they would be in town or not. (I am happy to say they will be.) Shro informed her parentals. We were set.
Since coming home from the 'cafe', I have been scouring the internet and have confirmed my going-to ticket. Return is open-ended. Shro is off to Goa and she'll join me in Mumbai over the weekend. I want to bus/train some part of the journey because I haven't done that in a long time and I like road travel. Especially when I'm alone. With my notebook.
Beware fellow passengers.

I can't wait to meet my mad Shobs after whose departure from Bangalore, the humour content in my life has gone down by 53%. Here she is in one of her memorable moments:
We plan to do many silly things, not the least of which is laugh our guts out. Shobs doll has kindly offered her digs for me to crash in. Yay, what fun. Or, as Rosesh from Sarabhai vs Sarabhai says, "Yay, whoopeee!" [That, by the way, is the funniest show ever.]

There are many other insane creatures I will be meeting after a very long time. Bones and Sowmya. The mad Mits Dee. I am so kicked about this.

Postscript: Based on last evening, Mocha's ratings are 1.5 out of 10. Bad coffee for me [Mocha-Java blend], insipid cold coffee for Shro [can make better at home] and terrible cheese sauce with French fries in an affected dish called Poutaine [but pronounced Foo-Tayn]. The cheese sauce tasted like powdery maida in milk with added salt and a hint of cheesy something. Oh, wait, that's exactly what it was. Blech. The fries on their ownsome were good but even my baby niece can make good French fries. I give them a 1.5 for variety on the menu and okay pricing.
This is obviously a very bad first impression. I suppose I'll have to go again and give Mocha another try. It comes with the heavy baggage of a good rep and where do you get that unless you earn it?

Bangalore friends.....

Three insanely cute poochie babies up for adoption, as messaged in by a Shama. They're about a month old.
Please go to the Adopt-A-Stray blog for all details.
There are many more adorables you can read about over here. Keep dropping in on the site once in a while and spread the word among your Bangalore friends. And then, adopt ho! Much appreciated.

Stupid cricket match and a lovely cafe called BrewHaHa

First ODI between India and Pakistan at Guwahati, Nov 5th, 2007.
Match summary: "It was a tired, dull effort on a sluggish surface."
-Siddhartha Vaidyanathan on cricinfo.com

A yawn-inspiring match between the two teams that always promise excitement and drama when playing each other. Except it wasn't so at all yesterday.
India won deservedly as Pakistan handed the match over to the Indians in a super-slo-mo turn of events. The Paki bowling and fielding was so ho-hum I won't write about it. A couple of upsides: Salman Butt looks in good nick, as does Mohd Yousuf. Downsides: Too many to list in detail but the broad outlines may read as 'bowling' and 'fielding'. How many times will Mohd Yousuf try and save the day only to have the rest of the Greenie Meanies turn it into a shambles?
Am very disappointed in Shoaib Malik's captaincy or lack thereof. Maybe he was thinking about the Emergency situation back home? Probably not, but what the hell was he thinking of otherwise is my question.
More amusement was in store for all viewers as Afridi got out in yet another comical attempt at bludgeoning the ball. (You nutty Pathan, keep your panties on for a while, why don't you?) Afridi's full-stretch lunge from toe to extreme-tip-of-bat measured in at 57 feet, 8 inches. At least that was what it looked like. He missed the ball by a further 3'5" feet and the math becomes too depressing now to give a final cumulative of the asinine act. Oh, well, at least he didn't waste too many balls and livened things up a bit. 31 off 32 is a fun show.
On the Indian side, good bowling esp by the spinners. Sachin is a hero and a good man and both were on display yesterday. Couldn't contribute with the bat? No problem. He stepped in with his cute smile and a couple of important wickets. Stop dissing Sachin all the time, folks, really. And Sourav. There's a reason they're counted amongst the greats. And both showed it yesterday.
Dhoni is firmly entrenching himself in my heart of hearts as a really nice lad and a good cricketer. Consistency is not something to be sneered at. Yuvi did good again.
All in all, an infuriating day for me as I watched the ease with which India took the match away. Obviously batting in the middle orders wasn't too tough, Pakis, because India did just fine. Hmmmph.
Later on in the evening, as a salve on my wounds, I cleverly met up with a couple of my girlfriends who couldn't care less about the cricket. In this intelligent manner, I avoided being ridiculed for supporting Pakistan and also enjoyed thoroughly at a very nice cafe in Koramangala called Brew HaHa. (Right next to Jyoti Nivas College.)

Let me talk a bit about this joint. I give it 4.4 out of 5 thumbs up. I have been to Brew thrice already and have really enjoyed each time. The cafe was started by a couple of friends: one Mr Sreeram and one Mr Mansur. More about them here. The menu is great, the food is lovely, very budget place and an easy, fun ambience.
Brew-Ha-Ha is built around the concept of gaming and fun. (Which is to say indoor 'games', of the board kind and 'fun' of the clean, family atmosphere kind.) Games available include Scrabble, Coda, Cranium, Pictionary and over 60 other games most of which I hadn't heard of. The walls are also mounted with white board for added fun and creativity. Ask for the games menu and learn a few new things.
The cafe has ample seating: tables-and-chairs as well as floor-rug-seating in the corners with cushions/bolsters for your use and pleasure.
The place is boisterous and noisy during the day when college kids bunk and come away to enjoy a few innocent hours. On a weekday evening, it'll be quiet and pleasant.
The menu itself is very diverse, with a lot of choice available in terms of food as well as beverages. And very amusing names for many of the menu items, inspired by comic book or popular fiction.
Yesterday I had the Roast Chicken, Mayo and Apple Sandwich (with a special request to not add the apples in- yes, I can be like that) and the Willie Wonka Cappuccino [a dreamy mochachino - really excellent]. My friend had a Paneer Tikka Sandwich plus a Cappuccino and another friend the Oriental Stir Fried Noodles and a Lime Water. All of us concurred on these points: The food was excellent, the servings generous. Beverages were top-notch as well. Add to this the great pricing and we were a much-satisfied threesome.
Service was friendly and only a tiny bit slow, but this went unnoticed because we had a really good time in totum. The desserts look appealing as well. Their cheese cake is fantastic. Last time I was there I had a huge slab and packed another one to take home with me.
The next time I go to the cafe, I intend to try the Intergalactic Gargle Blaster. And maybe something from the pasta menu. I'm pretty confident I'll be happy with whatever I order. I have been reading random reviews of the place online and it's unanimous: everyone has enjoyed their food at Brew-Ha-Ha. Not a single unhappy critique.
My friends and I have decided we will patronise this joint like no one else. Here's to time and money well spent and the promise of a lot more of the same.

Highly recommend for a bit of old-school-memories fun. Go!

Bye, boys. See you later.

"My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell."
-Emily Dickinson

The day after Eid after an unusual silence from Boomsa when I called her to chit-chat and find out were she had been during the festivities, she gave me the news. Li'l Joey was gone. The street dogs got him. And Boo didn't want to tell me over Eid. For which I am grateful.

Be at peace, Jo darling. You were much loved and didn't you know it. I had brought you truckloads of food and would have loved to see you shovel your way through it.
Here's Jo when he just came home with Boomsa as a baby.

This was the Monday immediately after Eid. 15th October, 2007. I went over to Boo's house to hang out with her and take solace in Hot-Cross-Bonz. Who I was SO GLAD TO SEE because it had been a while.
(I have no shame in admitting that I felt far more strongly for Bonzo than Jo-Cat, obviously because I hardly knew the little darling. I had met him a few times for a few hours and he was endearing as dammit, but Bonz is my firstborn and he's been with Boo and I since way back when. There's no comparison.) So the sudden news of Joey's death put things in jarring perspective. I drank Bonz in that day. He was being a babe as usual. He gave me all the attitude he had saved up especially to throw my way, he turned his back on me, he walked away in utter disdain several times, used me as a scratching post at will and had me begging for more. As usual. He is, of course the only man who's ever made me beg for his affections. We watched TV where Bonz was especially enthralled by a pet show. On puppies, even.Bonzo loved the sheer khorma I had made for Eid. He pigged out on a lot of it. A LOT. He was fattened, I was flattered. It worked well for the both of us. While in the kitchen Bonzo amused me by wondering about a certain black ant that was working his way towards somewhere under the fridge. Here's a video. Please note his darling meowing: "What IS this thing?" and his utter disbelief when Ant escapes.


Apart from this video, I took several pictures and videos of Bonz on my phone. That's the last set I'll ever have. More's the pity. Bonzo was great onscreen.
Bonz and I played for hours that Monday. We hadn't done Socker for a while, which is our game of soccer played with rolled-up socks. In the absence of sock-rolls, I used soft chewy balls, his old buddy Party Pooh and other assorted throwies. Much fun and exercise later, Boo came home and we continued the games till late into the night. Hot Bonz demonstrated amazing theatrics while pursuing and clawing the ball etc.
I went home after Boo announced she would cancel gym plans and that this indoor exercise was far better than anything else. I nodded in agreement.
The next day, I went to Vellara Junction and procured excellent fun items: a mini-cricket set with 2 plastic bats and balls. And a Buzz Lightyear tennis/squash/badminton/what-have-you twin racket set. If we were going to play, we'd do it in style.
Tuesday the 16th was even more fun than the previous evening. Bonzo was in his element. He did a few nifty moves involving upending the potted palms. He played donkey in the middle, on the side, ahead and behind. He banged his head no less than 29 times against various doors, beds, sofas and chairs. In spite of us having moved a lot of the movable furniture around till we had a clear playing field inside the house.
I have no pictures of that last day with Bonz. I thought there was time enough for that. This was to be our daily workout regime, n'est pas? I said bye to Boo and Bonz at around 2130 pm and rode home to the boondocks.
17th October, Wednesday afternoon. I let myself in at Boo's house. I waited to hear the tinkle-tinkle of BonzoBells running up to disregard me and frisk me for food. Nothing. He wasn't home.
I twiddled my thumbs, read the newspaper, called up Boo to complain about Bonzo being a rowdy loafarr type, went out to the balcony several times to call out to him, practiced come-hither looks in front of the mirror, performed this act on the balcony and, in the end, resorted to the one medium all idiots use to while away time: I switched on the telly.
Boo came home in a while. We pretended to be casual about Bonzo's long absence. "I hate it when he does this." "Bugger's eaten his meals and taken off to paint the town red, eh?" "Hanging out with the boys, is he?"
Inside, we were both worried but we didn't say so.
I spent some more time with Boo waiting for Bonz and left for home feeling not-so-good.
And the next day, Thursday now, Boo called me early in the morning. Bonzo had not returned.
That day I searched the streets over and over. I called out to Bonz in lanes and alleys I'd never visited before. I spoke with many strangers, most of whom were really sweet. Some couldn't be bothered about missing cats. I even walked into someone's house because I heard mewing there. It turned out to be a very nice lady with 2 cats of her own. They were outdoor-access cats and much smaller than Bonz. I left her house feeling hopeful. Kids and security guards were especially concerned, I found.
Many times that day I came across people who were laughing at me because I happened to be crying. How anyone can do that is something Boo and I discussed later and came up with no answers to. I put up basic posters all around the neighborhood. Creeps started calling in to chat me up using Bonz as an excuse. One creepy 40-something b@#^%$% actually followed me around when I was putting up posters and started pestering me because he was Kashmiri and thrilled to bits I was as well. How does that work? "Hey, you lost a pet? Want to hear me lie about me seeing him and then ask you personal questions about your life?"
On the upside, the anger makes one forget about the grief for a while.
Friday morning: A security guard from a nearby apartment complex calls me and says he's seen Bonzo's body in a dump. There's no mistake because he saw the collar. Titla was a sweetheart and imediately drove me there. I showed the guard Bonzo's photos. He confirmed.

Titla and I waited for Boomsa to come home. Sushma returned soon as well. We sat together, the four of us that day, talking for hours, and it was a little comforting.
I got up to go home where no one is very big on cats, even my Bonz. My affection for Bonz and Jo was seen as an amusing aberration. Well, haw haw. I have only this as an insipid excuse to be grumpy and sad at home. Boo is in a far worse place. She has to come home to a new silence and this will take getting used to. Be strong, Boo.*Call me anytime and we'll go away.* Hug*
Friends who were unbelievably sweet and supportive over the next few days, I thank you.
Tits: You are my lifeline.
Jellicle, Soulmia, Pinkah, Ruth, Giggles: My love and gratitude.
Bob: You asked! ;-)

I love you, Bonz. And you, Joey.
And now, enough, no more.

All videos and pics of the boys will be up on my You Tube and Picasa pages soon. For their legions of fans.

Ruthie!!!

A belated post about a fun girls' night out last week, bringing in Ruthie's[right] happy birthday. The night that was the 25th of September running into the 26th of September. Wheeee!
I had asked Ruth some time last week that I be allowed to take her out on a very hot date, and she acquiesced. Pinkah was soon a part of the dinner plans, and finally Sophia was inveigled in to make it a lovely quartet. The original plan was to rendezvous and stuff face at Shezan on Lavelle Road. [I won't say who suggested it. WE ALL KNOW. Hmmph. Let us just say that up to some point in the recent past, this used to be a nice, respectable restaurant to eat out in, which is why we agreed to go there in the first place.]
I collected Ruth from a pre-arranged scientific meeting point, and in the pleasant light drizzle, playing dhin-chak songs on the car stereo, we headed towards Shezan. Pinkah arrived shortly after, dressed to the nines, whatever that means.
No sooner were we seated than we realised that this is not the sort of shady joint we wanted to be celebrating Ruth's Coming to Life in. The table cloth was the same as I remembered from 1997 and that is not a good thing. There was only one other table occupied, the waiters were looking listless and the lighting was not conducive to out festive mood. Also, some trash music was playing and I cannot abide with bad music when I'm out to enjoy. All of us were individually thinking the same inward thought: "How can we get out of here and who will bell the cat?" (Though outwardly these may appear to be two separate, independent and unrelated thoughts, the use of the conjunction 'and' renders it one whole undivided unit.)
So, we tried to look casual and talked of the weather and laughed amusedly at the still-not-arrived Sophia's incoming texts about her deranged auto-ride and her ETA, but all the while the twiddling of out thumbs and the tapping of our feet intensified and the frowns on our foreheads deepened. To kill time (and not look cheap), we ordered a few Iced Teas and Onion Rings [for what is a night out if not initiated with deep-fried fresh-breathy-snacks]. The final straw for me, that famous one which broke the unfortunate camel's back, was tasting the so-called Onion Rings. Gaaaak!! They were terrible. Being unable to take this substandard turn of events any more, I thought I would scream aloud, "Let's GOOOOOO!!!" but was pre-empted from so doing by a simultaneous wail from Ruth and Pinkah. Obviously all of us had seen the light at the end of the tunnel and it was decided that we make good our escape from the shady Shezan as soon as possible. (We also vowed never to hide our feelings again and talk openly about things that were bothering us.)
As soon as Sophia arrived we left, and in our wake stood the offended waiters shaking their fists and cussing at us becuase we had not been too subtle about our disenchantment with the place, the lousy food and the desire to GET OUTTA HERE! I believe we also laughed loudly and disdainfully at many points.
Anywhooo.
Pre-departure, we four had decided that we would head to the very nice Cafe Fresco's on Cunningham Road. We all piled into my car and we drove there in high spirits and a flood of bad jokes. As soon as we turned in to the graveled calm of Fresco's parking lot, I knew it was good decision. Being a weeknight and slightly drizzly, there were no raging crowds or noisy teenybopper sorts milling around the place. Just a set of cheerful, comfortable, well-behaved dining folk, all enjoying their own personal enjoyments.We ordered the food, settled in pretty well on our table, enjoyed the gazebo ambience, the light rain, the toned down music and each other's company.The food was quite excellent. Starting with the hummus [ordered cleverly by Sophia] which was as authentic as any I've had, right up to Pinkah's Penne Pasta with Arabiatta Sauce ["A penne saved is a penne earned," I offered, when Pinkah couldn't finish her portion], Ruth's Chicken Parmesan and my Grilled Fish- all were very satisfying and also, delicious.And then........ the desserts!!!!! Now, anyone who knows anything about eating out in Bangalore will tell you that you get the best desserts at Rahila Rauf's patisserie. Where is this little piece of heaven to be found? Why, attached at the hip to Fresco's, which just happens to be her husband, Mr Rauf's joint! Wheeee....
So, to cut a long story short, Sophia and I quickly tippy-toed to Rahila's counter at the back and there we had the expected spasms and fits of unbridled joy that one is wont to exhibit when faced with her creations at a close range. We walked across each dessert with awe, and it must be said, rapidly-filling drool in our mouths. If it were not for the amused waiter standing by, I believe we would have stood and applauded each masterpiece with tears in our eyes.
As it was, it took us a good ten minutes to finally zero in on the two most desirable desserts for our table. We settled on the "Oreo Mud Pie" thingie [that may not be the correct name, but it had Oreos in it] and "New York, New York", which is cheese cake, New York style. The Oreo creation was fantastic! I don't even like dark chocolate but this particular dark-choc dessert was something else. The cheese cake ranked a close second but only because the chocolate was so damn good. *Standing ovation* for Madam Rauf.
It was unfortunately time to leave after that, and we decided that since there was still time for Ruth's birthday to arrive [about 15 minutes or so till midnight], we would drive along to Sophia's home on the wrong end of the edge of Bangalore and scream "Hap Birdday!" when the time was right.
And so it was. We took off in the car listening to fascinating item songs as Maiyya Maiyya, Ganpat, Cash and other contemporary gems of the Hindi fillum industry. By and by we came to midnight and we all yelled and shrieked and laughed "Happy Birthday to Ruthie". Amid much mirth, noise and inanity, Sophia disembarked at her home. The return journey then began and much to the disappointment of the remaining three of us, Sophia wasn't there to enjoy an absolutely fascinating item song called "Mummy", which beats the pants off every other song in history for sheer lyrical ad vocal genius.

Here are some lyrics, if you don't believe me:
Kehte hain sabhi ki badi haaat hoon main,
Tell you what, taqila ka ik shaaat hoon main [X2]
Magarrrr khayaaaal yeh rahe zaraaaaaaaaa....
Mummy ko nahin hai pata!!!
Naa, naa, mummmmy ko nahin hai pata!
So, Mummmmy se naaa kehnaaaaaaa........!

Haaaaaaaaaaaahhahahhaahhahahahaaa..... Happy birthday, Ruthie doll.

More pictures of that night, here. Unfortunately, I didn't take any shots of the desserts.

INDIA - WORLD CHAMPIONS, 2007!

Ladies and gentlemen, after the most edge-of-seat, thrilling, gripping few hours of great cricket yesterday, Team India has emerged as the first ICC Twenty20 World Champions, and as Boomsa said, nothing can ever change this fact. Congratulations to the winners. It was a match worth the watching and could have swung wither way towards the very end, which is what I was hoping for in a final. [That I was hoping for many other things from this match is another matter altogether.... *wipes stray tears*]
Excellent write-up here.

Let's look at this match from a PURE MATH angle.

The afterMATHS: [Events not listed in chronological, organized manner since the writer is suffering hugely from emotional trauma and subsequent mental imbalance. Points listed below are coming in short, sporadic bursts like black nauseous waves. Other morbid allusions can be made but there is no time and it won't change anything.]
1. India defeat Pakistan to win the first ever Twenty20 World Cup by a narrow 5 runs in Over Number 40 of the day.
2. The BCCI announces a reward of USD 2 million for victorious Team India. This amount is approximately 0.0083% of what the BCCI actually has in its coffers, classified under the head 'Profits for Eternity'- (Inside sources)].
3. Misbah ul Haq has 5 runs to get in the last 4 balls of the penultimate over. Very doable like the 1 run required off 2 balls in the previous India-Pak showdown. Instead, Pakistan 152 all out.
4. Irfan Pathan deals a heavy match-winning blow, finishing with 3-16 and clinching Man of the Match, and Rudra Pratap impresses as always with a smart 3-26.
5. Shahid Afridi gets Player of the Tournament for his 12 wickets and brilliant all-round play during the entire T20.
6. Underrated Gautam Gambhir never gets more than a cursory mention for his very brilliant top-of-the-innings score of 75 runs at a strike rate of 139.
7. Umar Gul bowls another dream spell as he has been doing throughout the tournament, and he picks up 3 wickets for 28, making him the highest wicket-taker of the T20s.
8. Mohd Hafeez drops Rohit Sharma at long-on on ball 19.2 of the Indian innings. The ball pops out of the boundary giving India 6 more to their total.
9. India get 6 more, and in the end India win by 5 too many? [Aaargh. The hurt....]
10. Afridi throws away his wicket in the 12th over and Pakistan stand at 77-6. It all seems over for the Green Men.
11. Misbah ul Haq, my hero for the tournament, steps in again with a Herculean 43 and pulls Pakistan to the brink of victory, including four very special 6es in the death overs.
12. Sohail Tanveer also chips in with 2 brilliant 6es in Sreesanth's over. He finishes with a worthy 12 off 4 balls. Well done, lad.
13. Ball 19.3 of the Paki innings. 5 runs to win, 4 balls in hand. Misbah plays 'that shot', scooped up backwards over the wicketkeeper hoping to fly by the fielder at shortish fine-leg, but NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
It's all over.....
[Actually it started as "YESSSS!!!! YESS! YES!!!!! Whaaaaaa...? Who's that? Wha...? NOOO... NOOOOO... NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"]

The beforeMATHS:
1. 10 dosas to Robin Uthappa courtesy Ravi Shastri. Recreated by SamGoose, Boomsa and a Sharmon Legend.
2. Yuvi sits pretty on INR 1 crore after his magic six sixes in one over against England.
3. Approximate betting on the India-Pakistan finals: INR 1500 crore. In India alone.
4. Betting odds: Illegal betting space - India odds on favorites to win at 1:1.55, Pakistan close on heels at 1:1.80. Legal betting space, Bet365, offers odds of 1:80 for India, and 1:90 for a Paki win. Skybet is more conservative with the same rate for both.
5. Wanderers Stadium has a sellout crowd of 30,000 plus.
6. Hearts broken worldwide: 165 million [primarily Pakistani hearts, but other hearts like mine are included here too.]
7. Hearts filled to bursting with elation: 1 billion [primarily Indian hearts, but other hearts worldwide too beat for the Men in Blue.]
8. Losers in India and Pakistan, or Indians and Pakis worldwide who didn't care which way the match would swing: 234 [Including the scientists in Antarctica].

Here's a short post-match interview of some very miserable Pak fans. The gentleman is a Suhail Qasim Malik and the lady is a Nida Haji. Interview by this very saddened writer.



Also, at the end of all things, I am very fond of MS Dhoni who has turned out to be a stellar captain of the young Indian side. [On an aesthetic note: It certainly helped that he took the trouble to wax/shave, and was in prime physical condition since he was letting go of his shirt. Nice biceps, Milkman.]

Final note: Am glad I watched the match in the confines of my own home with like-minded SPORT-LOVERS, because I know this is the only way I could watch the game objectively without being irritated or disturbed. I say objectively, in spite of supporting Pakistan yesterday, because that is how we have been raised to watch and play sports. If someone plays a good stroke, it doesn't matter what side they're on, we'll be applauding them. Indian, Pakistani, Arab, Israeli, American, Aussie doesn't enter into the equation. I hate the Aussie team in totum but I know a good shot when I see it, and I'll know to clap for Gilchrist, PONTING EVEN, if he plays a sweet shot.
It has happened so often that a good game has been spoilt for me by fanatics [and not fans], idiots shouting obscenities, cheering blindly for their own side, not appreciating any move by the opposition, drowning out commentary with their uneducated opining or arguing loudly with expert opinion based on their overheated sentiments... But what really bothers me most of all is obscenities. I don't like potty-mouths around when watching sports. It's a different ball-game, as it were. Don't sully it with $##$@!!!

Thanks to Shro for being my shoulder to cry on late last night when I called her for late-night-emotional-support dinner meals. The original plan was for me to pick her up and drive to Ulsoor Lake where I would take the final plunge, with suitable accessories as rocks, an anvil and strong rope. And Shro would then take the car back home. Boomsa was to collect my remains the next morning.
As it turned out, this did not happen. We went to KFC instead.

Very cute scenes on the roads of Bangalore after the victory: Fans of all ages took to the streets brandishing the Indian flag, stopping cars to give high-fives, yelling and cheering ecstatically all over the city, sharing unadulterated joy with complete strangers on the roads and not misbehaving at all. When my car was stopped, I was treated with great deference and joy after it was noted that I was a lady. Yay. I love that we don't have hooliganism here, for the most part.

"Hazaaron khwaahishein aisi ki har khwaahish pe dum nikle;
Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle."
-Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib
[What I was crooning myself to sleep with last night.]