I’m fucking tired of the news and the stuff that goes in this godforsaken country. We are becoming increasingly intolerant towards each other, freedoms are curbed, thanks to our chubby health minister, nuns raped, journalists shot, and churches burnt, etc. Democracy is dead, long live the NETA.

First message to the nationalists, India is not great, its fucking pathetic. We are ranked 100 plus in all the indexes about quality of life, freedoms, economic factors. I am ashamed of this 60 odd year colony of the British.  Look back in history guys, we were what before 1800, a collection of princely states, wealth concentrated in a few hands, rajas, maharajas, nizams, nawabs. The north was Mughal territory, the great Mughals. They came in from the north, they saw, they conquered, and ruled, ruled well. Our northern part of the then divided country was much more stable then, art and architecture flourished. India is known for the Taj and rightly so, it’s the best and will be the best ever building that will be ever made this side of Asia. Ok the north was mughals, south the nizam of Hyderabad, to the west, some princes of Junagadh, the Marathas, peshwas, south the guys who built the temples. When the British came, they brought guns, and brought the little brown men under control. We were that little brown men, savages, in most ways. Hell we didn’t have shit pots at that time. The British came in surveyed the land, hell we use the same maps that some Lord carted painstakingly through the jungles, shot tigers, braved malaria. The British ruled, cruelly, and won over all the divided rulers and unified this massive continent. They opened schools, established law and order, brought the rupee into existence, built railways, brought electricity, drainage, literally took us out of the dark ages, a blessing in disguise.

They actually united us, how much ever you don’t like it, facts are facts. We are taught lousy History, no wonder its so boring. Our so-called freedom fighters fought valiantly but were no match for the gora with Enfield rifles and Gattling guns, loyal to the Her Majesty. But in the end we lost, that is never implied to us. So then it was upto Gandhi, to unify us, and we actually gained our “freedom”. I say, it was lucky the Brits came here first, had it been Hitler, we would be speaking German and kissing their Bavarian asses till now, not the Japs also, Japanese is hard to learn.  The Brits were first to reform us. Just go to Andaman’s and see the prisons they built, much more modern than our current central jails, which again the Brits built. The very finest of our defence forces are still churned out by the IMAs and the very best bureaucrats still are with the IAS. The police system is theirs which was a tool to keep us in check.

Then after the II World War, which was much bigger than the Indian freedom struggle, made the Brits realize it was high time to leave the colonies, so we were granted freedom at last. Then the Nehrus and Gandhis took over, they took some very good decisions and some bad which haunt us today.  From 300 million we are now 1100 million strong, and still going strong. Its like a family which has 20 children, how can a mother and father look after so many kids and bring them up properly.

Every state of the Republic of India is different culturally and religion just adds to the confusion. Democracy is dead, your vote has no power, it is too diluted, unless you are a bunch of organized hooligans, then the cops will take no action. You have a free hand at the wealth of the country, when you’re in power. Less and less youth get civilized education and its turning into a fight between the haves and have nots. First the Brits ruled us, and now it’s a few politicians, are we that weak? Yes, we are and we should be ashamed of ourselves. We should stop bloating our egos and feeling proud of our motherland, Bharat mata must be turning in her grave to see that we are still fighting over petty issues and keeping nation building on the side. Talk about progress, I salute the Japanese.  At the same time we started, they rose from the ashes, put their country, while we just sat here in the sun on our asses, praying to our idols for rain, and bickering over petty issues, and going back to the dark ages. Only institution that still has some sense in it are the Higher courts of the country.  Unfortunately, the judges are living in denial and are out of touch of reality sometimes.  Democracy is failing, only thing keeping it glued together is the framework that the goras left us with. Russia had communism, and that’s why they turned into a superpower, Sure Stalin was a sadist but today Russia has so many nukes that could destroy our earth and Mars for good measure.  What we have, we have a firecracker compared to them and still we keep harping and dancing on our nuke test, what about all the strides in science and technology, our universities haven’t discovered anything worthwhile. I am glad when we are/or will be attacked by serial bombs or a direct attack by Pakistan or worse China, it will make us realize that the enemy planes wont distinguish between a ghati or a bhaiya or anna, or hindu or Muslim house.  If that will unite us, let it be, as always we need an outsider to bring us down to our knees, as history has proven many times before, and I am hoping to be proved wrong the next time.

So, until things become good, which I doubt they will, I am ashamed and sorry to be Indian.  When it does become really great, I will sing the national anthem with the pride And before somebody tells me to get out of the country, please arrange my visa and a one-way ticket or keep your trap shut, I am not exactly thrilled to be born and living here.

Salute the F***ing Flag!

PPS: Before I am crucified for disrespecting the national flag, I wish to point out that the adjective was not directed to the flag per se. Its a poetic use of the language used for dramatic effect called the "TRANSFERRED EPITHET" transferred epithet, is the trope or rhetorical device in which a modifier, usually an adjective, is applied to the "wrong" word in the sentence.

e.g.

"female prison" — Prisons do not have genders, but the people who are inside them do.

"careless error" — The error is not careless, but the person who commits it is.

Here F***ing is the adjective, and the people who are against the spirit of India are F***ers. Thanks for pointing it out.

PS:  This is what I feel about the country as a whole, as individuals we are good human beings, but somehow the intelligence and humility disappears when we come together as a group or nation, mob mentality perhaps?

It’s bluddy 4:30 am and am still awake, took an off from my crappy work schedule to enjoy the proper 2-day weekend free to do nothing. Came back late on Friday from the zombie 4 to 1 shift. and usual switching of channels on crappy Indian TV for something shaggable, The cable operator has slowly reduced the number of sports and Videshi channels to make way for Marathi channels, which show nothing but girls doing the Lavneee (dance form). Shut the tube at 4ish and surfed vigorously for some porn and ended up adding a neat amount to my next month’s phone net bill. Finally when dawn broke, got some sleep till about 1:30 pm. Lazed around.

Then went out at 5ish to the mall with the guys who seemed equally bored. Played our favorite game at the arcade of car racing with steering wheel and all in which we always win till we got highly bored. Went to a few mall shops and met at our regular watering hole. Had a couple of pegs of Signature whiskey to calm the soul with innumerable fags to accompany the cocktail. Came back, same old TV channels showing the bomb blast in Delhi, and dumb newsreaders. Got a sore thumb pushing the remote that is almost inoperable. Got to bed at 4, reading a few blogs on the mobile of a cute funny ilander, started thinking about my life and friends, which have passed me by.  Her blogs about her friends, love, made me get up and write about my loneliness. Looks like I am slowly getting hooked to nicotine as I now require a couple of sticks before going to bed to calm my otherwise unfrayed nerves. There are so many things on my to-do list, then the week ahead. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to work so hard for my supper and was born like Rahul Mahajan or something. Wonder where life is heading. Hope I make the most out of the Sunday.

All this loneliness, reminds me of a poem, that I havent forgot since I learned it in 4th grade.

The Daffodils
by William Wordsworth I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

I get up as usual by 12 am, have to reach work by 4 pm, I thought. Mom makes brunch and I gulp it down as usual and donn my casual attire as it is a Saturday. I step outside all mentally prepared to work away the weekend, I curse myself. Strange, where is the watchman. And I can see only Rani, the friendly bitch, not Raja, the building dog. She wags her tail for me as usual. It’s a bright sunny day as usual.  I wait for what seems like an hour at the bus stop, no sign of a bus. The cobbler is missing, so is the hardware shop chucha. Not a single rickshaw moving, all parked and nowhere to go, where is a rick when U need it the most, I mumble.  The group of a nearby college teen girls at the stop look at me slyly so does the group of lower middle class women, in their nighties whispering among themselves. Do I have egg on my face, nah, or crow poop on my shirt. No this is a hushed kinda sound, no I am not imaging they talking about me, THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT ME. The smartest of them grabs my attention and she does a dance routine, wiggle jiggle et al, towards MY direction. Hoh, pulling the uncle’s leg eh! And the whole gang burst into laughter.

