ENTROPY - Design of Decadence: July 2007

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Don't Call Me, Period.

I just watched this newspiece on Star News about some fat fucking moron in Ludhiana who paid 15 lakhs for a VIP number from Hutch. The reporter was asking King Kong questions like ‘Aapne 15 lakh ka VIP number liya, aapko kaisa lag raha hai’. And the nincompoop replied with a ‘Bhot achha lag raha hai’ like he was talking about giving his Godzilla wife a rim job. They went one up on themselves when they shot him from every possible angle, talking on his 15 lakh phone like he was giving orders to save the world from himself.

I don’t get it. Did I miss something in the past 5 odd years? What’s happening to people? Since when did buying a 15 lakh SIM Card constitute for achievement enough for mother-dressed-in-vomity-fuchsia coloured salwar-kameez to fondly feed mithai to son in shiny-black-booby-tee-shirt? And the whole farce be broadcast on national TV? They should lock him up and dispatch the key on the next NASA mission, if you ask me. 15 lakhs would’ve sponsored the education of 500 kids for one year. And he goes and buys a SIM card, that’ll at best help him avoid calls, which he won’t get in the first place, coz it’s a VIP number that no one has. No one but Godzilla wife, that is. They can whisper coy nothings into each other’s hands-frees about how romantic it would be to burn down a few buildings with their farts and to kill millions of people with their bad breath. Sheesh, consumerism doesn’t have to try hard to enslave us. We’re all falling over each other to buy the chains, at whatever cost.

It’s all Russia’s fault.

posted by n.g. at 18:01 (4) Peg(s) of Whisky

Monday, July 23, 2007

Changing Gears.

I love to drive. I learnt when I was 16, and I had my license when I was 17. That’s why for the longest time, I was 2 years older on my driving license than my real age. I learnt on my father’s Fiat, a gray colored sweet little ride with hand gears and all, which had to eventually be sold as scrap, largely because I drove her insane. The only thing I don’t like about driving is changing gears. That’s why you’ll notice that I’m constantly making the gear box complain.

That apart, there’s something indescribable about driving. It’s something no other high can ever be. I had even once contemplated giving everything up and driving a cab at night, because everything seemed worthless and besides I couldn’t sleep anyway. It’s been several years now, and I’ve been responsible for another of my dad’s cars being scrapped, a Fronte Maruti 800. I owned a beautiful white Mahindra Classic briefly, before I had to sell it because I moved abroad. I moved the earth to buy that baby, I can tell you that much. Took a loan, proved my credit worthiness, whatnot. And it was worth every naya paisa. She was a brute and a child at the same time. She looked harmless, innocuous. She was small. She would fit anywhere. Building kids would jump inside when they were playing hide and seek. Cats would make the space under her rear seats their home. Very full of love and all. But when I got into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition and woke the baby up, she’d rear her brute head. I can never forget the distinctive growling of the direct ignition diesel power plant. The firm click of the gear shift being pushed into 4x4. And the smell of burnt rubber on tarmac when I would put pedal on metal and the brute would devour the road. She had huge wheels and tyres the size of King Kong’s fist. She wasn’t fast. She wasn’t pretty. She wasn’t curvy and she wasn’t smooth as silk. But she was tough, and safe, and she never let me down. She was beautiful. And she was a great ride. Heh. Was a bit disheartened that I had to let go of her, told myself I’ll buy another someday.

I drive an Alto now. She’s fast, thrifty, zippy and very easy to maneuver. Scores well in the city vis-à-vis the Mahindra Classic, what with the pollution and heat. Doesn’t complain even at 100. And she’s comfortable on long drives too – she’s at her best when the highway turns to reveal an open road. You should hear her squeal like a kid in a candy store and surge ahead when I pick her up from 2nd and push her into 3rd. And when we reach our destination, she looks dirty, exhausted, tired, but happy. Then she passes out, only when she knows that I don’t need her for a bit, unlike someone I know.

I watched Wild Hogs yesterday. It’s quite a cool road film. It’d be fun to do that, I thought to myself while watching it. Call on some good company, get on the highway and figure out everything else as one went along.

Maybe someday once I manage to convince someone to change gears for me.

posted by n.g. at 16:29 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Present Continuous.

His name is Sachin, if I remember correctly. He’s a short, thin guy with a semi-nervous semi-confident warm easy smile and curly hair. He goes from table to table at ‘Diva Maharashtrachya’ at Mahim, taking song requests. And since he’s only been in Bombay for three months, he’s apologetic that he can’t sing Marathi songs to blend in with the flavor of the place, but assures that in no time he will nail those too.

He lumbered up to us almost like he knew that he was unwanted, but in a manner that suggested a pre-set apologetic explanation that he was just doing his job. He started with a forgettable ‘Main jahan rahoon’ from Namaste London, and then asked which song we’d like to hear. I asked him if he knew ‘Ya Rabba’ from Salaam-E-Ishq.

Ok, he’s no Luciano Pavarotti. And he mixed up the antaras, and repeated some lines. But the flurry of his fingers made his 70s-style Givson sing, while he merely accompanied on backing vocals. And when he sang ‘Kahin toh har lamha hothon pe fariyaad hai, Kisiki duniya chahat mein barbaad hai’, his expression suggested that he knew exactly what Sameersaab was thinking while writing those lyrics.

