Mumbai meri jaan.

There's never been a year since 2004/5 (i can't remember which) that i haven't visited Mumbai, and it's always been for more than a week. This year, i thought the pattern would break and i wouldn't visit the city because a) i had no leave b) i had too many people to meet, so decided i'd rather not go, and c) i didn't see any sense in going for just the weekend.

Divine intervention had a go and before i knew it, my tickets were booked for a weekend in Mumbai (almost a month in advance, at that). So last Saturday dawned dark and very early and was followed by 25 hours of sleeplessness. Not new, considering the number of days i have worked without sleep in the past, but i'm not used to it anymore because of my cushy job. It took a bit of getting used to - a countless number of Breezers, to be precise!

The two days got better because we had langotiya yaars from Hyderabad attending back-to-back meetings in Mumbai the same weekend, and the Gujju joined us on Sunday after her event. We spoke endlessly, laughed so much and so hard that people wanted to throw us out of every place that we went to because we were behaving like absolute ruffians, partied, consumed copious amounts of alcohol, made Gabs and Paps reschedule their flight for Sunday morning, danced at Sister K's place and then at a cheesy 5-star club, ate good food, chilled and dished out loads of advice.

Phew. Busy weekend, but memorable and hopefully, very productive. Only time will tell about that.

This was shot at 6:27 a.m onboard our flight to Mumbai.

Kill Me's, the Fishermen Special.

Q: What's a really good fisherman who keeps wanking off called?
A: Masterbaiter.

Q: What's a Chinese fisherman in India called?
A: Sur-mai.

Q: What's an inquisitive fisherman called?
A: Ro-who?

What to do when you're locked outside your house on the first floor with a laptop and a phone.

Posting Live.

1. Since the entrance to the house has a gate, and the gate is also locked, precariously plonk your laptop on the inside of the gate, followed by your bag. Which, you have momentarily forgotten, has your precious hard drive with your even more precious 10,000+ pictures.

2. Climb onto the gap on the side of the gate and rip brand new kurta in the process. This, despite being fully aware of stepping on the hem of the kurta and hearing a slow but steady "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrippp", and not caring because the only thing that matters at that moment is that you don't fall off the gap and embarass yourself in front of the real estate/travel agent shops on your street.

3. Whip out your laptop and ping A to talk about your plight.

4. Look around as your laptop starts; notice all the cobwebs; notice the rip in your kurta and think that a good darning should fix it (this, in an attempt to not feel bad about said damage to brand new kurta; sometimes i can be such an idiot).

5. Call friends around home to check if they're home so you can go and crash at their place while you wait for parents to come from wherever they are.

6. Curse your memory for having seen the house keys on the writing table in the morning before leaving for work and not registering that they should be picked up and put into the bag immediately.

7. Blog.

8. Reread your post to check for spellos.

9. Distract yourself with duskdreams of Daniel Craig, George Clooney, Vin Diesel, Curtis Stone, Michael Fox and the likes because you do not, repeat DO NOT, want to focus on the fact that you really, really, really need to pee.

10. Ugh. I need to pee so bad.

I want to smell the coffee and pepper again.

Coorg used to be what Goa was - a place i visited at least once a year. But it's been 24 months, or is it more?, since i last went there. Today, in search of a picture to put on my tumblr blog because i was in a mood to put up a quote and i need a photograph to go with it, i stumbled upon the albums of my previous Coorg trips. Drove down and took different routes every single time.

I miss that place. It had the sort of peace one can only find amidst nature. And now, i'm itching, absolutely itching, to go back. All i need to do is find somebody to go with. Drive down, or even better, bike it. And live at a home stay for a couple of days, take walks around the adjacent plantations, visit Kushalnagar, discover little rivers and other hidden surprises and binge on Coorgi fare.

Yep, i think it's time for another Coorg trip.

Another horrible day in the history of horrible days.

I woke up feeling not-so-great because i had a not-so-great night. Then a dear friend truly and thoroughly pissed me off. I was bloody hungry. I ate food, but the feeling still didn't go away. I lay down, trying to force myself to catch 40 winks, but that didn't help either. Somewhere along the way, i had an extremely scary and claustrophobic vision of what i was going through. A vision of someone ripping through my brain and bashing their way through my skull and flying out. A vague shape, not human, not demon.

The feeling of irritation and restlessness and extreme aggression and disgust persisted through the day. I went out in the evening, had myself a good time. And then i screwed up. Royally.

If there's anybody that must be blamed for the state i am in and bear the burden of what the state of my life is today, it's me. I'm my own demon, my own slayer, my own enemy.

I just want to reach a comatose state and fall asleep. To not be able to hit the pillow and sleep immediately is going to be pure agony today. And i don't want it. Not tonight.

Have you heard of Tomorrowland?

No no, not the Disney one. The three days of madness in Antwerp, Belgium with the best DJs from across the world-one.

No?

Well, you should watch this then. It's a world within a world with an energy that can power a million galaxies and a vibe that can sustain the entire human race on a year's happiness.

I heard of it from a friend at work, and when i watched it, i was carried away. Mannn, that energy, that buzz, that feeling of being alive in masses and masses of people rocking it to the beats...it was like i was there. I could feel the rythm beat in time with my heart, the electronics carrying messages of music to my synapses. I have just one word for that whole range of emotions i felt when i watched it: "Wow". Sunburn is dirt.

I think i should be there. In Belgium. Next year, when it happens. Three days of nothingness. No thinking, no mental masturbation about life and love and work and survival. Just music. Pure music. Pure emotion. Pure feeling. Swedish House Mafia, David Guetta, the works.

*Sigh*. Love.

"...Yahan se bahuth duur,
ghalath aur sahi ke paar,
ek maidan hai.
Main wahan miloonga tujhe."
- Rumi

I watched Rockstar tonight. And, well, although i haven't been able to get a handle on the whole movie, i think it's not a bad watch. There are twists when you don't expect any, the soundtrack is nice, there were so many bits of the movie that i could totally relate to (no thanks to the acting), i like Ranbir Kapoor's styling and his transformation from a chora to a dude, and i especially like the way Imtiaz Ali has concluded the movie. Lots of moments of empathy with Ranbir's character and some with Nargis Fakhri's. I feel sad for Jordan.

Does it leave me with good or bad vibes? Neither, actually. It gets me thinking. And it makes me believe that things like that are very, very plausible. I would like to say here that if the same thing had been made as an English movie, it would've had decent reviews, maybe even a handful of good ones. So we just have to accept that this is Bollywood and that there are bound to be moments when you'll sit up and say WTF! but it's alright. Take it in its stride, and you should be just fine watching it.

Hmm, now that i read everything i've written, maybe i kind of DO like the movie.

Oh, and Kashmir. Must. Visit. Kashmir.

Soon.

A contender.

I first heard this song from Razia Sultan (the same movie that gave us the eternal Ae dil-e-nadan in Lata Mangeshkar's voice) when i was 14 years old, in our one-bedroom house on a transistor radio that we still own but don't use. It was love at first listen and it's stayed with me ever since. A pleasure to hear not just for the voice of Kabban Mirza and the music of Khayyam, but for the absolutely beautiful lyrics of poet Jan Nisar Akhtar whose every word conveys a depth of feeling. I especially love the last verse of the song. The last time i heard lyrics that were woven together with so much love and meaning was in Khoya Khoya Chand.

Aayi zanjeer ki jhankar definitely battles it out as my most favourite song with Tum pukarlo from Khamoshi (the old one).

P.S: The sound quality isn't great, but i have been unable to find the full song with crystal-clear audio.

Dealing with stress.

I've spoken about it before, and i speak about it again. The thing is, everytime i think of everything that's happening, about to happen or may/may not happen, i try and consider my options. What will i do if, what if, why not - they're questions i constantly keep subjecting my brain to. Because i want to be prepared. And i do that because i don't know how well i'll be able to function when those whats and whys get answered. I simply don't know how much i'll be able to take physically, psychologically, emotionally.

It reminds me of a psychology lecture way back in college - that we're all capable of dealing with stress in its many forms. Some of us better at it than most others. But the thing is, stress always extracts its pound of flesh. The first time we're subjected to it, we'll probably deal with it really well. But when it goes away, it takes a part of our ability to deal with it effectively. So that when the next stress comes our way, we'll have to try a little bit harder, put in a little bit more effort than before to deal with it. The cycle gets repeated till you can take the stress no more. And that's your breaking point, that's your nervous breakdown. Trust me, it's a stage nobody should get to.

I keep thinking about this. I'm nowhere near a nervous breakdown - at least i hope i'm not - but i think of how much has happened for me to be where i am emotionally and psychologically, and how much more there is to bear. And i wonder if i'll be able to take it when the events are set in motion and there's no turning back. No turning back or wanting to turn back and letting things be status quo. And i can't predict which way i'll go. I come up with a hundred worst-case scenarios - i'll nod with resignation and walk away; my legs will give way and i'll dissolve into tears as i collapse to the floor; i'll scream and curse and go all psycho; i'll say it's alright and let things continue the way they are because i can't function without this part of my life - and still, i can never tell which one it will be that i do, because i don't know how it's going to turn out. There's only this feeling that whatever it is, it's not going to be good.

