Mumbai: 26/11

Arundhati Roy with another gripping read: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/dec/12/mumbai-arundhati-roy. (Thanks for the link, Sir Fahad.)
Ms Roy mentions something that hit me and my folks here in Kashmir during the long hours we followed the TV broadcasts. Here's an excerpt:
"Over three days and three nights we watched in disbelief as a small group of very young men armed with guns and gadgets exposed the powerlessness of the police, the elite National Security Guard and the marine commandos of this supposedly mighty, nuclear-powered nation. While they did this they indiscriminately massacred unarmed people, in railway stations, hospitals and luxury hotels, unmindful of their class, caste, religion or nationality. (Part of the helplessness of the security forces had to do with having to worry about hostages. In other situations, in Kashmir for example, their tactics are not so sensitive. Whole buildings are blown up. Human shields are used. The U.S and Israeli armies don't hesitate to send cruise missiles into buildings and drop daisy cutters on wedding parties in Palestine, Iraq and Afghanistan.) But this was different. And it was on TV."

Exactly. This sort of an 'encounter' would be over in half a day here in Kashmir. Hostages/civilians be damned. Blow up the damn block if you must. But it's easier to just set the building on fire, if you ask me. Okay, let's do that.
Then. Ms Roy makes a mention of one Arnab Goswami, which was a pleasant surprise in a bitter sort of way. This man has infuriated me from the time he's been given that front-runner role for TIMES NOW. (Blehh.) Frothing and foaming at the mouth any time there's a big, dramatic news incident. Check him out in any of TIMES NOW's news broadcasts of a terror attack or a kid stuck in a well, or when interviewing a subject he doesn't like. I've seen him go into scary, straining falsettos of diatribe when he's primed for it. And spouting personal opinion instead of reporting objectively. Well done, Goswami. Where did you learn journalism?

One good deed a day... Or should I?

And so it is. Lightning has struck twice. Every time I go out of my bleddy way to do a good deed, it blows up in my face in the most unbelievable manner. (Okay, not every time. But two big shockers is a lot.)

Let me hark back to my Mumbai days, where I lived for all of one month - December 2007. I was taking the morning train as usual from Andheri (home) to Lower Parel (near work digs). And more often than not, being one of the earlier stops, I'd get about 5 to 7 inches of seat space between corporate type ladies reading the Economic Times and college gals and other assortments, which I used up very gratefully. Lulled by the slow train into a semi-doze, I was whiling away the minutes and mentally preparing to claw my way out, visualising a way out as it were; this is probably the toughest part about riding on a Mumbai local.
Came a stop and a flood of women entered the compartment. As is the norm, with a lot of gentle nudging, tsk-ing, shoving, squashing of toes and other acceptable forms of Mumbai train etiquette, the ladies were arranging themselves in all the available gaps they could find. One lady established herself in front of me. I shifted back and assumed a ramrod straight posture to make more space available to both, the party of the first part: me, and the party of the second part: newly established lady. And that's when.... eeeks. My insides started an uncomfortable churning thing that had nothing to do with digestion. I began feeling extremely uncomfortable and not happy with myself. I felt I had to DO something. You see, the lady in front of me looked very preggers. She was youngish, not yet 30, with an otherwise slim bod except for her very cute protruding tummy. I estimated her to be at 6 months gone or so. And here I was, sitting pretty while a pregnant lady was balancing herself precariously using the rails and the hand-holding suspended thingamajigs that all trains have. Anyway. So.
Now by this time I'm getting increasingly antsy. You see, motherhood and pregnancy and all the beautiful miracles that come under that umbrella affect me very deeply. *sniff* (I would of course be equally ready to hand over my seat to elderly women, or frail, sickly, swoony anorexic types who suddenly couldn't breath, others injured/bleeding profusely or in a similar predicament, SO DON'T BE JUDGING ME!!!)
So now I'm thinking, "She's pregnant but how do I KNOW? What if she isn't? Won't she kill me if I'm wrong? But what if she IS pregnant? How dare you sit there with your young, fit, strong bod and let her stand by in her delicate state...?" And so on and so forth for about 5 dreadfully long minutes. (All this while I'm also checking her out scientifically to satisfy myself that yes, she is very much carrying another precious life inside of her.) Finally, I can't take it anymore. I steel my guts and prepare a face to meet her face etc. On the point of tipping over, since I've made up my mind to stand up and offer her my seat, I ask her (very casual, like so), "Hi. Are you pregnant?" And just as my toes are about to propel up the rest of me, she looks embarrassed and smiles sweetly and shakes her head and.... *sob! KILL ME! KILL ME!!!*, she says, "No." Aaarrrghhhhhhhh!!@@@#$#!!#!!!!!!!
Noooooooooooooo..... Don't be NICE to me, I want to screech. I am a horrid, horrid, nonsense person and I put you on the spot and made a fool of myself and you have every right to give me withering, dirty looks, but you just smiled and looked away as if it was your fault. Naaahiiiinnnnnn. That was not a good day for me. I felt like shit for at least a week after.

Moving on. Many months since.
Today's episode in the life of the Saab is another case in point. August 2008, Bangalore.

Had just finished fabulous lunch with the Insaneuptas and Co. at Nanking, Sigma Mall (aside: had the best crab ever... Overall meal experience gets 9 on 10) and was heading homewardly on my sputtering ride.
Reached the traffic junction down past HOSMAT, just before hitting the approach to the Army Quarters and Vivekanagar (you know, the junction one where the Mahindra service station is), and stopped at a red. A few other cars were stopped ahead of me, some waiting to turn left towards Airport Road, some right towards Lifestyle etc. I was calmly waiting to go 'On Straight On', like a true Cottonian. Suddenly, as is the wont near traffic signals in Bangalore, all the cars in the left-most lane started making a godawful racket, honking and cussing and gesturing at Car 1 waiting to take a left. The young man in the driver's seat of that Car 1 was being a doll and following the rules and staying put because the traffic light visible to him was showing red. But from a little behind where I was, the traffic light on the other side of the road(where he couldn't possibly see it) was signalling green for the left lane. Which is why everyone else was showering him with the choicest abuse and honking and pissing me off in the process. So, Heroine Sabbah decides to help everyone by going out of her way and putting the young man out of his misery. I vrrrooomed up confidently to him, snapped up my helmet visor and said cheerfully, "Hi, they're all making a racket because the traffic light's actually green. Back there." (Self pointing to traffic light behind.) Young man does not know what to do, he says, "But this light shows red." Advocate Sab persists with her case and says, "Yes, but it's probably faulty. These guys are honking at you because they can see the left is green. You can go. Cheers!" So he says, "Thanks," and takes off turning left..... and noooooooooooo....!!!!!!
Before my very eyes! A traffic cop with standard unhealthy paunch and half-asleep-obnoxious-expression emerges from the foliage on the left turn and stops him! He charges him with flouting the rules and breaking the law and all such things. I can only imagine the young man's confusion at what has just happened. With mouth agape I'm watching this unbelievably ridiculous turn of events. I'm still at the traffic lights waiting to go on straight on. But I can't take it anymore. I swerve off my route, take the left and stop next to the cop.
The young man is still stunned and looks quite emotionally wounded. And now the most unreal scene starts to unfold. Here I am trying to explain to the paunchy, inept cop that, "No, no, this guy was stopped at the red and everyone else was yelling at him to go, and the other light was showing green and he didn't want to go and he's innocent like anything and wait...! I TOLD HIM HE HAD TO GO," etc etc etc. Hah. Fat chance the cop registered anything. He looked at me with utter laziness and said, "You go, maydum." Nawwwwwww.....
I of course start apologising to young man and his wife/gal pal, and they smile sweetly at me and say, "No, not your fault," "This happens," etc. I try hanging out and explaining to the cop again, but he just totally disregards me and tells me to be on my way. Young sweet couple shrug and wave me a "No problem, you carry on," and me and my broken heart, feeling extremely guilty and stupid and very angry, make our way home (having to take a wide detour because I had turned left etc etc). And what really gets my goat is I'm sure there were folks in the cars behind Innocent Victim who had a good laugh at what happened to him on account of their nonsense. Sheesh.

