Uno Memento

36 Hours of a Memento

noreply@blogger.com (avengercq) — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 21:48:00 +0000

How does one put an Uno Memento that is spread across 48 hours. Well, I don’t know. This is my first attempt at it. Let’s see how it rolls across.

21st September. Time: Round about when you should down one drink.

I am heading to meet Shilpa after a zillion years. We are catching up at Hawaiian Shack, one of Bombay’s most happening clubs situated in the suburbs of Bandra. Bandra is where the suburbs begin, but a Bandraities ego never lets them accept the fact that they are part of the suburbs. Expect them to counter it with a sharp, “This is the most happening part of town man. This is where town begins.”

After the mandatory tight hugs we first head out to Mini Punjab. The feet wish to dance, but our belly is empty. At MP we dig into yummy prawn rolls and I hog on some juicy chicken tikka rolls later.

The DJ at Hawaiian stayed as promising as he is reputed to be on a Friday night. Pacing up ‘Wake Me Up’ to the right dance tempo and effortlessly slipping into Bob Marley’s ‘Buffalo Soldier’ without a slip. The crowd danced, for a change I drank, appreciated the music and picked my tracks to move on. Well, I didn’t know I would be back soon and scraping the skin of my soles soon. All stories have their time, so let me hold that back till its time arrives.

Around 1.30 pm Hawaiian Shack wound up. We were on the verge of saying our goodbyes when we decide to gather at her place and smoke a few joints.

(At this point I am drunk because my office colleagues have dragged me for a couple of drinks and I am sipping off some of the finest of scotch that the world has to offer, so forgive me for continuity, grammar and spell errors.)

I reach Malad signal and can’t trace her down because she has been roaming around the signal and she can’t track me, her phone is dead and I am desperate to get out of there and smoke a joint. My slack bike chain problems had to meet her staring in the face strangers. Bottom-line we don’t end up meeting. I call up my ex-roomie who stays in Malad and order him to bear with me for the night. As all good guys he agrees. I role my joint in the exclusivity of his bedroom and smoke up to good times. I dance by the window of his bedroom till 5.30 am in the morning and have a great time. Sadly Shilpa calls me just as I enter my ex-roomie’s place and tells me the faux-pau she went through.

It’s 3pm in the afternoon when I wake up. I have to head to Rahul’s place. That is where we have planned the big party involving the India and Australia semi-final. I reach Rahul’s place just as India has started playing. Let me not take away from India’s utmost brilliant play and let some of the best sports writers talk about it.

BOLT FROM THE BLUES
Partha Bhaduri I TNN

Durban: Can you top this? The dark horses are now top dogs, and India will take on Pakistan in the final of the World Twenty20 on Monday. But there weren’t any nails left to chew after suspense, action and drama rocked Kingsmead on Saturday as India outplayed Australia by 15 runs in the semifinal.
First Yuvraj Singh, returning from elbow injury, set the pace with a brutal 70 off just 30 balls, with an incredible five sixes and five fours, to allow India to get to 188. Then MS Dhoni’s men bowled and fielded out of their skins, and it was all too much for Australia in the end who needed 22 off the last six balls. When Joginder Sharma closed out the last over with two wickets and the players started celebrating, it looked like the stands would explode.
Matthew Hayden and Andrew Symonds looked like running away with the
game at one stage, but first Sree Santh, and then Harbhajan closed out the issue. Sree Santh’s back-of-a-length deliveries and RP’s swing and variations prevented a slam-bang start to the Aussie chase: The first five overs brought 36 before Sree Santh sent Gilly’s stumps cartwheeling.
It was the eighth over of the innings, bowled by Joginder, where the palpitations started: 18 runs coming off it as Hayden and Hodge freed their arms. Pathan bowled the 11th and that brought up 16. And then Sehwag conceded 20. It got to a stage where only wickets could save India. Enter Sree Santh, round the wicket with a furious yorker, uprooting Hayden’s off stump after a furious 61 off 47 balls, four sixes and four fours.
Australia need 54 off the last 30, Joginder proved expensive again. But then Pathan snared Symonds, and it was all over when Harbhajan conceded only 3 runs off the 18th over with 27 needed off the last two.
Earlier, Yuvraj continued from where he had left off against England. His hitting was brutal. Recovering from a rather sedate start, Uthappa (34 off 28, 3x6, 1x4) and Dhoni (36 off 18, 4x4, 1x6) too made explosive contributions.
Yuvraj, though, was in another zone: Stuart Clark, the highest wicket-taker, was smashed for six, Lee wasn’t spared either, and Bracken and Mitchell Johnson’s variations didn’t matter either. Yuvraj and Uthappa’s 84-run third wicket partnership came off just 40 balls.
And then Dhoni took over, muscling Bracken for two sixes in the 18th over, Rohit Shrama too chipped in, and India had an inmposing total and a march into the final looked that much more possible.
Now Pakistan await, and anything is possible. Will it be 1983 all over again?