I look back on the previous stress points. Each one precious, each more intense than the other, each eternally alive with a space dedicated to it somewhere in my memory. Will this be my penultimate or my last? I already feel a sense of helplessness, because i don't think i'll know how to deal with it. Leave the country, shut out people, run away? And what happens when i need to pick up the pieces of my life back and start over? How will i do it? So much of my energy, who i am, what i am and what i feel has gone into this that i wonder how long it will be before i'm whole again and able to give myself unconditionally. Is there even going to be an 'unconditional' at all? Can i feel so strongly again? Ever? Is it going to be what i want, or what i will have to accept as my lot?

The first time it happened, i was able to shut it out. Shut that part of my life out totally. No looking back. No revisiting that chapter. No keeping in touch with it, no knowledge about it, nothing. I was strong then, so strong. Now, i won't be able to do it. I've tried, and i can't shut it out; i keep looking back, revisiting this chapter. I'm weak. I don't have the energy to fight it, giving in seems so much easier and less painful. I don't want to feel pain. Because i'm weak now. My reserves are depleted and i can't replenish it any more. I guess that makes me a living example of what the stress demon is capable of. It takes a part of your power with it when it leaves.

You may think that you've got the better of it, but you will have never really won.

The good thing about the city i live in.

The Metro. Used for now as a picnic spot for Bangaloreans over the weekend. ("Ooooooh, what's travelling by Metro like? Let's go, let's go! Kids, put on your best clothes! And while we're at it, let's buy a couple of packets of chips, one bottle of water, some biscuits...oh wait, we forgot the ice cream!") I do believe, though, that the day of the Metro realising its true calling draws nearer with each passing day. Nevertheless, it's a very fascinating experience to travel by it (that explains how i know so much about the weekend Metro picnickers) and one reaches Indiranagar from M.G.Road in five minutes flat. No hooting autos, cars, nothing. I can safely say that the shortest distance between two points in Bangalore is the Metro.

The Metallica Concert. Oh the concert, oh the happiness, oh the muck.

Wait a minute, muck? Yeah, it rained cats and dogs last evening. But even the weather knew that it had to behave itself when Metallica came on stage. Despite that, the damage was done - it was like the earth under our feet had turned into a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking up our feet and trying to swallow more than it could hold.

James Hetfield still gets my nerve ends tingling. And that voice. (Cue swooning sounds.) Lars was fabulous as always. I loved the songs they played, their energy was inspiring. My favourites were Sad but true, One and Enter Sandman.

That's it. Two good things. For now. Big enough things, though.

Did i mention the rains already? Oh yes, i did. Okay then.

This is the story of a little bird.

For a couple of days, my room had turned into an entertainment center-cum-sanctuary for birds. I had two sparrows come in and explore my room, randomly pecking at things. Dad noticed them and they scooted, chirping out a conversation to each other as they flew out of the windows. The tree branch outside my window is their home now.

Another little birdie nudged its way quietly onto my window ledge and made its home there for God-knows-how-long before i noticed it. Had i not caught it peeking curiously - and if i am any bit a bird mind-reader, fearfully - at the road one storey below my room, i would never have noticed it even.

The first thing i did was whip out my camera, inch my way slowly to the window right behind the bird's bum feathers, and exercise the utmost stealth in trying to get a nice picture. That's when i saw that this wasn't a normal bird; it was a pigeon, either sick or old, or both. So i ditched my camera and just watched. I tried cooing to it, talking to it - anything that would help make it feel better, but all it did was walk from one corner of the ledge to another, wanting nothing except to be left alone. There was a certain wisdom in the way it studied the things that were happening below - a tailor at his sewing machine, a kirana store owner bellowing at somebody for parking their vehicle in front of his shop, a couple of limp teenagers hanging out at the keymaker's corner... and then, bored, it must have fallen asleep. I took the opportunity to fill a little cup with water and place it out on the ledge - just in case the pigeon got thirsty during the night.

I woke up next morning and headed straight for the window. The pigeon wasn't there. The water was untouched. I went to work, came back, waited to see its silhouette created by the street lamp to line my window ledge.

I never saw the pigeon again.

A day in the life of Bangalore, Circa 2011.

This time, bumming by the beach had different experiences to offer.

The much-promised post on the Goa trip follows. What was different about the four days i spent there: i bummed on the beach in the night, caught the most amazing view of the night sky ever, got insanely angry a number of times, tried out new eating places and totally peaced out. Geek Boy and i got there first, Sister K followed soon enough.

