You know what I am talking about.
She slips her hand into your searching hand and then you pretend to watch the movie even though your hearts are pounding and you revel in the still-innocent touch of flesh.
And then the interval comes on and you quickly pull your hands apart (before the lights are fully on) and quickly wipe your hands on your jeans and then look at her and ask her if she would like something to eat.
I think I should work for Hallmark cards or Archies or something. Come up with these warm, fuzzy lines which can be printed on Valentine Day cards, “I just wanted to say I love you”-cards, 1st Wedding Anniversary Day cards, International Cherry-Popping Day etc etc.
“Dear Mom, I just wanted to let you know that you royally fucked me up and made me incapable of entering into a relationship for the rest of my life. I love you”
“Dear _______, Hi. I saw a rat eating human shit and thought of you. Happy Diwali”
The magnanimity of what we do hit me in the balls the other day. Criminal SLP dismissed in roughly two minutes. And now a man, who might actually be innocent, will spend seven years of his life in jail even as his wife tries everything she can possibly do to have a baby together.
You learn to deal with I suppose. Slowly de-humanise yourself because that is the only way you can be objective about it. A clear mind, unclouded by emotion can be an exceptionally powerful weapon.
Or so I have been led to believe.
The streets of Dilli (well the important ones anyway) are swept by a group of safai karamchari‘s who carry large brooms and tie a handkerchief around their mouths. More often than not, the sweeper will be a woman who will have have covered her mouth with her dupatta. And the leaves will be scraped off the ground with the scraping noise which brooms make and the dust will rise into the air, so that if the sun is out then the rays will get a bit diffused in the dust and it will look as if there are bits of gold-dust in the air.
You have to be in this city to know what I am talking about.
Last night, I visited a 5-star hotel in the city. For the first time.
And as we sat on the supremely comfortable sofas and my ass sank deeper into the cushions, I couldn’t help but feel that money is not bad. Discount coupons are even better.
The Blue Bar up at the Taj Palace, Chanakyapuri is a pretty decent place to burn some cash. The outside seating is the place to be though. Perfect, not too loud and dimly lit candles. Overlooking the lawn and the pool and above the sky is a bit cloudy and the air is a bit cold. The servers are petite and pretty and they smile at you and wish you a good evening sir and thank you for visiting sir.
Drinks are pricey (what, you surprised?) and served with mini-crackers and pumpkin seeds (read firang namkeem) and they place these tiny cloth bar mats underneath the glasses. The drink I had (a Brambles. JFGI) came in this wide, heavy glass filled with ice. No scrimping on the alcohol, which is always a pleasant thing. The snacks though were just about enough for a somalian super model.
Deep fried, fluffy bread stuffed with shredded cottage cheese. Served hot with a bowl of chick peas in a secret masala which has been cooked over a slow fire for hours. Topped with a tangy, mildly spicy green chutney. