Tuesday, February 27, 2007


BritChick loaned me her laptop... the book's begun.. See you'all in a bit!

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Ahhh--sole! gesundheit...

Some things noticed on the trip down, in the train and elsewhere, was how newish parents are always so kicked when they're brat says something clever. "Aah, how sweet!" at stuff like "you don't know what you're talking about"
In five years, the "how sweet" will be "I wish she was never born!"
One item on the train back to Delhi, mater, munna and mater's pa, were one such.
The child would squeal for absolutely no reason. Obviously having learnt that squealing gets him shit. EVERY SINGLE time a knick-knack man walked past, he'd squeal for some random shit for his granda to get him. So he ended up with a toy cellphone, a squawking Pokemon, a black rattling ball that he flung at a passing cop later that night, six plates of samosas that remained half-eaten, cola every few minutes, paper soap, a shoelace, pakoras, milk... the inevitable happened as it does with all these imps and he emptied his constant gorging on his mother's shawl with a smelly liquid spew.
Henceforth, both mater and granda had to hold the damn shawl out the window to dry it. Sick. Pity the fool that sat behind them.

The other was confirmation of a long held theory that ALL Bong men are never completely severed from the umbilical cord. It's also what probaby acts as an instant plug-in to the Discovery Channel. A Bong man will almost never have done something for experience, he'll have read it in a book or more likely seen it on Travel & Living. What is with this insatiable desire to burden others with useless bits of information?
To the contrary, all Punju men, another breed that is permanently connected to their mama's womb, use their cord to get price quotes on the schmansiest doodad, hot wheels or fuck pad around. They needn't necesarily have the requisite moolah to buy said object of desire, but they definitely know how much it costs and what it does.
Hooray for Discovery!

still Rogered!

Roger Waters looks a fuck-lot like Richard Gere!

First proper concert and got to go see a fourth of Floyd light up Mumbai this past Sunday.
Haven't slept in four days, been a total of 48 hours in second class sleeper, still wired from leftovers of Dr Hoffman's speciality product. But all fucking worth it!

Friday night was drinking with bits of the Jungpura Junta when Apple calls to say a freind's maternal has an upfront pass and a train ticket to spare. Didn't take a lot of deciding to hop on the choo-choo with them the next evening and 24 hours later was lugging sweater and satchel up to cousin Popo's place in balmy Bandra.
Didn't get to sleep on the way, partly because was hopping with excitement, partly because had to share berth with random strange people but mostly because was freezing-ass cold and self forgot necessary blanket.
Some trademark BombayBlack later, headed off with Popo and the Missus. Had a tiny tab of Dr H's goods courtesy Baba earlier last month and that, with ample Mary, the explosive opening to the Pig over Pali Hill, the up-and-down floor and the flashy freaks of Film City... indescribable!
Even though much of the singing was faked, the smoke and mirrors, the on-sreen psychedelia, the surround sound, the flying pig, the explosions...well, you had to be there...
Gig over, headed to tony five-star oriental joint for dinner with well-heeled friends of cousin. Don't ever have wasabi sauce when you're tripping. Felt like someone gonged me right up the sniffer! And sushi is for sick Jap suckers.
Was heading back to the flat and just ahead, a biker gets whacked by a car, flies across the windscreen and lands face-down, hard, in the road. Doesn't get up. Is picked up almost instantly by passers-by though and shoved into a passing auto. Shook us up a bit, considering we would have been on that road if we hadn't been delayed a few seconds later.
Back at the flat, Lucy's still dancing colourful circles in my cranium and I begin to finally notice the change in weather from Delhi to Mumbai. Fever sets in as the fan starts to hypnotise and purple pigs with yellow bows play hopscotch with orange cows across the fluctuating green walls.
Check the time... it's half past five in the morning. Train leaves at 11.30. Need sleep. Close my eyes.
Wake with a start. It's 7.30. The fever's gone, the walls are silent, the steady whomp-whomp-whomp of the ceiling fan remains.
Say goodbyes and apologise for landing up on cousins' unexpectedly, grab an auto, head to the station. Met Guy from GE with girlfriend in tow, also taking the same train back.
Hop on, grab my berth, settle in for the ride. Sleep still escapes.
An annoying spoilt two-year-old in the vicinity ensures no one within earshot manages 40 winks. The night is freezing cold again. At least I have the berth to myself. Wrap up in thin sweater and trenchcoat, but it's not enough.
Now so drowsy, don't know if I'm awake or still sleeping. Dawn comes with the chai-wallah peddling tea down the aisle.
You can buy fucking anything on a train nowadays! Apart from regular train meals, shit-shat inducing snacks, ice-cream, coconut milk, and loads more gastric grub. There's toys, books, beggars, eunuchs, warped floor cleaners, 'diamond and gold jewellery' peddlers, paper soap guys, shoe polishing dudes, fruity people,.
.. anyway
Munchies and caffeine requirement take care of, sit and wait till the train pulls into town. Gets to the local station first, so hop off, head home, shower after a week and head to work, which is where I am now...

Need Sleep!