The journey to Goa was the stuff adventures are made of: Geek Boy and i drove down - another first for me. We lost our way and took a state highway - a rubble road that went over and through the Ghats, plonking us bang in the middle of Goa, 25 km away from Calangute. It was one of the most memorable bits of my entire trip. It was also the moment i fell in love with the miracle that is GPS and the gorgeousness that is the iPhone.

The second memorable bit of the trip was our first night on the beach. Geek Boy and i sat under the stars till my legs gave up all sensation, what with being exposed to the chill of the sea in a pair of skimpy shorts, and we had to head back. The sky put up what is undoubtedly one of the most captivating displays of nature's beauty ever: grey clouds like clotted cream crept up to cover a moon that was near-full, as the moon put its spotlight on a patch of waves right in the middle of the sea. It was like the moonlight was creating a stage for the dolphins to perform feats of diving or the mermaids to entice us with their shimmering bodies. I cannot begin to describe how awed i was by the sky that night. It's an image that's going to stay with me for a long, long time.

I went to new places: Bob's Inn for lunch (finger-licking and spicy-as-hell Chicken Vindaloo with Goan Pav, finished off with a luscious, rich, melt-at-a-touch Chocolate Mousse), Curlie's for just-like-that (absolutely yummy Margharita pizzas with a sprinkling of fresh chopped Basil) and Sher-e-Punjab (yeah, i know, but we were driving back to Bangalore and had to stop for a bite at Panjim at 5 p.m to stop Geek Boy from being sick; besides, the food was good).

On our party nights, we saw a fight, a bottle being broken on some big shot's head and his head cracking almost-open; we saw a 'buyer' trying to get some from a bunch of women; we saw the crowds go crazy as some bellydancing chick from some dance show got mauled by men in turbans, uncleji shirts and slipping shorts as their teenage sons, daughters, neices and nephews gawked at her.

Did the trip achieve its purpose? Well, yes and no. My head cleared up a lot, i came back calmer and more normal than i have been these last couple of months. I do wish that i had slept till late in the afternoon every single day that i was there, though. And i wish that i could do something to help Sister K's predicament.

But that's the good thing about Goa, isn't it? There's always a next time.

P.S: Dear Haathi, thanks for suggesting a whole list of places to go to for food and entertainment!

Life's like a page out of a Neil Gaiman book right now.

“He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn't occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.”
- Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere

More good news.

1. My travel life is back on track. I got back from Goa this morning, a hard night's drive despite only being the navigator. I got everything i sought: peace, a quiet mind, enough sleep, copious amounts of food, new food places to explore. So much so that i didn't want to come back. My trip warrants a separate post because there were so many teeny weeny adventures of sorts. On the cards is another Goan trip in December and hopefully, a smaller, budget trip to somewhere nearby.

2. I'm a little more settled in my head. Just a little bit, but i have it. I have no idea how long it's going to last for, but i'm not worrying about that too much now.

3. I've started a new blog. It's my arty side, my experimentative, explorative side. A part of me that is otherwise overshadowed by the words i write and the thoughts i speak. I'm loving every minute of posting on it. Catch me in the mirror.

4. I'm swimming. I figure, if one has a Speedo that one spent a bomb on, one might as well milk it for all it's worth. I love swimming. It makes me feel alive and away from everything. I think i'm a natural, although i do have to overcome the discomfort of not feeling ground beneath my feet. V and i hit the pool every evening and spend hours in it. But here's the weird thing: every time i get out of the water, i begin to see huge halos around lights. Anything that shines has a halo around it. Makes me wonder if i've attained enlightenment before my time.

5. I'm getting to do interesting stuff at work. Yay for me!

A lot like me when it comes to you.

I wrote a good omelet…and ate
a hot poem… after loving you

Buttoned my car…and drove my
coat home…in the rain…
after loving you

I goed on red…and stopped on
green…floating somewhere in between…
being here and being there…
after loving you

I rolled my bed…turned down
my hair…slightly
confused but…I don’t care…

Laid out my teeth…and gargled my
gown…then I stood
…and laid me down…

To sleep…
after loving you

- Nikki Giovanni, I wrote a good omelet

Turns out he inspired my friend's art.

The 13-year old in the guise of a 29-year old i mentioned in my post yesterday is apparently capable of inspiring people. Seems that as i told my friend about how he wanted to hang, the nerve ends in her brain started doing cartwheels and resulted in the creation of this. For those of you interested in knowing, 'to hang' is youngster slang for hanging out. (Our 13-year old knows because he has this thing for dating nubile young women.) Why can't they just say hang out?

Makes me feel ancient, that. Pah.

I think it's happening, people.