I came back to the building and breathed life into my CBZ, giving a nice burst of throttle to shake off the cobwebs. I shifted into first and made my way towards my office with the usual gusto, sped off.  I noticed that there were less very less vehicles on the roads, more scootys and Activas, and Santros and Accents with very nervous drivers. I thought it must be a bandh today, some diktat given by Raj Thackarey and gleed at the thought of being able to miss work. I carried ahead and stopped at my regular pan wallah for a pack of Mild Sevens. Instead a lady who claimed to be his wife handed me a pack of 20s and smiled seductively. I enquired as to where Babu had gone, she exclaimed, he is gone to gaav, for some emergency. I shoved the pack and moved on, I seemed like the only customer in the past hour. As I reached the highway, I saw a carnival like atmosphere, but hey where are the dudes, I muttered is there are riot ahead? There were a few police vans with saree clad policewomen looking at me as if I was the mastermind of the recent Delhi blasts, I got nervous and sped off.

 I reached office in 10 mins flat, no UP security bhaiyyas asking if I could spell the tongue twisting name of my company in one go. I zoomed right in. All the bikes were lying flat in the parking lot with lipstick smeared on the petrol tanks.

My manager’s Skoda was missing from the spot, I thought salla aaj aaya nahi hoga, biwi ko chod raha hoga. I went up and was surprised to see the guard replaced by the smiling housekeeping lady, who almost welcomed me in. All the girls of our company had gathered in the pantry, very unusual, nobody was working.  The place was roaring with giggles and women talk, I hesitated to get in and headed straight for the restroom, which was almost drowning in red heart-shaped balloons. I settled for the usual pee and hair tuck and stepped out to get a sip at the cooler in the pantry, excusing my way to the crowd of sleeveless tops and tight jeans. I felt a hand on my bottom and ran in almost, clutching my thaili to protect my virginity towards the cooler. The sight of me, silenced the crowd. I saw a few familiar faces from my bay and helloed them stood beside them. The girls ooohed and aaahed, I was now red-faced with embarrassment.  Just then the HR lady, who I so much fancied of seeing naked, Y, held my hand brought me to the center of this perfumed crowd. The highest lady of our company, Kranti was there to welcome me. She helloed me and gave me the biggest of a bear hug and two big pecks on my cheek, while the feline crowd egged her on. She said welcome, we were expecting you.  I retorted, maam I have to start my shift, Manoj will be cross if I log in late. Again the pantry erupted with giggles to which Kranti said, Young lad, you might not have to work for another hour your entire life and saying that she put my hand in hers, I fancied her but this is too much.  I demanded an explanation and suddenly the TV turned on with Aaj Tak and my favorite presenter, bringing in some breaking news. Dharti ke sabhi mard gaayab ho gaye, aur aaj se hum raaz karenge. I broke a sweat. By now I was surrounded by a group of female security guards fending off my otherwise docile and ignorant female colleagues out to get me. That’s when it hit me. V@T you’re the only male alive in Bombay, the rest have been taken to the pits of hell by Lucifer and his army. God has chosen me. I screamed out in ectasy, am I dreaming or what? Now the hottest looking girls stepped forward and lifted me. I was on top of the world literally. Soon the forces arrived, the most tall and beautiful of girls, all dressed in black leotards carrying small machine guns and dark glasses. Each one of them had a cup size of D and beyond and their low cuts highlighting their almost blance mammaries with a deep cleavage. They surrounded me and led me off to safety.