So there.

That's what happens when I go looking for sawaab any which way I get it. Grrrowl. I'm mad. As in, pissed off with what happened.

Maybe, baby.

Spoke with Glaahaaa after ever so long a few nights ago. For the most part we were talking absolute nonsense, which is how we normally communicate. In between the gibberish and laughing I learnt that she has had quite enough of Mumbai and is definitely back to Bangalore in a few months from now, after wrapping up a good year and more of excellent training at a pet grooming salon (of which I have made mention in a previous blog). Glaahaaa is going to do good things in the near future, but most importantly, she is coming back. Yayyyyy! Fun times again!
Now the reason I write this is, Glaahaaa mentioned to me in a fit of feminine fury (alliteration again) how she's just about had it with the single life and how she had that very day made up her mind to get married within the year. As in, by 2009, Glaahaaa has promised she will be a Mrs Someone in addition to being herself.
Now I found this declaration extremely eerie because I too had been thinking about this whole 'single deal' earlier the very same day and had in fact decided on something entirely different. Namely, that I was really much, much happier this single way than in erstwhile times of horror, and that in all likelihood I wouldn't want to look at marriage again. EVER. And yes, so I want children very badly, to an almost painful, obsessive degree, but oh, well, I'll resign myself to the Madonna, Brangelina or other celeb-style serial adoption process. Except I won't be visiting Rwanda or Cambodia. I'll stick to someone more local. It's a better plan. And more common-sensical.
So. There it was. She said that and I said this and how very strange that it all happened the same day.
(Must make mention that I sneakily tried to talk Glaahaaa [once again] into having extra babies and letting me take care of the lot, but she saw into my subtle, cunning maneuvering and scoffed. Glaahaaa claims she won't have kids. I'll see about that...)

Erm, I think the point of this post is I love children and I want mine. Like now.

So long, Mumbai....

For the anon, at least. Because the Long Black Veil is back in Bangalore having travelled hither on New Year's Eve and having had a fascinating New Year's while asleep on board the Chalukya Express.
Good to be back home and all that but one would have hoped in better circs. What the heck, this is Life. (Something Heath Ledger can't say anymore..... Haaahhahhahaaaa...! I mean, oops , sorry.) One question though: Why must it always be a naked-and-face-down-death for these types? Why? Why not fully dressed and lying prone or even in a cute foetal curl?
As an aside, I was no closer to Heath Ledger than I was to Benazir, and no doubt the late former has done far less wrongs to people in general than the late latter. But yet, my heart chafes for her dhamaakedaar exit and feels unmoved by his stereotypical-sudden-celebrity-type death.

Onto more relevant things, then. Some snapshots of Mumbai where I was jobbing-living-commuting for all of Dec 2007.



Here is the wonderful place I called home, basking in yellow light. At least it is the top right corner of said home.



It was a homely home and I was living with two-and-a-half insane nuts; lovely ladies called Shobhanaaahaahaaahaa and Sushmaaahaahahaaahaaa and a little bit of Aveheeheheheeeeee, who left Mumbai for the colder pastures of Delhi (hence accounting for only one-half). Other uninvited tenants were Jerry (a visiting mouse whom Sushi insisted on calling a RAT, in caps only because she was terrified of him), and an occasional pigeon couple who were trying to nest on the neatly folded rugs by the window in our inner sanctum, the Big Room. Pigeon-housing estate plans were repeatedly thwarted by us, the human elements in the house, with frequent episodes of "Aha! Scat! Scram!" followed by threatening hand gestures and a hurried fluttering of wings fading into the distance. Jerry's visits probably continue unabated since he proved to be a versatile and cunning athlete who confidently dodged various missiles we directed at him. When I say 'we' I of course mean 'I' because Sushi never yet did direct anything at him except mortified looks.

