There used to be a time when you needed to travel extensively, have a thriving business, earn potloads of money, and be well known, and well heeled to garner a mention on the social circuit, and wangle your way into a club.
There used to be a time when a club meant stone arches and gargoyles. And courtyards and fountains. And coats of arms and disdainful butlers. And morning tea and biscuits from Fortnum and Masons. And liveried servants, and armours kept in glass cubicles.
Well, not any more.
Virtually everyone I know is part of a club now. And none of the clubs can be found on terra firma. They all exist on the Internet. And they are all very very clannish, and they stick close to each other, in the shadows of cyberia, and nobody normal can find them.
And with most of these clubs, a few, if any members have ever met the rest of them, and they usually never meet up, in the fear that the club may disband because in reality they are actually much wierder than what they appear to be online. Ofcourse, when online, wierd is cool. Offline, well, wierd is just wierd.
And most of these clubs have a common thread or a target audience to target. Like followers of Sun Worship, or like Explorers looking for Atlantis, or like people who like Kobe Bryant's style of playing, or like people who have failed over 3 times in their final year of studies (Any level will do). Like people who only like the poetry written by a single posthumously published writer, who has been dead for over 100 years and who, when living, enjoyed a circulation of probably only a 100 daft fools who ever read his poetry. And like naturalists who revel in the comings and goings of nesting turtles on the Galapagos Islands. And like people who are trying to save the earth from solar radiations and piercing the ozone layer. Like people who love a certain genre of motorcycles and cars, and who can discuss mechanical parts of a moving machine with other similarly afflicted souls for the better part of an evening without stumbling. Like people who want to party in their very own coterie, and could just meet up with a few phone calls, but will bandy about their club to everyone and then make a big deal of how exclusive it is. Like people who watch Casablanca 2 hundred and 85 times, and people who know how to make a rocket fly with their bare hands, and people who know how to build bombs at home. Like people who can hack into supercomputers using their 1986 PC, and people who know what the difference between a rare stamp and a postage stamp is, and people who know what the difference between a haiku and a senryu is, and why Martin Luther King was famous (I also know that). Like people who want to fund their business, and people who want business, and people who want other people to do business, and people who dont want to do business, and people who want to retire early in life, and people who never want to retire, and people who want to write only, and people who want to read only, and people who will never understand films and people who understand only films, and people who live in New York and are single, and people who live in New York and are not single, and people who like sweets like Mango Souffle (I like it too) and people who dont like sweets, And people who live in apartments, and people who live in bungalows, and people who have a special breed of dog and people who hate dogs, and people who listen to the news and people who listen to alien vibrations, and people who can do complicated math, and people who hate math. All kinds of people who join all kinds of clubs.
And these people send messages online, and participate in online discussions, and meet people online, and fight with each other online, and send more messages online. And entry can be by invitation only, which can allow you to make people feel smaller than they already do, and you can decide to kick people out whenever you want and you can decide who is good enough and who isn't, and you can as inclusive as you like and as exclusive as you like.
I have decided that I shall start a club too. The Utekkare Blog-reader's club. And it shall be an club of one member only. The most exclusive club ever.
utekkare,
Pranay
Friday, July 08, 2005
Not my fault
Sometimes, I feel that I have a hard life. Yes, a really hard life.
I have to sleep on the floor. Well, not exactly. I sleep on a Dunlop mattress on the ground. But if I hurt my back by sliding off the mattress onto the floor during the night, it is not my fault, is it?
I have to wake up at the unearthly hour of 9 AM. I mean, after staying up late to watch that movie on HBO at 2 AM, and then flipping endlessly through channels on the telly, and surfing the Internet aimlessly, I dropped off to sleep at 4.30 AM. Ofcourse, I should have fallen asleep at 12.30 when I did decide to, but if I cannot sleep due to the lack of exercise and mental stimulation, and end up having Insomnia, that is not my fault is it?