I'm getting my mojo back. I can feel it. Slowwwly, very very slowly, it's coming back. I'm getting into that state of Nirvana where everything is as significant and worthy of my time and effort as trying to wear White in monsoons.

So since last Friday, i've been out almost everyday. I gave 13-year old in the guise of a 29-year old, whom i have a crush on (had, now), an earful for behaving like a total ass and kicked myself for letting him affect me. So i drank, and i went out, and i stayed out. I'm reaching my threshold level of shite again, and i'm getting to that point where i will moon the world and say "In your face bitches!". Or something like that.

Because i am tired, so very tired, positively exhausted with everything and everybody. And right now, i've had just about enough. The only person losing sleep, bursting blood vessels and splitting hairs about it all is me. Screw it. What's the worst that will happen?

So cross your fingers, cross your legs, cross your heart, cup your palms towards the sky and pray that my mojo lasts. I really need it to.

More good news next week. On that happy note, muchas gracias y buenas noches mi amigos.

Inebriation.

Friday night was a highly memorable one. There was an unquenchable desire to put. To get pasted and wasted and so sloshed that i reached a point where i cared about nothing and nobody. And that's exactly what happened.

It started with going to Retro with A, where i downed a Long Island, a Tommy Gun and a Mojito while venting with A about men and their stupidities and what jerks they are. Despite being male himself, A still agreed with me. Yes, he's sweet like that. :)

From Retro, we headed to Cirrus at near-closing time to meet the Gujju, where i headed straight for the bar and ordered not one, but two Strawberry Daiquiris. And i glugged them down (strangely reminding me of the Bailey's shots episode all those years back) despite their high OH content. Needless to say, i was a Swinger after that. Uncontrollable giggling, statements to Gujju's team from work that could potentially get her fired, considering her manager was also one of them (to whom i said as they were introducing themselves, taking efforts to repeat their names, "Oh don't bother so much with it, i'm not going to remember your names tomorrow morning anyway"), driving back to her place to spend the night... And in the middle of all this, wanting to orally get rid of the contents in my stomach because they were making me feel queasy.

Once at A's place, i slept almost as soon as i stepped into the house. And then i died. Till 6:30 in the morning, when i was suddenly revived by the knowledge that i hadn't called my parents the night before to tell them that i wasn't going to come home. Fully fearing that i had screwed up and expecting to see hundreds of missed calls on my phone, imagine my surprise when i saw none!

So i checked my calls log, and to my horror, i see that i have made a call to and received a call from my Dad after i had passed out. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! I check my messages, and i see that i sent out a perfectly sane message to my mom when i was beyond the point of sanity. Double Eek. And i also replied to R's 1 o clock in the morning-message with "Sloshed. Staying at A's. G'nite."

The best part about all of this? I don't remember doing any of it. Don't. Remember. It's the only time in my entire life that i don't remember what i did, and i'm so happy that i was able to let go, loosen up that much.

I guess that's what they call a responsible drunk, then. And i'm glad to know i am one, even when i have no memory of it.

Phew. Giant relief. Seriously.

When mothers get inspired by rude boys.

It was a normal day of domesticity yesterday, as my mother sat sprawled on the semi-easy chair in the hall and i was somewhere near her feet like a servile daughter or sprawled on the Diwan like cheese spread - can't remember which. We channel surfed for something interesting, and settled in with our default TLC. Who should be strutting across the screen on a pavement but the hat-wearing, chain-dangling, finger ring-clunking hunk of Oomph named Aaron Craze, host of Rude Boy Food on TLC. He isn't hot by conventional standards - English, maybe - and he's certainly not my type but he does make me want to... do things to him that might be considered rude in public. Jamie Oliver's protege. *Sigh* That about does it for me.

Now, mother and i love watching cookery shows regardless of language barriers and all that, so when i turned to her and told her "Oh Ma! Look! Rude Boy Food!", she replied with a sassy "I know". Well, well, well, what have we here?

Turns out she's caught a few episodes of our man all by herself sometimes. Yesterday, though, she was not only in the mood to catch his oomphy self (on TV) but also cook something he made: chicken burritos.

So, she went to Thom's Bakery today for all the required ingredients and seeing as there was too much effort involved, she ditched the burrito part of the recipe and made only the chicken. May i add that it was amazingly good. Who knew the flavours would come together so well? (Cumin seeds, fennel seeds, coriander seeds, a couple pods garlic, red chilli powder and olive oil ground to a paste and used as chicken marinade; those interested can figure out the quantity by trial and error!)

She sat there, feeling real proud of herself and saying excitedly, "Next time we'll try the other recipe okay?"

And i thought to myself, well, if this is what the rude boy can get her to do, then by all means, unleash him!