Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Bong and his jamuns
Stepping down from step to step. Feels strangely ethereal. All elfin. I guess this is where The Lord of the Rings comes down and smacks me in reality. This is what I get for all those hours in Neverneverland, oops, Middle Earth. Ex roomie, Lanuk, will be ecstatic to hear me say so. But I'm not really complaining. Am in a strange place... or maybe I would just like to think so.
This should be a strange post of ethereal romance and piping hot gulab jamuns. I think I prefer the jamuns. Had these amazing jamuns yesterday at this little Sindhi joint in Seven Bungalows yesterday. Alright then, it's not the bloody armpit of bloody Andheri after all. It's actually a nice place... all snaky and decrepit, teeming with food shops. And I'm going loco.
I wrote something the other day. All about hesitating to take the plunge in matters of loooooooove. And then I get dumped myself. Maybe that's somebody up there having a laugh. No big deal. I'm not really heartbroken - merely chagrined. I think, my ego's hurt more than anything else, really. The resurgent Leo ego. The fatteningly maddening Leo ego. The fatteningly maddening Livinghigh ego... why blame other poor leos about it?
Anyway, go read the story, please. It's called Being Pragmatic, and it's on (where else?) Gabbles. Here's the customary snippet:
Begin the game. The Game. The Hide and Seek. The I'll-count-to-hundred-and-you-go-hide-till-I-find-you game. There are a million names for it. I'm horrible at the game, and yet I realize why it's so important I play it. I'm just not a pragmatist. Just not the kind of person who understands that human beings need to have someone run away from them, before they can be stimulated enough to run towards them. Silly theory. I never did understand it. But I have to play it. Whoever wants to die a virgin, after all?
And at that, I smile again.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Teenage Mutant Ninja Journo
I was sick! Down with the flu. Everyone seems to be getting it these days! How terrible. Bombay's the new epidemic city of the world. Correct me if I'm wrong: first there was Typhoid, then Jaundice (wherein, I was one of the hapless victims), then Eye Infections, then came Tuberculosis, Leptospirosis after the rains (and everybody knows how to spell and pronounce this baby these days!) and now, we have.. the flu! Throw in a swarm of locusts and we're complete. Bombay - The City of Eternal Promises to Cure.
Just trying to put a positive spin on things.
Well, the reason for my irritation is my missing a certain cocktails and dinner presser at the Taj Mahal. I know I don't sound terribly journalistically dedicated when I talk like this. Ascribe it to the fact that I'm a business reporter. The capitalist brand of reporter. The one that puts my leftist inclined teachers at ACJ to shame. Hehehehe.
Aaaa, but I must say that, the other day, when this PR gal handed me a wrapped package at a presscon, I looked at the package and then at her with all the nosiness of a bloodhound, and she blushed and blurted out: O, no, no, it's just a pen!!!
A nice Parker set, too. ;-)
Friday, August 19, 2005
Superman, Superman, Whine forever, Superman.... (to the tune of Spiderman...)
It's been a week since Independence. It's been a week of dithering and not being sure and insecurities abounding... do I have it in me to deliver hard hitting scoops - is the question I kept on asking myself. I kept on asking myself, whether I really liked my job. Strange way to go, - especially for someone who was crazy about this job from the very start. The egoist in me still is. However, the markets editor in me never really existed - I'm a great Pretender, I guess.
And I guess I've had enough of pretending. Happens sometimes. I could be all melodramatic and talk about how it's a phase when a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do... and I just was.
But there's something else I've had enough of, and that's worrying too much. I like myself, and though I may like myself a little too much for the taste of a certain bald professor in journalism school who rapped me on my knuckles more than once for this very same point, that's also the part which affords me a very positive outlook on life in general. You heard it first: I'm the idiot with the buffoon grin. I'm the dumbass who's chirpy most of the time. I'm the nincompoop who can work 12 hours at a stretch and then crack a silly joke after that.