I have to brush my soft, delicate, bleeding gums, and my sufficiently yellowed teeth with an abomination of a green speckled toothpaste from a leading Multinational Consumer goods company, that is so heavily involved with social causes, and upliftment of its executives, and the fattening of it's bottom line, that somewhere down the line, they deluded themselves into believing that they could fashion an aeroplane from toothpaste tubes. And then fill them with toothpaste, that flowers into foam the moment it hits saliva. I have to make use of a hard toothbrush to ensure that the white toothpaste refuse is laced liberally with flecks of blood from my weakening gums. But if I wanted to eat those gooey choclates, with icecream after indulging in a completely heavenly dinner of chicken curry and rice, that is not my fault, is it?
And I have to tone down the shower to make sure it is luke warm, because hot water scalds my sensitive skin. And cold water chills me to the bone. Because of this, it usually takes me between 30 and 40 minutes to prepare, begin, and complete my shower. Ofcourse, if it takes me over 15 minutes to work out what temperature I should be having a bath at, every day, it is not my fault, is it?
I have to make do with a mug of Complan/Tea/Coffee, or a bowl of Kellogg's wheat corn flakes or frosties, and then have a breakfast of either ham and eggs with toast, or probably just an omlette if I'm in a hurry. But then, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and it's not like me to ignore that tenet in a hurry.And because of this, if I am running late for work, then that is not my fault, is it?
I then have to work on a 1 year old Centrino laptop with just 512 MB RAM, and a 14" Screen and a DVD Player. It is very difficult for me to concentrate on work with my screen going off, my computer moving slowly, and my internet downloads not holding up. I would have been able to dispose of my work much better if I had a really state-of-the-art laptop. Ofcourse, the fact that I dont deserve it, is not my fault, is it?
I sit at a table that is less than 18" square, and on a stool that just about supports all that is needed to be supported. I dont have any back support and my back is bent and hunched, and doubled over from the effort of sitting so uncomfortably. Ofcourse, If I am unable to sit upright, and work on straightening my back, it is not my fault, is it?
I then proceed to eat lunch at my smallish kitchen that doubles as a dining room. Very cramped, if you ask me. A simple lunch of 4 Rotis, Bhaji, Dal, Chawal, and some raitha. and thats on Monday and Tuesday. On wednesdays, we have meat. On thursdays, we have an exotic vegetable. And friday, saturday and sunday, we usually have meat again. I try to maintain a balanced diet the best I can. But if I cannot keep off the fried papads, the oily achars, and the ghee, and the buttered breads, and the potatoes, and the egg yolks, it is not my fault, is it?
I usually put in a few hours of light work between lunch and closing time. But, if I have not slept last night, and I need to catch up on my sleep, it is not my fault, is it?
I am a net-savvy individual, and I feel it is imperative for me to keep up with the happenings worldwide through the Internet. So, I make it a point to check all my yahoogroups, my e-zines, my joke mail, my numerous email addresses, and I also make it a point to surf the Internet for about 3-4 hours during office hours so I can get a balanced view of the world - by day AND by night. And for this conscientous effort of keeping myself in touch with worldwide events, if I let my work slip slightly, it is not my fault, is it?
I work for my father, and our business is exporting garments. I sometimes wonder, if I would be happier working for someone else, rather than stay and watch (and someday, help) a business grow, mature, and flourish and rather than work my way through to financial success, I would rather aspire to a life of moderation, with a small 3 BHK flat in Thane (preferably Ghodbunder or Manpada), and a Maruti 800 (low on maintenance, you see), and probably just one child. Ofcourse, if I also want the goods things in life, and I cannot tolerate a superior authority pushing me around, and I am averse to risk taking, physical labour, and extension of my mental faculties, it is not my fault, is it?
I like new cars, and I especially liked the Hyundai Getz. So we bought one. Ofcourse, we needed to employ a driver, preferably one who can drive a Hyundai and can work late. So we employed one. And we have now fired that driver, I now use public transport. Ofcourse, if I do not know how to drive, and have never bothered to learn, it is not my fault, is it?
And finally, when I am tired of working so hard, I want to go out and party with whatever friend will come out with me. And I want to go to Enigma, at the Marriot, and I want to go to Insomnia at the Taj, and I want to go to the special Club section at all the new discos that are opening across town. But I end up going to 80's, and Cafe Coffee Day and Barista, and Independence Cafe. And if I wish to drown my inadequacy in a few drinks, and use my credit card to wipe my bills away, it is not my fault, is it?
