The trappings of success

Yes, I agree. I do have all the trappings of success.

I am fat. Not obese, but just the right amount of fat, that shows that I'm fat, but not that much that I feel I cannot get away with wearing tight clothes. So I look fat in the tight clothes I feel I could get away in. The big illusion.

I am losing hair. It grows in patches, but when you will look at me, it is evident that I am losing hair. It is growing alright but not in all the places it is supposed to. And someday soon even that will stop growing.

I am stressed out most of the time. Although my sugar levels are normal, and my blood pressure is ok, and my body is not looking like a mis-shapen lump of diabetic dysfunction, I can feel it. My inheritance includes high BP and atleast one heart attack. Maybe it will happen by the time I'm 40. Another trapping of success.

I have an awful digestive system. I hurry my breakfast, delay my lunch, and ingest my dinner with absent-minded numbed-out desensitisation. I do not eat on time, and when I eat, I either eat too less or too much, and it is always of the wrong thing. I can digest a lot, but I cannot control my bodily cycles with the random precision that a completely tuned individual manages. I am a helpless bystander, and my body exclaims its helplessness in the most inopportune places with the most inappropriate gestures..

I travel in a car that is too big for me. And I sit alone in it. I stare out of the window at all those people travelling by Bus, by Train, by Auto, by Taxi, and all those people stare back at me.

I sit with people who I fondly think of as my friends. I drink expensive liquor, pay for it with my expensive credit card, and then i say goodbye, go home, and sit and work till 3 in the morning. Then i fall asleep in front of the TV.

I no longer have the time to read books, to listen to music, to travel, to roam about the city, to visit book fairs, to look up old friends, to sit and chat or read a book over endless cup of coffee, to walk up and down Carter Road and Bandstand, to write what goes around in my head, to write down what I feel like, and to do what most normal people do. Laze around on a Sunday.

People bitch about me behind my back, and to my face, and people do not like me, and people think I am arrogant, and aggressive, and idiotic, and completely crazy. People do not think I have a chance in hell of making it big, and sometimes I believe them too.

These are the trappings of success.

Now all that is left for me to do, is to be successful. And that does not seem to be happening any time soon.

utekkare,

Pranay

Festival of Mumbai

And since it is the Mumbai festival, let us celebrate those things that are truly Mumbaikar in nature. And in deference to my orkutkar friends, let us be celebratory of those things that are truly Bombayite..

Like fisherwomen at Bhau-cha-Dhakka at 5.30 in the morning, jingling their jewellery, and their starched colorful saris. Like BEST bus drivers driving the last bus at 1.45 AM and the first bus at 4.30 AM. Like Harbour line train drivers. Like Sandwich wallahs, and bhel wallahs, and dabeli-wallahs, and chana-wallahs, and Marine drive coffee,chai-wallahs.

Like Icecream at K Rustoms, and chinese food at Kamling, and Beer at Mocambo's and Mondegars, and Icecream at Snowmans, and Guru Kripa Samosas, and Tibbs Frankies opposite the American Consulate and at Hill road (no longer), and Horniman Circle, and the peeking hand at the odd place on the statue outside the BMC office opposite VT Station. And the Cooperage, and Cross Maidan, and AZad Maidan, and Queens Road, and University Pavilion, and the Matchbox building outside Elphinstone Rd Station.

Like jaljeera and kathi kababs at Samovar. And Samovar. And roadside art used to attract coins. And Fashion Street, and the Nimbu paani wallah at the junction of Khau gully and Fashion street. And the Ganna walla at the beginning of Azad Maidan, and at Sion Circle, and at King Circle and at Andheri east opposite Geet Gunjan.

And Rang Bhavan, and the canteen inside Rang Bhavan that serves the greatest dal-chaawal. And the canteen in GT hospital. And Round Building, and getting pushed through Churchgate subway. And travelling faster than a moving car in Kalbadevi.

And one sort of lit up kandeels at the colony at Mahim Causeway that look so bright during Diwali, when you are coming into Mumbai, like sentinels that greet you at the gates of a great fortress. And kreeda mandals in Chinchpokali, and in Worli, and in BDD Chawls, and in Sewri, and in prabhadevi, and in Police Colonies, and in Nehru nagar, and in BPT Colony, that celebrate diwali, and ganpati, and sankranti, and navratri, and holi with the same fervour, and togetherness that their parents used to.

And quarter bars, that serve you exactly the amount of alcohol you want to drink, and make sure you feel good about the alcohol, and dont feel bad about the money you pay. And the bhurji-wallah opposite Dadar Station east, and the pav-bhaji wallah opposite dadar Station West, and Bade Miya's Dhaba, and Sardar Pav Bhaji for late night food.

And Heera Panna, and Manish Market, and Zhaveri Bazaar, and Tulsiwadi, and Kapolwadi, and Teen Hath Naka, and Teen batti, and Khotachiwadi, and Matharpakadi, and Tankpakhadi and Gundavli, and Kapoor-Bawdi, and the Thane creek, and the Vasai creek.

And snacks from Hearsch's bakery, and not making too much noise there, and sitting at Mocha's, and wafers opposite Andrews College, and wafers from A-1 and OK wafers. And chilya food from mahim, and worli naka at Cafe City, and Biryani from Noorani's and Dabba Ghosht from Delhi Darbar.

These are the truly Bombayite things that make my festivities.. Perhaps you have noticed the overwhelming majority of foodie things to do. Well if it is a festival, you must do that which makes you happy. And all Bombayites are almost always hungry.

utekkare,

Pranay

Not sorry at all

I am not sorry. No. Not at all. Not sorry.

I am not sorry for littering my city. For sleeping till 9 am every morning. For working too late, or not working at all, or for pretending to work all the time. For not relaxing on sundays. For staying up till 2 am on a saturday night, flipping through channels on TV.I am not sorry for forgetting people's names, their birthdays, their likes and dislikes, For falling asleep in a car. On a desk. at the computer. For breaking peoples hearts. For joining them again. For not helping out in the kitchen. For not keeping my room clean. For not watching what I say. and acting without thinking. And getting excited. And getting confused. And getting agitated. And getting enthusiastic.

I am not sorry. For Pluto being relegated. For George Bush and the Iraqis. and Saddam Hussein. and Margaret Thatcher. Also I am not sorry for my country's political situation. And for Bihar and UP and Jharkand and political murders, and murdered politicians, and for just politicians and for even just murders. I am not sorry for Manu Sharma and for Nitish Katara's girlfriend, and for those designers in the broken down mall in Delhi.

I am not sorry for eating sloppily. And for snarling at the sweet little beggar at my window. And for slurping down the last drops of peach ice tea in my glass. And for pushing my way ahead in a crowd. And I do not want to be sorry for slapping errant rickshaw wallahs.

And I am not sorry for screwing up at work. And for demanding less working hours, and for claiming amnesia. I am not sorry for wanting a break a week after I have had a break. And I am also not sorry for taking the break and returning as stressed as I was. And I am not sorry for wanting to run away from it all, and I am not sorry for thinking uncharitable thoughts about all of humanity. And I am not sorry for not wanting to adjust.

And I am not sorry for paying less at a shop and forgetting to return to pay the balance. And I am not sorry for not tipping a waiter. And I am not sorry for not being nice to stray dogs.

And I can be nice. And I can be sorry. But I am not sorry for not being sorry.

utekkare,

Pranay