I was in the boss’s cabin, with Kranti who had taken off her saree and explaining how I was the most guarded asset in Bombay. I had a tough time taking my eyes off her breasts and the 5’7” and above airhostess types who had surrounded me in a cushion of near porno proportions. They took me to the desolate reception area and ordered me to strip to my underwear. They lowered me into a bathtub of the most perfumed spa water I would have never dreamed of. Three almost film actresses in bikinis proceeded to rub my body with loofahs and the best of herbs. They dried me and gave me a black thong to put on. I went to a cubicle and changed. They then gave a red bathrobe studded with Swarowski crystals, w ich left my hairy chest exposed. Then a beauty queen came and placed a crown of diamonds on my forehead and gave me a longish staff, which I cannot describe with a huge crystal on top. Then a crown was placed on my head and I was lifted and seated on a throne of ivory. A very young teen wearing only her birthday suit and some leaves came and sat on my right thigh giving me the hardest hardon to date and the proceedings began………court was in session. All rise!!

I am fed up with seeing the media hyping up the stories about supposedly virgin girls auctioning their virginity to help pay “college fees”. Tell me they are too lazy to even dream about their first million.  So in the interest of all bachelors everywhere, I am doing the same.  What a shame it would be for the people bidding on these girls, you have a million bucks to burn and cannot get laid? Ain’t that what sports cars and Italian restaurants are there for?

This is an open offer to all able-bodied females (strictly) under the age of 45, relaxable in deserving cases, I am offering MY viriginity for 1.5 million paise that is 15,000 Indian rupees or around 300 US$. Before you get other ideas, I am referring to all activities that are legal in the Indian Republic i.e. article 377 IPC. Any human being with something more than 4 cm long between their legs is automatically disqualified or anyone who was formerly called Bill, Mack, or Bobby before the operation also do not qualify. Any granny wanna celebrate their grand daughter’s 18^th or 21^st birthday in style and give them a gift to remember will be most welcome, though you’d require a very large cake. 

No, this is not a publicity stunt or something, I am serious. Starting today, I am accepting bids for me to fulfil my biological purpose. Interested parties (brokers or pimps please excuse) may send their interest through SASE to PO Box 69, Bombay GPO, or e-mail thirtyyearoldvirgin@rediffmail.com

Go ahead, shock me with your replies and your pics in your favorite Sunday dress. Pics will be sent on request and level of interest. To know me more read my previous blog, Tagged.

Thanks to Shals, who tagged me, has broken the jinx for me. And of course the original tagger

1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER?  

Wall-E and Rock On back to back. Wall-E was technically great. Rock on was a movie with an identity crisis handicapped by use of Hindi Language, but loved the last 15 mins of it, rest was bull.  At this rate I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a Marathi version of it, Dagad Gaani or something directed by Mandar Agashe. Though the hall was full of people, the guy next to me referring to Arjun Rampal as the tun-tun wala, Sheesh!

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?

Last touched A brief history of Time by Stephen Hawking, my bible, but it seems to be lost in the many dimensions of my closet.

3. FAVOURITE BOARD GAME?

 Bored games, I don’t play them, especially cards. But it would definitely be Strip Poker for the shock value, depending on who’s winning J

4. FAVOURITE MAGAZINE?

  I read them if they are free or from the raddi wala,  I pickup Guitar World, Sound on Sound, Audiophile mags, and car, bike, and aircraft magazines from the UK. Burlington's Home Shoppe Indian magazines suck!

5.  FAVORITE SMELLS?

   When I was a kid, petrol at the pump. Some chicks have pheromones, pleasant body odors of the opposite sex, either you have it or don’t.

6. FAVORITE SOUND?

Bass guitar, Thunder, Jet Engines, and of course a Ferrari.

7.  WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?

Working on a weekend.

8.  WHAT IS THE FIRST THING THAT YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP?

I gotta pee and whats for breakfast

9.  FAVORITE FASTFOOD PLACE?.

Any place that serves Vodka pani-puri, hehe, but it has gotta be Chinese bhel, with a nice peg of you know what.

10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME?.

Will cross that bridge when it comes.

11. FINISH THE STATEMENT: `IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY, I'D

…….do nothing, sleep all day, party all night, and zip around the place in a Toyota Altis, date gold diggers.

