Fireflies in the night

Fireflies Music Festival, Fireflies Ashram, Off Kanakpura Road
6:00pm, Saturday, Feb 22, 2008, through to 7:00am Sunday morning, Feb 23, 2008.
An all-nighter music concert featuring assorted Indian and foreign musicians. Nowhere near the scale of awesomeness that Vasantahabba used to be, but it's something. I tagged along with my Shro and friends and we spent quite a fun night at the open-air jamboree. Musicians performed on a stage under a big, beautiful banyan tree.
We had Kabir's poems in Hindustani folk, we had Oikyotaan, a folksy-Sufi-somesuch band from Bangladesh (thumbs up to Karthick Das Baul), we had mediocre but extremely entertaining qawwals and there was a Mr Glenn Rogers on classical guitar. Special mention for the qawwal troupe. They really got the crowd going. (Although I was laughing in amusement having grown up on the genius of Nusrat Khan saheb, the Sabris, Abida Parveen and the like.) This troupe was something else, but I liked the main man. He had charisma. He hit the high notes alright but really lost it down low. So cute.


Nice nippy night, excellent bisi belle bath and bhajjis as full meals, and barring the many rascal, rowdy type elements that always mar such occasions, 'twas a pleasant night sure. (These abberrents got pissed drunk as soon as they sat their bottoms down, laughed and talked loudly in the middle of perfomances, did the cringe-inducing pelvic-thrust kind of dances while religios songs and qawwalis were being performed and screamed out things like, "Eyyy, refugees!" when the Bangla band came on. These are just a few for instances.)
I enjoyed like anything. It had been a while since I had been to one of these cultural dos. Maybe not top-notch, but definitely a good thing.
And now back to Vasantahabba....
Why, oh why,
Did Protima die?
And leave the suits to say "NO MORE."

“The mullahs of the Islamic world and the mullahs of the Hindu world and the mullahs of the Christian world are all on the same side. And we are against them all.”

-Arundhati Roy

Don't nitpick about 'mullah'. You know what she means.

The Start of Small Things

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.

Some days there won't be a song in your heart. Sing anyway.

~Emory Austin

Oh. My. God.

Inna lillaahi wa inna ilaihi raaji'un.
"We are from Allah and to Him we are returning."


Benazir Bhutto (21 June, 1953 - 27 December, 2007)

I may not have repected her politics, but I did admire her as a woman and for being able to carry off the 'female leader in Pakistan' tag with such aplomb. In retrospect, I don't much care for all the bad she and her hubby might have done. What do I know?
I am deeply, deeply disturbed by Benazir's passing. She was a big part of my wonder years [mostly through the media and a little through our Paki friends]. And in Dubai, she was always big news along with Lady Di and Charles. This is just tragic.
Rest in peace, you charismatic minx.
What's going to be the fallout in troubled Pakistan now? Fingers are already pointed at Busharraf but come on, that would be too obvious, wouldn't it? No to Nawaz! He's a true creep. I want my Paki readers to let us in on the lowdown. What, or rather, who next? Mr Kinks?

Alonso goes Blue. So does Saab.

Yay! Yay! Yay! Fernando Alonso joins Renault again, and what with them announcing their new challenger -the R28, how cool!- in Jan 2008, I'm expecting a great season next year. Something that will have teams other than Ferrari and McLaren on podium places 1 and 2. [Just like I was fully expecting Pakistan to win the T20 and the following Indo-Pak series, and, unrelated to sports but a big realistic expectation: I was expecting the Amreekan public to send Bush out on his ass when he reran for Prez.] Anyway. Alonso is on with Renault for a two-year stint. I see clearly in my head a visual repetition of 2005 and 2006. (Fade to Trelawney's class and Divination...) And announcing Alonso's baby driver companion, Nelsinho Piquet. Whatte fun to see what kind of sparks fly between these two.

The dismal Indo-Pak test series also wound down to a close with a yawn-inspiring scoreline of 1-0 and two draws. Whatever happened to Indo-Pak fun. The one-day series was ho-hum as well. But that's because there is no real comparision between the headless team that Pakistan has right now and the professional setup India has got running. Where's the 'go-for-the-kill-yaar' aechichood? My love for Yo-Yo and Misbah has increased in geometric progression and inverse proportion [thank you Macro-Economic Theory] to my disillusionment with Team Pak as a whole. Hai rabba, where are the good old days when Was and Waqar used to steamroll in and destroy the furniture, when Moin and Wasim-bhai used to have hilarious stump-mic converstaions, when we had Saeed Anwars, Abdul Razzaqs, Saqlain, Ejaz, Azhar Mahmood and so much fun on the field?