Did I forget to mention the two rounds of super manali joints that we ended up doing during the match. Ahh!!

Well at 1 pm in the afternoon I thought it was the end of it all. But, at 4pm was a tea workshop at Monzao. Well how boring does it sound? Thankfully I didn’t go by the boring sound of it and took a chance and discovered the subtle nuances of making fine tea and discovered many a tea trivia that is lost on tea drinkers.

Some tea estates believe in picking tea leaves on a full moon mid-night because it is auspicious. White tea leaves are picked twice in a year considering the weather conditions are perfect. Before you sip a cuppa of tea you raise a glass and say ‘Taucha’ (it means more often). The first cup of tea was discovered by pure accident in china, which I would love that you google and search since I got to go sleep now.

Well if you thought that sipping tea was the end of it, well I am happy to disappoint you that I ended up at Mondegar drinking many a mugs of beer with Karim talking about guy stuff.

End of Sunday. Beginning of a thrilling Monday. That’s later.

Au Revoir!

Uno Tripo. Sept. 15

noreply@blogger.com (avengercq) — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 09:21:00 +0000

I am sliding on guitar strings. Down. Down. Down. Whoops! I slip. Land on a thumping bass beat. Sprooinngg... into the air I am thrown, one thump to the next. After one such throw I find myself hanging in a vaccum. There's no gravity to push me down. Just hanging, till my hands feel the tickle of electricity. And then with a shoulder jarring jerk I am pulled ferociously by electronic notes. As my body writhes within a cocon that travels at many times the speed of light, I glimpse galaxies and dying stars.

This is me at Azziano, around 12 at night. High on hash. Partying the night away with Komal and Abhijeet.

I love dancing. Dancing after inhaling hash is something else altogether.

Au Revoir!

Thriller Friday. Sept. 14

noreply@blogger.com (avengercq) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 15:56:00 +0000

So it's a Friday evening and I am twiddling my thumbs. Found no Uno Memento today. Hmmmm.....what should I do? Go by the beach? Head off to the Lalbaugh market and see what wonders await?

Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.

Hmm...what do I do?? One of my office colleagues steps upto me, "Heh...there's the India v/s Pakistan match happening today. The whole office is watching it in the Films room. Come on. Want a drink?"

Now how could one refuse an invite like this.

Drink in hand I walked in. People were high. People were loud, no, screaming; and the match is yet to begin.

After a few minutes the match begins.

The following article is borrowed from the Times of India
STUFF OF DURBAN LEGEND
India Do, Pak Die After Tie; Dhoni & Co in Super 8s
This match was what the Twenty20 game was all about, and it needed an India-Pakistan encounter to showcase the format in all its nerve-wracking glory. The contest showcased everything this impact version had made plans for: A bowl out (cricket’s version of a penalty shootout), a tie off the last ball, India defending a low total with aplomb by fielding and bowling out of their skins, and such edge-of-the-seat suspense that for the last half-hour, the sell-out crowd at Kingsmead could have been held to ransom in anticipation of a result. India held their nerve just enough in the bowl-out to win: Sehwag knocks over the stumps, Arafat doesn’t; Harbhajan hits, Gul misses, Uthappa is on target, Afridi’s delivery goes down leg… and India have won 3-0! And it wasn’t just a batsman’s game either: The extra bounce at Kingsmead was first brilliantly exploited by Mohammad Asif, and then comeback man Irfan Pathan came to the party with a wicket-maiden in the ninth over to turn things around. Harbhajan too was brilliant, and Yuvraj’s fielding efforts throughout were top of the line. For India, this was the booster shot of confidence they needed in an unfamiliar format: A must-win game, overcast conditions, intermittent showers and a low total couldn’t prevent them coming out on top. The result swung one way and then the other till the very last ball of the very last over from Sreesanth, off which Pakistan needed one run. But the close-in field did its job as a scampering Misbah-ul Haq couldn’t make it past Yuvraj to level the scores. Earlier, India ran into the guile and accuracy of Asif, whose four overs wrecked India’ top order and left them reeling at 36/4. During the field restrictions (6 overs), Pakistan conceded only 33 and bagged three wickets. It was only Robin Uthappa’s dashing half-century off 39 balls, MS Dhoni’s T20 sheet-anchor knock of 33 off 31, and a late burst by Pathan and Agarkar which got them to 141 for nine.