12. DO YOU DRIVE FAST?!

I don’t have a car yet but I bike hard and feel alive when I am going fast, hormonic surge. If U have something hanging between your legs you know what I am talking about.

13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?

That’s very GAY for a guy, wrong question.

14. STORMS: COOL OR SCARY?

Love it as long as I don’t get wet and having deep fried onions and potatoes.

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?!

A Maruti Esteem from the Motor school, am a very jerky driver.

16. FAVORITE DRINK:

Smirnoff Green Apple vodka, whiskeys, Signature and Imperial Blue.

17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT: `IF I HAD THE TIME, I WOULD…

Set about burning my excess fat.

18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?

A very non-Indian question, let me rephrase that, Do you eat karela (bitter gourd)? Hell no

19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE?

The US flag or at least blue, red, and white.

20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN:

Never been out of MumBhai.

21. FAVOURITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

Rallying and racing.

23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?

My degree.

24.WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS AGAIN?

Immortal Casanova.

25. MORNING PERSON OR NIGHT OWL?

Morning person but then I becoming boring, so I prefer being a night owl.

26.OVER-EASY OR SUNNY-SIDE UP?

Sunny side up, make it two eggs.

27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX?

On the couch in front of the tube.

28.FAVORITE INDIAN DELICACY (rephrased question)?

Medu-Vadas and paper dosas with oodles of white chutney.

29.FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOUR?

Vadilal king cone of yore, butterscotch flavor.  Gadbad.

30.  WHO WOULD YOUR DREAM DATE BE?  1) Sonia G,  2) Condi Rice or 3) Queen of England?

Queen of England, I could brag about it all my life. If that included a guided tour of Fuckingham Palace. I would like a one-on-one with Priyanka though.

31.OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST?

Shals definitely, Sameera, Monalisa, and some guy.

32.ARE YOU A VEGETARIAN

Yes, if saying so gets me laid.

33. Do you sleep in the buff

 Usually after a date.

34. Do you use Dick –Guards when you are doing Z Whoopee

Always, but with you I would make an exception, Maam. (Males and Enuchs excuse)

35.When was the last time you and your better half did Z Whoopeeee

Invitations accepted, write soon, on an as-needed basis.

36 –Can you live without Whoopee

 Yeah, but I need to spank the monkey once in a while.

If you liked this post, read my previous one, review on Phoonk-The movie

Phoonk-The Review

I have found the perfect woman, on the net, too bad she is on a yatch and I dont own one. She is a dream come true, what say guys, can you find anything better?

It’s a Monday, read Sunday for me. So yesterday night went to the flicks with an old friend. He’s a fan of horror like me, so we went to the 9:30 show of Phoonk. Hmm, saw it, was an OK-OK kinda of movie.

It started with a lot of sudden noises and we were ready to get spooked. No one expected, 8-ft monsters and white saari chudails a la Ramsay Bandhu, but we were waiting to get some kicks at least, given that RGV once in a while makes a good film, this is not one though.  The disclaimer ran at the start stating that the makers of the film don’t believe in superstition or promote it actively and it is just made for entertainment purely.

Sat back into the seat, with many couples cozying around and some family guy (with a hot wife) had brought along his 2-year-old baby who cried for the first half and then went to sleep. C’mon who brings a toddler to a horror movie? Anyways, the 50% occupancy at the late night show meant that we could watch the film without bobbing heads obstructing our line of sight. Movie started, focused on a plain, ugly boxy-looking bungalow in Bombay that hadn’t been painted in years, with a small garden and all that. This is the entire location of the movie, so drab, interiors were marginally better, a lot of vertical lines and squarish rooms. The main hero was some sukda model who portrayed a rich builder with a perfect wife and kids, living a good life. He puts his faith in 4 people to run his business, his driver, his maharashtrian secretary, and a contractor couple, Kenneth Desai and Ashwini Khalsekar as a very vocal Madhu with the overdone kajal for the eyes and the designer bindis, good for the role. The sukda kicks out the couple for some financial bungling and Madhu wows revenge by torturing the sukda’s daughter, Raksha, through black magic and Tantrik stuff, something which MY parents and aunt believe is real. So in many ways, this is the hot topic in religion right now, many Catholics claim to be the victims of black magic and go to various godly people who claim to be able to cleanse them through the power of Jesus Christ, Anyway back to the film.