...Which basically means, the people here have kind of adopted me as the 'new kid on the block', who needs a fair bit of guidance and a great deal of indulgence. So I have a lot of senior reporters here having tete-a-tetes with me, telling me what I should do, sharing their contacts, and giving me tips on how to deal with CorpComm. Anyone who's been a reporter knows, that last bit of advice is probably worth kilos in diamonds.
So, it's been a hectic week, and not all bad, really. The buffoon still has a stupid smile plastered on his face, though he's just back from a press-con in town, has worked ten hours so far, has not slept for more than six hours per day in the last week, and must show up at the office tomorrow on a Saturday morning as well!
Yes, yes, yes. I try to fish for as many heartfelt sighs and compliments as possible - I mentioned my ego back there, na?
Monday, August 15, 2005
OK, so this is to say that it's my bud day/ bird day/ bday/ birth day (whichever way you look at it). Me and India's both. Ok, so that last bit was corny, but it's my bird day, and I reserve the right to peck at corn if I feel like being a bird today.
You can tell that my jokes are gooing to be awful today, can't you?
So,.... it's my birthday, and I'm at work. Awful. The first time this has ever happened to me - sniff, sniff! I like my boss, but feel free to hire some assassins on my behalf anyhow! My brother's rich, and he'll pay the charge. or, he'll hire them to kill me next, or something of the sort.
Sigh... bad jokes.
Was reading the Times of India yesterday, and I really like the rigmarole of articles they have on what Independence means to us. What I also like is the Channel V Freedom March, where these three leggy bimbo VJs traverse the country and ask people what Freedom means to them. And of course, I loooove GO92.5, because they keep repeating Freedom by George Michael often enough! So, all in all, life is pretty good, except for the being-at-work thingy.
I wonder, if posting a picture of the national flag here is unconstitutional in any way, and if I shall go the Malini Ramani way.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Supposedly characterised by the coexistance of disparate elements
Music is back in my life. The cause of such a gradiose statement is merely that my mum and dad sent over a Sony Walkman, ahead of my birthday on Monday. (I'd lost mine, and was debating with my cheap schizophrenic selves about whether or not I should buy a new one, and now Mommy has answered my prayers. I loooooooooooooove my mommy...!) Enough for baby-talk. Think, I'm getting inspired by Geet's entry!
But yes - 92.5 is now back in my life. Jaggu (sans Tarana these days) is back in my life. Glenn and the NightShift are back in my life. Nadir is back with CollegeRadio in my life. Shruti and her crap on MId-day Show are also back (groan!), but I shall make the best of a great situation and ignore her babbling utterly. I'm happy. Picture round face with big grin. As someone told me the other day, my classic 'buffoon grin'.
Aaaa.... I love my teeth!
On an aside, I suddenly realise how much I love the word 'schizophrenic'. According to that all-knowing lexicon, Dictionary.com, the word means:
1. Of, relating to, or affected with schizophrenia.
2. Of, relating to, or characterized by the coexistence of disparate or antagonistic elements.
3. Suffering from a form of schizophrenia characterized by foolish mannerisms and senseless laughter along with delusions and regressive behaviour.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
The weather's..... sweet
Good morning. It's a Wednesday morning, and the weather outside here in central Bombay is... cloudy. The word is... reticent... fairweather friend?... wishy-washy. And yes, again, welcome, to my life.
What's the world up to this fine morning? (Or evening, depending on which hemisphere you reside in... forgive me, I'm a rambler by trade, heart and soul.) The girl on my right is reading a copy of yellowed Economic Times. The guy I went picture-selling yesterday was laughing a second ago, and he's off for breakfast now. New caterers in the house. Poha and coffee. Hmmm... I prefer the coffee.
Terrible to think that I'm definitely going to get diabetic. These days, the only coffee I drink is mochaccino, with two lumps of sugar. Plus, I have two lumps of sugar, preceding my mochaccino. I'm like a horse - me and my lumps of sugar.