And when i look at my life, and when I pass by the slums that are on the outskirts of our upmarket colony (nowadays they call these monstrosities, townships), I look at the children playing around with rabid stray dogs, in the gutters, and I see the women cooking their midday meal (and probably their only meal) on a open stove, with the rain playing spoilsport around them, and the menfolk, after a gruelling day in the damp, hot, humid conditions, having a cold bath at the neighbourhood handpump, I feel that maybe, if I could have had a little more money to spare, and had I been slightly better looking, and if I were in the films, as an actor, maybe I could have championed their cause. Ofcourse, if I am balding, and potbellied, and I cannot earn enough money to support even my own vices, it is not my fault, is it?
Yes, I know. It's a hard life. But I am working at making it better.
utekkare,
Pranay
I have to sleep on the floor. Well, not exactly. I sleep on a Dunlop mattress on the ground. But if I hurt my back by sliding off the mattress onto the floor during the night, it is not my fault, is it?
I have to wake up at the unearthly hour of 9 AM. I mean, after staying up late to watch that movie on HBO at 2 AM, and then flipping endlessly through channels on the telly, and surfing the Internet aimlessly, I dropped off to sleep at 4.30 AM. Ofcourse, I should have fallen asleep at 12.30 when I did decide to, but if I cannot sleep due to the lack of exercise and mental stimulation, and end up having Insomnia, that is not my fault is it?
I have to brush my soft, delicate, bleeding gums, and my sufficiently yellowed teeth with an abomination of a green speckled toothpaste from a leading Multinational Consumer goods company, that is so heavily involved with social causes, and upliftment of its executives, and the fattening of it's bottom line, that somewhere down the line, they deluded themselves into believing that they could fashion an aeroplane from toothpaste tubes. And then fill them with toothpaste, that flowers into foam the moment it hits saliva. I have to make use of a hard toothbrush to ensure that the white toothpaste refuse is laced liberally with flecks of blood from my weakening gums. But if I wanted to eat those gooey choclates, with icecream after indulging in a completely heavenly dinner of chicken curry and rice, that is not my fault, is it?
And I have to tone down the shower to make sure it is luke warm, because hot water scalds my sensitive skin. And cold water chills me to the bone. Because of this, it usually takes me between 30 and 40 minutes to prepare, begin, and complete my shower. Ofcourse, if it takes me over 15 minutes to work out what temperature I should be having a bath at, every day, it is not my fault, is it?
I have to make do with a mug of Complan/Tea/Coffee, or a bowl of Kellogg's wheat corn flakes or frosties, and then have a breakfast of either ham and eggs with toast, or probably just an omlette if I'm in a hurry. But then, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and it's not like me to ignore that tenet in a hurry.And because of this, if I am running late for work, then that is not my fault, is it?
I then have to work on a 1 year old Centrino laptop with just 512 MB RAM, and a 14" Screen and a DVD Player. It is very difficult for me to concentrate on work with my screen going off, my computer moving slowly, and my internet downloads not holding up. I would have been able to dispose of my work much better if I had a really state-of-the-art laptop. Ofcourse, the fact that I dont deserve it, is not my fault, is it?
I sit at a table that is less than 18" square, and on a stool that just about supports all that is needed to be supported. I dont have any back support and my back is bent and hunched, and doubled over from the effort of sitting so uncomfortably. Ofcourse, If I am unable to sit upright, and work on straightening my back, it is not my fault, is it?
I then proceed to eat lunch at my smallish kitchen that doubles as a dining room. Very cramped, if you ask me. A simple lunch of 4 Rotis, Bhaji, Dal, Chawal, and some raitha. and thats on Monday and Tuesday. On wednesdays, we have meat. On thursdays, we have an exotic vegetable. And friday, saturday and sunday, we usually have meat again. I try to maintain a balanced diet the best I can. But if I cannot keep off the fried papads, the oily achars, and the ghee, and the buttered breads, and the potatoes, and the egg yolks, it is not my fault, is it?