Raksha is played by Ahsaas Channa who has spent 9 years growing up in front of the camera as a boy, so acting is second nature to her and she is very convincing in her first memorable role as a little girl as opposed to the cute boy she so well portrays.  Her feminity comes through for the first time here, and she acts the best of anyone in the movie. I like the way the natural sunlight falls on her high cheekbones flawlessly throughout most of the movie.

Technically, started on a good note, there was fluid camera panning and movement in all degrees of freedom and long 1-minute shots following the subjects going about their activities in the house and the scene when Raksha goes to school, it follows her to school. The shot composition in the first half of the film is very constructive with alternate blurring of the various objects in the house, mainly toys, African tribal art, and copper Feng-Shui statues of the monkey and the raging bull, with the faces of the subjects.  The director had the full liberty of not having to focus continuously on the actors’ faces as they weren’t superstars, who charge up to a lakh for every closeup shot.

Kaamwaali does a good job of sticking her eyes out, Sukda’s mom is played to the best of her ability but had the audience in splits with her unnatural dialogue delivery. Then there was the “unbelievable” shrink, played by Lillette Dubey, was very unconvincing with her accented and broken Hindi, I think she can only play a socialite and nothing else.

The brown Honda CR-V which the sukda drives is at the center of the camera in those racy scenes of the SUV bouncing smoothly over rough terrain, and the long left hand corner showed thrice in the movie, perfect vehicle for a rich guy to own I guess.

Then after the interval, the movie goes haywire, scenes are entirely lifted off the Exorcist mixed with some generous amounts of kaala-jaadu, wrist cuffs to prevent levitation, white rooms and the mandatory “pagal khana” cap of brain electrodes. Before you understand what is going wrong with the film, it ends abruptly with the successful “de-possession” of Raksha by a lame, blind dog-type of tantrik, Madhu is killed and the girl is free, and they all live happily ever after.  Seems like Ramu has not done his homework, skimped on locations, and used loud, excessive sound effects to wake up the otherwise sleepy junta who have wondered why are they paying to see such a movie. I wish I had paid half the money and left during the intermission, then it would be a good film.

If you liked my style, check out my previous blog about my roots.

I am no longer a Manglori

This is a song I used to listen over and over again during my early teens on a cassette, and now listening to it after so many years still very romantic. Already listened to it 8-9 times.

From another one-hit wonder from the 60s, amazing range of vocals, hard to sing along, makes you warm and fuzzy all over again.

The Casuals 'Jesamine'

What am I supposed to do
With a girl like Jesamine
Though my eyes are open wide
She's made my life a dream

Chorus:
When Jesamine goes, a part of me knows
I'm not really living
A butterfly child, so free and so wild
And so full of living

When Jesamine stays, though time goes fast
This is my world at last
Beautiful day's lost in her eyes
But then the whole world dies

Coro:

What can you say
When a girl doesn't want to know
She's too far away
And she makes my life a dream

Coro:

When Jesamine stays, though time goes fast
This is my world at last
Beautiful day's, lost in her eyes
But then the whole world dies

What am I supposed to do
With a girl like Jesamine
Though my eyes are open wide
She made my life a dream

When Jesamine goes a part of me knows
Im not really living...

The last fortnight was a blur and it brought with its own share of challenges to yours truly. I got a taste of bachelor’s life in my own pad plus the joys and perils of living “all alone” in Bombay, more on that in my next blog.  My folks had gone for a whole week to remove all traces of their identity and become pucca Mumbaikars i.e. sell the last remaining ancestral property in the state of Karnataka on Alvares Road.