Partha Bhaduri
TNN

MATCH-WINNERS IN ARMS:
Robin Uthappa leaps into the lap of
skipper MS Dhoni soon after India
scored a thrilling tie against Pakistan
at the Kingsmead on Friday.

What else? The Indian's come on screaming towards the pitch on bagging the win.

Ahh! Uno Memento! :D

Au Revoir!

PS - The yelling and blood curdling screams through out the match gave me a feeling of what warriors, battling inside the colosseum rings, must have experienced as the voracious crowds, on one of their routine weekends, cheered, or booed them to their deaths (what a fucking-long-must-go-down-in-history sentence!).

ahh!....i was part of the yelling and screaming myself too.

The two sides of Life. September 13.

noreply@blogger.com (avengercq) — Mon, 17 Sep 2007 13:08:00 +0000

September 13th. Ah! Bombay’s getting hot. Yes that’s what I love calling my city, not Mumbai, but Bombay. That name brings back memories both good and bad, but memories very much my own. Maybe when I have collected enough memories of Mumbai, I shall call it by its new name. Maybe.

I cut through the post-monsoon heat on my bike and reach The Club. It’s a workshop. Interesting workshop, with the same boring ending.

“All this is good.” Said the man on the throne.
“Yay.” Yelled the crowd.
“Wasn’t this interesting?”
“Yay.” The crowd’s scream was a touch higher now.
“So let us fling away all the good things we have learnt into the land of the forgotten. Let it be remembered as an off-hand passionate affair never to be spoken of. Let us return to things as we are used to.”
“Yay.” The scream echoed a frenzy, a frenzy many parts filled with loyalty, a few parts of despondency.

The workshop took place in the library of the club. I opened up notepad and scribbled. The head of planning was at the helm, attempting to exist for a brief moment as the supreme creative head of the agency. The creative exercises begin. I scribble. I join in, mouth out a few lines, the gathering at the table laughs, they are amused. The right side of my head gets stung by envy. I scribble. I scribble Prof. Owlotopus. Half owl, half octopus. I add a little more to the proceedings and the stiff bellies around loosen a bit more. I get cut down by a swift comment from the right. Ah! The insecure planning head strikes. He doesn't like me adding mirth to the proceedings, after all it's his show. I get back to scribbling and let the rest of the workshop drift. I have more important things to do like finding my uno memento for the day.

As fate would have it, there were two mementos awaiting me. I was exposed to a moment of strength and determination and a few moments later enjoyed pure adrenalin pumped exhilaration.

After the workshop I happened to find myself at Friji’s place. The last time we met she glowed with the joy of a new baby’s arrival, but now I found her in much sorrowful circumstances. She had to abort the two month old foetus because of certain growth complications. I had felt the hope with which she and Anil awaited the arrival of the child. Most souls would have been crushed by such an episode, but the picture below just shows what a rock star she is. There was the pain, but she and Anil won’t let it keep them down. Here’s one of the items she gifted me that day. A joint box. Just the right thing for our trip to Nepal (fingers crossed) next month.

The best coffee in Bombay gets served at Friji’s place. Not at the mochas, baristas and other supposedly cool hang outs of this city. She keeps her pantry stocked with coffees from Brazil, Columbia, Africa and the finest from India. I have learnt to appreciate coffee along with her. The differing weight of flavours. The subtle differences in aroma. Sometimes a bi-tasting blend, that starts heavily sour on the sip, but settles gently into a tender sweetness.

Here’s one of her fine coffees in my half-drunk cup.

And this is the lovely window where we pulled up bean bags, stared out from and talked about lost dreams, hopes of the future, travel destinations and laughed over silly jokes.

Ohh! Have I forgotten to mention the lovely polo tee that she gifted me? It’s the round bundle to the right. :)

Time to exit Friji’s place.