I usually put in a few hours of light work between lunch and closing time. But, if I have not slept last night, and I need to catch up on my sleep, it is not my fault, is it?
I am a net-savvy individual, and I feel it is imperative for me to keep up with the happenings worldwide through the Internet. So, I make it a point to check all my yahoogroups, my e-zines, my joke mail, my numerous email addresses, and I also make it a point to surf the Internet for about 3-4 hours during office hours so I can get a balanced view of the world - by day AND by night. And for this conscientous effort of keeping myself in touch with worldwide events, if I let my work slip slightly, it is not my fault, is it?
I work for my father, and our business is exporting garments. I sometimes wonder, if I would be happier working for someone else, rather than stay and watch (and someday, help) a business grow, mature, and flourish and rather than work my way through to financial success, I would rather aspire to a life of moderation, with a small 3 BHK flat in Thane (preferably Ghodbunder or Manpada), and a Maruti 800 (low on maintenance, you see), and probably just one child. Ofcourse, if I also want the goods things in life, and I cannot tolerate a superior authority pushing me around, and I am averse to risk taking, physical labour, and extension of my mental faculties, it is not my fault, is it?
I like new cars, and I especially liked the Hyundai Getz. So we bought one. Ofcourse, we needed to employ a driver, preferably one who can drive a Hyundai and can work late. So we employed one. And we have now fired that driver, I now use public transport. Ofcourse, if I do not know how to drive, and have never bothered to learn, it is not my fault, is it?
And finally, when I am tired of working so hard, I want to go out and party with whatever friend will come out with me. And I want to go to Enigma, at the Marriot, and I want to go to Insomnia at the Taj, and I want to go to the special Club section at all the new discos that are opening across town. But I end up going to 80's, and Cafe Coffee Day and Barista, and Independence Cafe. And if I wish to drown my inadequacy in a few drinks, and use my credit card to wipe my bills away, it is not my fault, is it?
And when i look at my life, and when I pass by the slums that are on the outskirts of our upmarket colony (nowadays they call these monstrosities, townships), I look at the children playing around with rabid stray dogs, in the gutters, and I see the women cooking their midday meal (and probably their only meal) on a open stove, with the rain playing spoilsport around them, and the menfolk, after a gruelling day in the damp, hot, humid conditions, having a cold bath at the neighbourhood handpump, I feel that maybe, if I could have had a little more money to spare, and had I been slightly better looking, and if I were in the films, as an actor, maybe I could have championed their cause. Ofcourse, if I am balding, and potbellied, and I cannot earn enough money to support even my own vices, it is not my fault, is it?
Yes, I know. It's a hard life. But I am working at making it better.
utekkare,
Pranay
Sunday, July 03, 2005
A movement that is gathering momentum
When you are struck by an idea, it is not always possible to sit down and write that idea immediately. Conversely, when you sit down to write, it is not always possible to come up with ideas to write. So you should try and write down as many ideas as you can when you get them, for who knows when the next great idea is going to appear. Ofcourse, by the time you decide to write those ideas onto paper, those ideas appear so mangled and distasteful that you end up throwing them away, and run the risk of not writing anything at all.
But since this is a Sunday, and I can do whatever I please, this will be my second article for this day. Ofcourse, if someone asks me, I will say that it is because artistic brilliance waits for neither time nor tide (I read that somewhere), and since the creative energies that craved the writing of this article had to be satiated, I took the effort of turning my PC on, logging onto the internet, and start writing this article.
I will say that this is a moment that I have awaited a long time and it should be not just a collection of articles, but a movement, that is inspired by one of the most under-rated and overlooked columnists of Indian Journalism - Behram Contractor a.k.a. Busybee.
I will say that I have been deeply influenced by his writings and I have read as many of his articles on the bottom left hand corner of the last page of the Afternoon Despatch and Courier that I could (I was too young to be reading newspapers when he worked at the Mid-day) after I discovered his writing. That I bought the Mid-day for the Mid-day mate and the Afternoon DC for the Busybee. Also the easy crossword, that I usually solved in about 25 minutes (the time it takes to travel from VT to Chunabhatti), and feel good about myself.