The very mention of Mangalore used to get us all worked up, yeah we are going to Man-galore, no more books for a month.  It happened once in a leap year or so but it was the ultimate destination, meeting all Nannas and grand old bachelor grand-uncle, Lt. Col. (still living) from the navy and all his stories from WW2.

Now it’s a biggish kinda house and I have fond memories of that place. A 4-bedroom, multiroom kinda of dwelling, painted in bright yellow.  As you enter it, there is a row of ancestral benches and the “living room” is infested with lizards on the ceiling who come out at night and go down your shirt, if you’re wearing one that is, thanks to the endless power cuts, which meant who had to do with incandescent light.  Then you enter the central hall which is connected to all rooms, a huge kitchen with a loft on top, and a nice long dining area. The bathroom was quite big and there was a  large copper pot cemented to a furnace called a “Bann” which burned dried coconut husks and provided hot water for a score of people. The roof was covered with yeah, you guessed it, Mangalore tiles. Apparently the house was made by my great-grandfather with his bare hands using some clay mixed with Jaggery?? And mixing the stuff with their legs, wine-making style.  Then there was the huge land, which was twice the size of our school playground with over 300 coconut trees and nothing else. Tales of tigers roaming these very lawns and getting stuck in wells took me in total flashback, it must have been a jungle out there.  But that was sold long ago for a few lakhs, only the house was there. It was like Mangalore Central for all the family, always the inhabitants of the old age home had the time and the youth in those to welcome you and your family and prepare a feast.  I had my first real crush there during a wedding, I remember I was in the 7th standard, she was from Chembur somewhere distant distant relative, nothing became of that as usual.

Well there were no snakes roaming free during my short visit there, but the main attraction of the city was Snake Park, and I remember the King Cobra was the SRK of that place.  He got up once a week and ate a chicken and went back to sleep.  I expected it at that time to be as fat as a dog but I couldn’t see any movement beyond the glass.  Other than a few beaches and churches nothing much to see, you’d probably go mad with the quiet in those days. Another must-do thing while in Mangalore is go to Ideal Ice-Cream parlor and have Gadbad, the legendary name for an ice-cream, with honey and nuts at the bottom, or the three scoop delight, in those days where one scoop was hard to get by, and had to finish it off before the other scoops started melting.

Another thing I long from there is Macaroons or Macaroni from Vas Bakery. They are cashews dipped in sugar and eggs and baked. Dad picked up a few packets of the brown sugary stuff from there, and I simply loved gobbling up the entire packet on my own. Taste was heavenly, sweeter than chocolate, without the bitter aftertaste of cocoa, and KRUNCHY! Hmm, I have opened another packet of these and am half way thru, third packet inside. 

Folks have brought some souvenirs, like the old clock, crosses, and cookery books from the Mangalore Ladies Club.  I havent been there in say a decade but from what I have heard and remember seeing, there are buildings all over the place now. Old houses like ours, being knocked down to make way for modernity. The thing you miss about those places is the language, small currency, laidback lifestyle.  Oh how I wish, I could go there for one last time.

It was going to happen someday and it did today. I have to write it out when the wound is raw. I am learning to get back into mainstream society, and today was an excellent lesson, Murphy, life, or god, taught me.  Yesterday night, I saw Bruce Lee documentary on Star Movies, learned that he was a teetoller.  He’s my fitness ideal so I thought aaj se daaru band aur walking shuru, Dandi march, Gandhi another ideal.  I will get down midway, thanks to the 20Rs ticket and walk a few stops and board the bus again, to get me in Bruce Lee shape.  I sat this morning all dressed in my pink shirt on the forward seat. The BEST bus had this big convex rearview mirror and I could see myself in it, I thought it made me look super fat, I didn’t like what I saw.  That gave me all the more enthusiasm to put weight loss resolution #76 into action. Evening came and I put off the plan to yesterday, I was feeling low and hungry, very hungry, cos I had eaten a small lunch. The thought of getting down at a local bar tempted me, gosh 2 more days to go to the weekend.  That upmarket pub on the highway has Mondays and Thursdays, happy hours, get one drink free, the thought was so tempting and the satisfaction of diving into a bowl of spicy fowl and ethyl alcohol was dancing in front of my eyes. I reached the stop, a waiter was standing outside, and trust me he turned into a devil, with horns et al. I got scared, looked away, hunger was making me hallucinate. I remembered Bruce Lee again and said sorry to his soul. I decided since I was “loaded” I would shop away the money.