There are a few adorable kantri naais living in the housing complex I called my homely home. The most famous of the lot is a brat we called Fu#@#$! (Rhymes perfectly with 'sucker'.) Because that's what he was and continues to be. F has a need to act like a dumbass at any given moment in time. He is the silliest, most adorable lout one can find in the canine world. He is also a massive pig and lamely bullies the other dogs in his 'gang' into not eating if he can help it. Especially one little boy called, ironically, Piggy. Ironical because Piggy hardly ever gets to eat anything once F is done mowing through the fooderies. Lookit F@#$^!! having a go at Shobs here.

Shobhie and I used to go out to high-end eating joints like the nukkad-vaala-chaat guy or the patli galli ka joooss vaala, in between bouts of street shopping for chappals and spaghetti straps. Here is a very weight-lossed Shobs enjoying her carrot juice.
Shobhie was also very useful at the end of a hard day at work for regaling one with tales of adventure, excitement and human-animal drama from her work place, a pet grooming salon in Bandra. I won't be too specific about it because folks will the say I'm advertising my buddies' business unscrupulously. All I'll say is it's a wonderful, service-oriented professional setup behind Hawaiian Shack on 16th Road, Bandra (W), and that it's called Tailwaggers Pet Salon. Hah. Write me for detailed map, to scale.




Here is a pic of me and two other good friends near Linking Road. My, but we had a fine time that night.





Next. This here is my good buddy-cat Miz Elf N Stun, whom I discovered skinny, scrawny, on-the-verge-of-death outside Elphinstone Station in Mumbai one fine morning, as I was shielding my fragile self from the harsh Mumbai winter [hahahaaaa] sun in the romantic setting of a shared-cab-queue... Elf N Stun was lying weak and mewling pathetically in between a naariyal-paani-waalah bhai-saahib and a phool-vaali-ladies-log. A history chequered with King Bonzo, Fab Fuko and Jackass Joey has melted my heart unconditionally towards felines. I was sure disheartened to see this Felix-the-Cat lookalike in such Dire Straits. So, hoping that Elf N Stun would make it through one more day, I packed a whopping lunch for her the following morning. There she was, even more skeletal than Kate Moss on Atkin's, almost gone but not quite. I whooped (silently, because there were other humans present and they would not understand, nay, not them). Elf gorged on the fudd-items I gave her with a gusto that made me admire her. Pic on top right is Elf on Day 1. Pic on top left is Elf at the end of week. It was the same every day since then, when she would tuck into super-sized meals that far outmeasured a normal fully-grown-cat portion. In a very little bit, young Elf had some meat on her bones and I thought all would be well. Except I am here now, and who knows what's up with her?

Then. Boo visited while I was in Mumbai. She stayed over a couple of nights, she praised the homely home (yay!), we travelled by the locals, we had meals at Mondy's, we saw John and Bips at Hard Rock Cafe at a metre's distance from our noses. And of course Rocky S. Bips followed us surreptitiously to the ladies' room and somehow made it appear like she was there before us. Haw haw. Lookit Boo and her pedestrian ways outside Hard Rock. This ('PEDESTRIAN') is actually what the sign says. There has been no Photoshopping to delete the expected 'S' at the end of the sign. It is in all senses, a 'singular' signboard. Haw haw. So very witty.

Boo's Bips joke: "Bips hasn't changed at all after all these years. She never spoke to us then and she still doesn't now...."
[Followed by barking mad, juvenile giggles from the two of us for an embarrassingly long time BECAUSE IT WAS SO BLEDDY FENNY!] Anyway...

These were glimpses of my time in Mumbai city. Applause is appreciated. I am tired and will end post abruptly. Like, now.

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

Back from Mumbai

Apologies for not publishing/responding to various comments and absolutely no new posts up in the past week. Internet parlours are not found every 15 feet in Mumbai as is the case in apna Bangalore. So.
Incidentally, here's a beautiful bug I found on my balcony the other day. I know it's neither here nor there, but I wanted to put the photo up and so I will.

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?