I will say that his style is inmitable and it has the basic grandeur of an artist, wearing or not wearing slippers, and his brushstrokes on the canvas of Mumbai are rare masterpieces of loving care and affection he lavished on this city. That his writings are a treasure for all of us educated, reasonably sane, thinly-read people to cherish.
I will say that everyone and anyone could see the Mumbai he saw, and feel the Mumbai he saw, but noone and nobody could express the feelings in words like he could. And that his characters are like old friends now, and the nuances in their behaviour are as predictable as the monsoons. Which is to say, not in the least bit predictable.
I will say that I am selfless, and mindless of the challenges of getting myself and my movement to be noticed, and appreciated. And it will take a lot of hard work, and struggle, and popularisation of my writings for the world to take notice and start visiting and reading what I write. And it might be days, weeks, months, and even years before even a tiny fraction of the world who read his articles are aware that I am writing mine.
I will say that Yes, I know that this cannot even hold a candle to his literary exploits, and that I am very very lucky to be living in a time devoid of bottlenecks that hamper online publishing of my thoughts, and words. That I can write whenever I want, and on whatever I want, and that potentially, I can reach so many people and that I can influence so many minds to think like I do. Ofcourse, 'Potentially' is a very nice word that was invented to encourage people like me.
And I will say that the entire reason that I want to write this is because I will feel amazingly better when I write like this, and that I will be signing off each article with 'utekkare'.
Ofcourse, I want to be popular, and I want to reach a large audience of people and I want them to reach me, and I want to be appreciated by everybody. But this, we will not tell everyone. It is our private secret.
utekkare,
Pranay
But since this is a Sunday, and I can do whatever I please, this will be my second article for this day. Ofcourse, if someone asks me, I will say that it is because artistic brilliance waits for neither time nor tide (I read that somewhere), and since the creative energies that craved the writing of this article had to be satiated, I took the effort of turning my PC on, logging onto the internet, and start writing this article.
I will say that this is a moment that I have awaited a long time and it should be not just a collection of articles, but a movement, that is inspired by one of the most under-rated and overlooked columnists of Indian Journalism - Behram Contractor a.k.a. Busybee.
I will say that I have been deeply influenced by his writings and I have read as many of his articles on the bottom left hand corner of the last page of the Afternoon Despatch and Courier that I could (I was too young to be reading newspapers when he worked at the Mid-day) after I discovered his writing. That I bought the Mid-day for the Mid-day mate and the Afternoon DC for the Busybee. Also the easy crossword, that I usually solved in about 25 minutes (the time it takes to travel from VT to Chunabhatti), and feel good about myself.
I will say that his style is inmitable and it has the basic grandeur of an artist, wearing or not wearing slippers, and his brushstrokes on the canvas of Mumbai are rare masterpieces of loving care and affection he lavished on this city. That his writings are a treasure for all of us educated, reasonably sane, thinly-read people to cherish.
I will say that everyone and anyone could see the Mumbai he saw, and feel the Mumbai he saw, but noone and nobody could express the feelings in words like he could. And that his characters are like old friends now, and the nuances in their behaviour are as predictable as the monsoons. Which is to say, not in the least bit predictable.
I will say that I am selfless, and mindless of the challenges of getting myself and my movement to be noticed, and appreciated. And it will take a lot of hard work, and struggle, and popularisation of my writings for the world to take notice and start visiting and reading what I write. And it might be days, weeks, months, and even years before even a tiny fraction of the world who read his articles are aware that I am writing mine.
I will say that Yes, I know that this cannot even hold a candle to his literary exploits, and that I am very very lucky to be living in a time devoid of bottlenecks that hamper online publishing of my thoughts, and words. That I can write whenever I want, and on whatever I want, and that potentially, I can reach so many people and that I can influence so many minds to think like I do. Ofcourse, 'Potentially' is a very nice word that was invented to encourage people like me.
And I will say that the entire reason that I want to write this is because I will feel amazingly better when I write like this, and that I will be signing off each article with 'utekkare'.