I had to get strawberry jam with real strawberries in them. I got down 5 stops ahead of my usual. Picked up breakfast cereals, Pepsi, jam, and what not, stuff I wouldn’t need. I usually calculate as I put each item into the bag and stay in a range, but my mind was too tired to imagine numbers.  There was a power failure at the mall, and the fans and ACs were not working, started sweating feeling hungry, and confused, my blood sugar was dripping in sweat. I filled out the shopping basket and proceeded to check out.  The grand total was 350 something. Since I had put 300+500 a couple of days ago in my purse, I was confident, I just about barely paid that bill. There were a few tenors in my wallet now. I picked up the heavy bag and started searching for dinner, as mom is on vacation and dad doesn’t cook much.

The chinese stall too had no lights, it was candlelight, mood was romanticly hungry. I asked the owner if they served half a chinese dish, he said yeah but only for rice, not for noodles or soup. I settled down and waited for eternity for my order to come. Just then the lights came back, I realized I MIGHT be short of paying even the 30-40 Rs for that cheap meal. I usually keep 100 +10 in my licence and some 500 or 50 hidden in my purse. I finished the meal and started sweating. I opened my licence and nuthing. Ok browsed through the ATM receipts and useless visiting cards and still nothing not even a ten rupees, shit.  I had some meal coupons from the company canteen but they were useless. I had 20 Rs and the bill was 30, fuck. I checked out the coin section, gladly a 5-rupee coin, a big 2 buck coin and two 50 paises, Goddammit. Now there was a family crowd there and the lights were bright, I risked losing my self-esteem. I thought of bartering something from my shopping bag maybe a Pepsi bottle, like a caveman, that would be even more embarrasing. I thought of keeping my bag there and hunting an ATM, very kiddish.  Just then I found two badly torn 1 Rupee notes, that I kept for luck or gifting somebody in additions of 11, I am not a good gifter. I was glad I could make it to 30, the waiter in shorts now was ready to give me a tip, he accepted the two torn 1 rupees out of pity and I got the hell out of there, drenched.  Luckily, I had the 20-Rs ticket so I didn’t have to walk home. Sulk.

Lesson learnt in life today, yeah 30 and still learning, visit your ATM regularly even if it is on another planet and you spend for rickshaw fare, kanjoos makhichoos me, VISA debit card never works. Always always keep 500 in your wallet for emergencies, and plan your shopping.

Ok reached home and saw 30 Rock, Tina Fey, is so humpable, her mouth….. 9:30 NDTV 24x7 documentary on public toilets (conveniences) for women in Indian cities by Paromita Vohra the second part of the series I saw from start to finish yesterday.  Hats off to her, after watching the documentary, makes you feel like quitting your job and buying a 3-CCD digital camcorder and roaming around the city making your own documentary.  Hell she went to the Sulabh toilet museum, BMC schools and the lack of toilets there, how school girls don’t drink water during their periods so that they don’t have to go Pee in a waterless loo, interesting link there between dropout rate and toilets.  A young woman asking two 50-year-old men why their hotel doesn’t have toilets for women. They actually get down to the difference of peeing styles between men and women, funny but thought provoking.  The end credits revealed that this documentary was funded by some Dutch organization for gender equality, very well edited, music was perfect, spontaneous questions and intense reactions.  Just switching channels, a girl in a Delhi Muncipal school was molested when she was going to pee, so prophetic.  I think we need more toilets, if our country has to advance, and yeah more ATMs too J.