He took a mellow, sad ballad and effortlessly transformed it into a vibrant, bittersweet strum that left me with a rush of reminiscence that was broken like the original, alongwith a vision of love that’s an epitome of his version. And I said a silent prayer to the supreme power and requested that He lease me the love for perpetuity, like a duly bribed BMC official looks out for a builder leasing land in Bombay.

I’ve never been the most articulate person on this planet, so I won’t blame you if the above seems baffling. All I can say is, when you go to ‘Diva Maharashtrachya’, ask Sachin to perform Ya Rabba for you. And if you have loved, or been loved, or are loved, or loving … you’ll know what I mean.

posted by n.g. at 20:55 (3) Peg(s) of Whisky

Monday, July 09, 2007

a.t.a.h.h.

A lot happened last week.

Venus Williams and Roger Federer won Wimbledon.
I watched the most wonderful film ever made in the history of Bollywood, called ‘Apne’.
The Sensex touched 15000.
My car got hit by a bus.
Tisha, my neighbour’s toddler pointed to a monkey in her ‘Illustrated book of animals’ and said ‘Chachu’.
Deepa bhabhi, her mum pointed to the monkey next to him and said 'Chachi'.
When I gave them my best disapproving look they both clapped in glee.
Tisha also grabbed my hair and instructed ‘Baal Kaato.’
I found the DVD of Dadamoni’s 1969 hit ‘Ashirwad’ – remember the rap song ‘Nao chali, naani ki nao chali, neena ki nani ki nao chali, lambe safar pe …’
An H.R. official at office said that I have the profile of a dopey.
DLF finally listed and I’m waiting for it to slip a little before buying.
I discovered a new little nook near office where one can score some amazing ‘pecial chai.
A girl at office growled at me repeatedly when we crossed paths in the office corridors.
I watched Die Hard 4.0 and it totally rocks.
The Taj remained one of the 7 wonders.
George Bush is still completely clueless about his stance on Iran’s nuclear enrichment plans, so he can’t decide whether to attack them or not.
Basically prices of Gold and Silver are not appreciating and its George Bush’s fault.
I picked up the new Bone Thugs and Harmony CD and its kick ass.
The new Ozzy Osbourne CD isn’t half bad either.

I realized all over again that simplicity and beauty are synonyms.
I found myself broken and whole at the same time.
I felt the incredible warmth of something so real.
I touched the face of my happiness.

pal bada mukhtasar tha
tere seene pe sar tha
yoon laga mar na jaayein
itni khushiyon ke maare

posted by n.g. at 02:14 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Friday, July 06, 2007

Flash Drive.

It was almost 3 am and I was wide awake as usual. I got out of bed and checked for cigarettes, but I was out. I had exhausted my cans of JD and coke too. The 7-11 downstairs looked inviting.
I left the hotel room and smiled at the receptionist who I could’ve sworn was a mechanized mannequin, because even at that unearthly hour she had the exact same smile and posture that she always had. I walked out, across the road, into the 7-11 and picked up a pack of Luckies. Not sleepy enough to go back to my room, I thought I’d walk down Orchard Road and smoke a couple to kill time.

I lit a cigarette and strolled past Somerset station and HMV. It was so quiet that I could hear the tobacco crackle just that little bit. Everything around was dead and the breeze was threatening to turn into rain. The odd car drove past, and the odd cab slowed down to check if I was looking for a ride. The odd cabbie smiled and nodded his head when I shook mine. I lit another cigarette. And started thinking about something. I was ‘lost in thought’ enough to not notice a woman approaching me, until she was right in front and staring at my face and had already started talking before I realized I wasn’t listening. She looked visibly uncomfortable in her boots.

... girl? Chinese, Russian … very nice.

For what, I instinctively asked her. She paused and looked at me quizzically.

For whatever you want ...

I realized then. I shook my head, and walked past. And heard her saying ‘Cheap Rate … ’ in a last ditch sales pitch.

She was standing there the next night, and the night after that. My late night walks had become a regular occurrence and she was always standing there, next to Isetan. She never broached the subject again, and after a week of her suggestion, she even started smiling at me in acknowledgement of incomplete stranger-ness. I moved to my apartment a few days later, and never saw her again.

Two years later, the girlfriend and I found ourselves lying outside Shaw, in the middle of the night. We’d just watched a movie at Cineleisure and were interested in doing nothing in particular for awhile. I sat up to light a cigarette, and just then a cab pulled up right in front of us. A woman got out of the cab, and she looked visibly uncomfortable in her boots. The girlfriend was saying something, and slid her arm in mine as she sat up.

Suddenly, the woman noticed me and did a double take. So did I. She smiled, and waved, and thankfully didn’t come up to say hi and enquire about my well being and quip that I had lost a lot of weight; she just walked away. The girlfriend looked at her, and looked at me looking at her, and looked at me.

Who’s she?
I don’t know.
Then why did she wave at you?
I mean, I know her … well don’t really KNOW her …. I met her 2 years ago, well not really MET her, but …
(long pause) I didn’t think of you as that kind of guy.
She slid her arm out of mine.
EH? What … you think I …
I want to go home.
But …
Please?

I remembered this when I was at Phoenix Mills for lunch and saw a woman looking visibly uncomfortable with her boots.

posted by n.g. at 12:50 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Name: n. g.

Home: Bombay, India

About Me: this fire is burning and its outta control its not a problem you can stop its rock and roll.

See my complete profile

They Rock!

Recently Brewed

Aged Liquor