Depressing.

Okay, one more...

Before I sign off, here's a whatte-vundrefull-blog by kinkminos called Poetry in Notion.
It has poetry. Yes. Quite.

I am a fan of Kink-saheb. *blesh*

Laptop being on fritz....

...further posts suspended till such time as the damn thing starts working again. Simple problem with the Power On/Off function. But as you can well understand, it is a very essential part of using the laptop.

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
But it is, it is!

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.

What's the gory morning story?

Please read, ponder, feel shitty and spread awareness about the horrible Japanese whaling industry resurgence as posted on the Animals in the Media blog, and the related post by CatsJellicle on her blog.
(Here's a not-so-fun activity. Run a Google Images search for 'whaling'. Observe the results. Barf.)
I'm telling you, this place gets stinkier by the day.
More on Japanese whaling and Greenpeace and SeaShepherd's protest activities on this page. A short Whaling Video created by Josh Taylor for Greenpeace drives the fact home.
"Extinction is forever."

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.

Good Grief.

India won the 4th match and clinched the ODI series with their victory over Pakistan yesterday. The scores are now 3-1 in favour of the Men in Blue and all indications are that it might even be 4-1 once India is through outplaying the visitors in the final match at Jaipur.
Thank God I was travelling and missed most of the painful scenes. I managed to catch Tendulkar's half-century at the airport and was very glad to see it. He's a babe, as I certainly have not hesitated in mentioning before and often and anon. On landing, I heard that the poor guy was out on 97. Oh nooooooo, not again!!!! What's going on with that?
Anyway, India fully deserved this win. From reliable sources watching the match, I heard it looked all to easy ["Child's play" was the direct quote] and if you can manage that, then the opponents aren't worthy of a win.
Yuvraj and Dhoni once again wrapped up proceedings. Their consistency as finishers is astounding.
So well done, India, and Shame, shame, puppy shame, Pakistan.
Nice writeup on cricinfo as usual. Here's a quote:
"Pakistan lost the series today, to Tendulkar's majesty, but for all intents and purposes, it was the uncertainty and instability around the team since Shoaib Malik's captaincy began, that lost it for them."
And, "That fizz, that unique Pakistani mirch (spice) has been absent, leaving a very bland taste in the mouth."
This is too true.
The Yo-Yo combination worked again for Pakistan [Yousuf-99*, Younis 68] but two men a match cannot win esp if you ask them to do it over and over and over again. This happens to be a team sport. Team = More than two players. Oh, forget it. I'm done.

Saawariya - A review

Saawariya
-A film by Sanjay Leela Bhansali

Went and watched Saawariya late last night. As expected, it did not meet my expectations. At the same time it is not a total write off like so many reviews are spouting. That’s because these are Sanjay-Leela-Bhansali-scale expectations. Expectations of magical, heart-wrenching stories or moments within those stories at least. So, obviously, an anti-climax was expected.

This time round our favourite paan-chewing director fails to recreate the deep emotional connect he managed with his earlier films. Yes, it’s a beautiful film. The aesthetics are stunning. The grand sets [very European/St Petersburg feel created with the cobblestones, the canals, the rain, then snow etc- the official site says the attempt was to recreate Shimla. Hmmm.], the gorgeous flowy costumes, the fantastic background score and mellow songs all please the senses immensely. I love the black-blue-green ambience of the movie. There are no day scenes. Rani Mukerjee dazzles in her substantial special appearance. “I likes.” Salman Khan doesn’t have much to do and he does it very well. But the backbone of any film is its screenplay. And that’s where our man SJB has really fallen short. Ranbir and Sonam just don’t have enough to work with, but within the limited scope of their characters, they’ve done well enough.

The film has a very weak screenplay, mediocre dialogue and absolutely minimal character development. Dostoevsky’s White Nights is translated well in totum I suppose, but the heart is missing. And that is not what one wants in a(n) SJB film.

Each of his films in the past have moved me considerably. I loved Khamoshi, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, Devdas [in spite of the King of Ham act] and Black. There are memorable magic scenes in each of his films. I have cried hard while watching them.

Saawariya just doesn’t move you. There is ample scope for showing the angst, pathos, poignancy and other like soul-searing emotions in the story. But it never happens. Also, a distinct lack of chemistry between Ranbir and Sonam, it has to be said. If one could be made to feel so strongly the interesting frisson between Ash and Ajay D [a most mismatched duo] in HDDKS, Saawariya and its cute leading pair should have been an easy couple-de-grace. But nein, nyet, nada, naaaahiiiiii…nnn. There were scenes aplenty where the magic could have happened, where I was willing it to happen, but ‘twas not to be. (On the other hand there were definitely some cringe-embarrassing-enough-already-scenes, but all SJB movies have that. Really. They do. It’s just that the other portions of the story so overshadow these little flaws that one always comes out with a thumbs up at the end of the movie, having forgotten about the over-the-top eccentricities.)