Ofcourse, I want to be popular, and I want to reach a large audience of people and I want them to reach me, and I want to be appreciated by everybody. But this, we will not tell everyone. It is our private secret.
utekkare,
Pranay
I want to be 12 years old
And since it is Sunday, I can feel like I am 12 again. No working on Sunday, No staff to boss around, No buyers to take orders from, and No feeling bigger than I can be, and No visions of success, and No feeling my age, and No set expectations from life, and No full steam ahead and No positive thoughts only, and I can take just a pause. And feel like I am 12 again.
And wearing half pants, with buttons and zippers, that dont fit me without a belt, and faded t-shirts from Fashion Street that have lasted for over a year, and cleaning my Bata's Naughty Boy shoes and polishing them till they mirror my face, and packing my school bag with plastic to prevent the rain from entering, and fighting with Mom about carrying a water bottle, and losing an umbrella every month, and having lunch money to buy 2 samosas for one rupee fifty paise, and wearing black canvas shoes and feeling like I can chase down the steaming locomotive on the tracks, and riding a cycle to school and feeling cool about it, and wearing long pants in school for the first time and feeling all grown up about it, and growing my hair on purpose, and getting caught by the Principal, and cutting classes on any pretext at all, and having crushes on the cuter teachers, and sitting on the last bench and looking out towards Bandra, and carrying all my books because I am too lazy to set the books as per the timetable, and falling asleep on the kitchen table while doing my homework and listening to Binaca Geet Mala, And going to sleep, and hoping that the overnight rain floods the building so we dont have to go to school the next day, and calling up the school at 6.45 AM to see if the school is working or not, and counting the remarks made in my school calendar book, and counting the merit cards, and wondering which gift I will get this year (I didnt get any, I fell short by 1 merit card). And playing 'Hops' and 'Bets' in School, and hitting people I didnt like as hard as possible, and scribbling graffitti on toilet walls, and angling for the class monitor's post and then hating every minute of it, and playing basketball from 3 in the afternoon till 9 in the night, and filling whole notebooks with Royal Blue writing, and wiping China Pens on my hair to clean off the excess ink, and never learning to tie a knot when in school, and standing for School House President and getting only 6 votes, and going for class trips, and picnics and wearing a heavy schoolbag on the left shoulder and walking hunched for ever.
And nimbu-paani, and kaccha beri and pakka bor, and hara saunf and imli, and and rocks of kaala namak and churan and jeera goli and chatpat, and wada-pav for 1 rupee and 75 paise, and standing at the entrance of Sion Lunch Home asking for glasses of water to drink, and Neera from the STD booth, and 50 paise bus tickets and girls from Everard Nagar, and smal and big pepsi-colas, and plastic bags of juice, and milk pepsi, and Parle-G biscuits with water and Indrajal Comics, and wishing that I could be the Ghost who Walks for a single day.
And maybe I want to be 12 for as long as possible. Atleast until 9 PM tonight. Tomorrow, I can be 26 again.
utekkare,
Pranay
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Dis-Ko-Thekela??
Have you ever wondered what its like to visit a discotheque on a weekend? Apparently, after suffering the rigours of a 6 day working week for the best part of a millenium, Mumbai is now appreciating the delicate charm of partying on a Friday night.
Ofcourse, the definition worldwide, of partying is 200 or more thoughtlessly scantily clad bodies crammed into a 350 sq feet dimly lit arena, that is littered with obstacles like chairs, tables, dj tables, dancing floors, railings, curtains, waiters, and other dancing people.
And that is applicable in abundance to Mumbai. Dimly lit bars, with well-meaning waiters, who are brilliant at maintaining individual tabs on tables, offering you refills at your most vulnerable (when your drink is near empty, and you're gazing at it hopefully, waiting for Bachchus, or even the crow with stones to fill it up), with loudly pounding music, that invariably turns to Punjabi Hip Hop and suspiciously resembles a cattle call for all those hopelessly shackled to their mundane lives and who are craving a release - any kind of release.