Thursday Evening. I respond to a call from one of my friends. It’s Komal. Vayu is playing at Hard Rock Café. My right hand pulls on the bike throttle. Wait! The chains on my bike are loose! I hit the brakes cautiously, not wanting to cause a sudden jerk in momentum that would upset the spinning chains from its loosely fitted in rivets.

Gently riding between 50-60 kmph I find myself at Hard Rock Café in an hour.

I had been to Vayu's gigs twice before. The second time was disappointing and I just hoped the disappointment didn’t continue into the third act. Well Tudlu (vocals) and Ravi Iyer (lead and rhythm guitar) were in no mood to disappoint me. The play-list had been shuffled around. A few new tracks had been added, some boring ones chucked out.

Vayu means Wind (for the hindi uninitiated)

Tudlu to the left. Ravi Iyer (India's Joe Satriani) to the right.

Me and Komal

Komal and Tamira

Tamira and Tapas

Abhijeet aka Chaiwala

Au Revoir!

Made in Lalbaugh and Paramount Delicacies

noreply@blogger.com (avengercq) — Thu, 13 Sep 2007 15:13:00 +0000

Yesterday as I meandered through the bylanes of Lalbaugh on my way to meet my brother I came across the famous ganpati sculptors of Bombay. Row upon row of ganpatis filled up the hastily put together workshops made out of bamboo sticks and tarpaulin.

Ganpati's Under Construction

Lords of Mumbai
Ganpati is one of the biggest festivals celebrated in Mumbai. Brazilian Mardigras celebrations would be the closest example in terms of scale and style. No scantily clad woman dancing around though(Puleaze we are Indian)

Waiting to enter homes

Krishna meets Ganpati
It's the only god that I know of where the masses have been creative, experimenting with the elephant god's shape and style. Here Ganpati takes on a very Krishna like posture and the colour blue is indicative of Krishna.

Buddha Inspired?

All the ganpatis hanging out

Ganpati v/s Ganpati
The white ganpati is the dye out of which the brown ganpati was made of.

Finishing touches to a masterpiece
A Ganpati sculptor's job is a short lived one. It begins a month or two before the festivities commence and when the 10 day festival begins, it is time to wrap up things and head back to building film sets or probably an idiotic politicians statue that catches the fancy of a weary crow at the most.

Discarded molds. Here's where it all begins

Later in the night I ended up feasting at Paramount, a run down hotel in Mahim that serves up some excellent mutton and chicken dishes. Remember, don't pig out on the main course, leave some space for the dessert because the custard pudding is to die for. My battery died down, hence there are no great food shots to whet your appetite and anyways putting meat food shots on the same page as ganpati would be blasphemy for its million of fans. So maybe some other day when I hit Paramount you can droll over some great mughali food pics.

Au revoir.

Fish Fry and Strawberry Ice cream Delights

noreply@blogger.com (avengercq) — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 12:06:00 +0000

Well on the day I decided to follow my dream of travelling and discovering atleast one priceless moment a day, two beautifull moments decided to drop right into my lap. Surprisingly both of them had to do with food.

It has been ages since I relished my mum's fish fry. Today afternoon my younger bro brought a parcel of this yummy delight from home.

Bought fresh from the fishing villages of vasai by my dad, the lucky pomfret gets a nice cleaning by my mum. Then she dips it into her very own masala paste (I don't think any of the daughter-in-laws in our family is going to get a whiff of that recipe). Lets it marinate for some minutes and sautes it gently later. Many a times at home I have been jolted out of my TV induced reverie, by the child like gurgling of the hot oil and the saline induced aquatic aroma that wafts into my room. Where an earthquake couldn't wake me, I would lift myself up just to catch a glimpse of the fish fry.

She would tip the fish over and over, untill the masala had seeped into every inch of the lucky soul and every atom tender, as no metaphor can explain.

Ah! Long live fish fry and mum's rotis!

A few minutes and a short bike later to Phoenix Mills, to pick up lunch for a colleague, landed me right in front of Naturals. Take mine and any serious ice-cream lovers word for it, Naturals is any day better than Baskins, Walls or any branded ice-creamwalla peddling their wares. A brisk walk to the counter, a scoop of the watermelon flavour into a cone and I was licking away at my second most priceless moment of the day. As my friend said, "The way your licking, you would put a woman to shame."