In Saawariya, the only portion that really grabbed me was the interesting Sonam-Salman side story. Now that had some feel. Genuine, like. And maybe one or two other moments.

Ranbir’s character should have been ranging the whole gamut of emotions from highs to lows but he didn’t seem too affected at any point in the film. Even casual in some places. Similarly, Sonam’s character was inexplicably vague and almost flaky at times. There are scenes where both of them are very good. Give them a solid character and good dialogues and they’ll probably both do very well. Let’s wait and watch.

Rani’s character thankfully was slightly interesting and well writ. She was her usual brilliant self, completely into her role and a treat to watch. I’m heavily biased towards this Bengali ever since Saathiya. No objectivity here.

Salman Khan didn’t annoy me in his cameo which means he must have been quite good. I love these quiet, understated roles for him. The lesser the dialogue, the better.

Now on to other things.

Music: Very, very nice. The melodies are wonderful. There are lovely variations and unpredictable turns in the songs I enjoyed a lot.
My favourite track of the film is Jab se tere naina. The song is very nice on the ears. Shaan is superlative. Yes, this is the famous Ranbir towel song. I didn’t much take to his pelvic dance, but I totally appreciate a lean, fit bod, hairless chest [thank God] and very sweet Neetu Singh smile. Just to clarify once and for all: Ranbir DOES drop the towel but the camera zooms in lightning fast and OUR modesty is preserved. You can make out a nicely toned curvature at the top of the posterior, butt that’s it. Okay? Enough already. Anyway, in the SJB dramatic scheme of things, it doesn’t seem weird. The song is meant to convey, “Look here, this is a fine, sweet, saucy looking boy in lurrrve” and it does just that.

All other songs are beautiful. I esp enjoyed Thode Badmaash, Daras Bina, and Rani’s fun number Chabeela. Oh, and the beginning of the Saawariya reprise. Very good.

The background score ties in smoothly and softly with the visuals. There are many of the SJB magnum opus staples: payal chhan-chhans, classical raagas, tabla movementss and elaborate string arrangements running in the background throughout the movie.

The look of the movie, like I mentioned before, is beauteous. SJB intends to create a rich, dark water colour painting and the sets, costumes and colours all combine to do this very well. Interestingly, SJB has himself designed some of the costumes. And a bit of the music.
But, but, but, he also wrote the screenplay and he can’t excuse himself there.
Hai, afsos.

I didn’t regret watching Saawariya. It was definitely worth a watch and an SJB film warrants the big screen. At the end of the day, I think it’s just a victim of those horrible old beasts: Great Expectations, and What Could Have Been.

Review ends.

Musically Kinklined

Blog-maestro Kinkmino's little brother stars in Dhamaal, a product of the Pakistani band Overload. He's the young guy with the trimmed beard, chocolate shirt, butter T-shirt and regular jeans-pent. NO THIS IS NOT HIS PIC. That would be so obvious.
Little brother is playing all those dandy hand percussion instruments and pursing his lips and shaking his head in earnest enjoyment. Very nice! *seeeteeees*
(Get on You Tube and rate the video there. GO!)
Which one, you're still asking. No, not the drummer, not the keyboardist, not either of the horses, not the very wonderful Pappu Saeen [see right] on dhol. How very wonderful he looks in this pic.
I'm telling you, it's Hassan on the hand percussions. On rooftop even.
Kinky bhai, it must be said, he's the cutest.

Oops.

Speaking of jinxed minxes, Imran Khan is arrested in Lahore.
Hang on now. Keep your panties on. It's only house arrest. No chakki peesing and peesing within teen deewaarein.
Reuters has a video of the arrest, which took place at a student rally where Khan finally reemerged today after giving the authorities a slip at the beginning of the Emergency. Doesn't he look so bleddy good?

To Bob

Till such time as that happens [me come there], you come and visit Ind-yeah! Apparently it's shining. Or rising. Or poised. I'm not sure which. The media keeps on giving us different verbs every fortnight.

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?

Vote for Imran Khan! The Imandaar Khan!*

Who can blame me for falling in love with Pak cricket?


I don't get the Creed background music, but whatever.
If Imran becomes Pak prez, I think that will be the end of Indo-Pak hostilities. Who can NOT like the drooly Khan?

*Title edited on account of no one except the Great Kinky noticing my witty word-play. Pah. Kinkminos, tussi great ho. Val done, bwoiz.