Ofcourse, the drinks are expensive. Not in the quantum that you might find abroad, but as expensive as a ride in a go-karting festival :)... Every time I go out to a bar in Mumbai, I read the menu (I always have to read the menu; 'Mera regular laana'is reserved for regulars), I try to compare the cost of a beer with what it costs at the bar with the Australian female bartender, on 15th and Lexington. Then I add the cost of a return air ticket, the cost of travelling by train from Ridgefield, and I end up projecting a much more snobbish image than I started out to portray. But, a 6 dollar beer on a 3000 dollar wage, and a 150 rupee beer on a 15000 rupee wage is kind of a no brainer.
Ofcourse, once you're out, you have to decide where you are gonna party. Depending on the company, you are partying southside (bye bye, petrol economy), or in the suburbs (bandra, here we come). Ofcourse, deciding on Which exact location you would like to reside in, for the best part of those 4 hours you will pay through your nose to be pounded with Punjabi music, screaming, raving lunatics who have just finished with their BPO shifts, and be shunted around while you try to balance 2 beers, one vodka, and a scotch on the rocks for the people who found you to make gullible's travel to the crowded bar and backm is tricky.
Hot and happening places are lucrative Page 3 investments, but ofcourse if you are worth less than a million dollars, dont have a botox in the right places, dont have flat abdomenal and pelvic muscles, and are not suitably promiscuous, you dont have a hope in hell of making it to the raggiest of rags. (Pun Intended).
Ofcourse, when this circus is parading through town twice a week, my only thoughts are about the time in college, when during stayovers, we would go to Sunlights or Lalits, and with 150 rupees between 4 of us, split 2 Romanov Vodka Quarter with Sprite, and free moongphalli and boiled channa, and loiter back to the hostel beds, feeling completely on top of the world and happy with life.
utekkare,
Pranay
Ofcourse, the definition worldwide, of partying is 200 or more thoughtlessly scantily clad bodies crammed into a 350 sq feet dimly lit arena, that is littered with obstacles like chairs, tables, dj tables, dancing floors, railings, curtains, waiters, and other dancing people.
And that is applicable in abundance to Mumbai. Dimly lit bars, with well-meaning waiters, who are brilliant at maintaining individual tabs on tables, offering you refills at your most vulnerable (when your drink is near empty, and you're gazing at it hopefully, waiting for Bachchus, or even the crow with stones to fill it up), with loudly pounding music, that invariably turns to Punjabi Hip Hop and suspiciously resembles a cattle call for all those hopelessly shackled to their mundane lives and who are craving a release - any kind of release.
Ofcourse, the drinks are expensive. Not in the quantum that you might find abroad, but as expensive as a ride in a go-karting festival :)... Every time I go out to a bar in Mumbai, I read the menu (I always have to read the menu; 'Mera regular laana'is reserved for regulars), I try to compare the cost of a beer with what it costs at the bar with the Australian female bartender, on 15th and Lexington. Then I add the cost of a return air ticket, the cost of travelling by train from Ridgefield, and I end up projecting a much more snobbish image than I started out to portray. But, a 6 dollar beer on a 3000 dollar wage, and a 150 rupee beer on a 15000 rupee wage is kind of a no brainer.
Ofcourse, once you're out, you have to decide where you are gonna party. Depending on the company, you are partying southside (bye bye, petrol economy), or in the suburbs (bandra, here we come). Ofcourse, deciding on Which exact location you would like to reside in, for the best part of those 4 hours you will pay through your nose to be pounded with Punjabi music, screaming, raving lunatics who have just finished with their BPO shifts, and be shunted around while you try to balance 2 beers, one vodka, and a scotch on the rocks for the people who found you to make gullible's travel to the crowded bar and backm is tricky.
Hot and happening places are lucrative Page 3 investments, but ofcourse if you are worth less than a million dollars, dont have a botox in the right places, dont have flat abdomenal and pelvic muscles, and are not suitably promiscuous, you dont have a hope in hell of making it to the raggiest of rags. (Pun Intended).
Ofcourse, when this circus is parading through town twice a week, my only thoughts are about the time in college, when during stayovers, we would go to Sunlights or Lalits, and with 150 rupees between 4 of us, split 2 Romanov Vodka Quarter with Sprite, and free moongphalli and boiled channa, and loiter back to the hostel beds, feeling completely on top of the world and happy with life.
utekkare,
Pranay
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