Sweet bong. Horrible thought: while going through the online matrimonials for bro darling earlier this year, I stumbled across a profile labelled not-very-enigmatically sweetbong23. I'm sorry, I can't link or anything. But I still smirk about it. ;-)
Complaint of the week: Absolutely no one has been over to gabbles to read the new story. Prepostrous! The only person who's left a comment there, saw the story first on caferati.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Don't listen to the crap they tell you, and make sure you DO DRUGS!
Long day. Spent listening to lawyers bickering. Spent listening to lawyers bickering about FIIs and SEBI. Yes, this is my job.
I can't wait to come on TV!
There. I'm honest. I'm in it for the fame. Brokers will know me. Housewives will worship me. Children will run after me. Nopes - hopefully, they'll run away from me! I'm the stock broker ogre. Yea!
But sigh - lawyers. Bickering. FIIs. Yeeeeaaaaaghhh!
I'm going out now. I need to party. With the beautiful people. I'm determined to have fun tonight. If I can get rid of the bloody f***ing ache at the back of my head.
Damn, I wish I hadn't stopped being Chemical Brother.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
One night in the rain
So, I think about the offer and say 'yes'. A time is fixed, a place is fixed. I'll be waiting out at the gate, I say. It's raining cats and dogs in Bombay, Prabhadevi has low visibility because of the gusts, and my brother tells me to stay home. But I'm reckless. And curious. I decide to be brave, and stand out in my raincoat and umbrella, promptly at nine-fifteen, waiting for the car.
I'm on a date.
I laugh a bit. I think it's funny. The way we talk and chatter, now and then. Sometimes, I think to myself, even while laughing a joke, that I'm with a kid. Robbing the cradle. And the other person's intention is cradle the robber. Silly pun. I'm losing it, I think. Even that is funny, so I laugh yet more.
Slapping sheets of rain on the water. The car screeches along Mahim causeway, and onto Linking Road. Bandra is dark and empty. It's been raining here all day. It's empty, and I wonder whether Zenzi may be empty. The car whirls in a groan towards Waterfield Road. Don't worry, says my companion, I'm in control of the car. Hmmm... and we haven't even got drunk yet, a part of me smirks.
Zenzi turns out to be closed, not just empty. Across the road, there's Seijos, but there's not a soul there, apart from me, my date and the staff of fifteen who hover around us like a swarm of Arabian slaves. My date and I stare at each other for five seconds, and I finally suggest going back to town.
Town, not town. Town (South Bombay) Town. Do the rich and famous also party while North Bombay drowns? My mum had called up earlier in the evening, while I was shopping in Colaba, and sounded shocked that I was getting knick-knacks, while NDTV was beaming live images of drowning SUVs. Well mum, that's television for you, I told her blithely, and proceeded to buy myself a bead neckpiece. I'm not wearing that neck piece now, as the car parks next to Red Light, but I'm still thinking of mum. Red Light is closed for a private party, the guard announces. Guess that answers my question about who parties when. I'm not rich or famous, but I still want to party.
Polly's is the answer. I love the place. Blaring loud retro music. Young boys and girls who make me feel a 100 years old, but I still love the place. Magical bartenders. Dancing with a bottle of Kingfisher in my hand. But then, I'm broke. My date is paying for me tonight. I'm a kept man, I guess, and I blush dutifully. But I decide to accept being the paid man tonight.
The parking attendant hurries over to the car window and chatters that Pollys' is closed for the night. I break into laughter. My date is not really amused. But, being a kid, kids laugh along. They find anything funny. Even me.
The saviour of the night is Not Just Jazz... Karaoke machines and shining disco balls in the air. Mohitos and Cosmos, beer and more beer. It's a fun night. A kiss exchanged. Lots of kisses exchanged. Legs rub along each other. There's chemistry in the air. Not magic, though, because I'm still conscious of the fact that I'm robbing the cradle.
And the robber is being cradled right back.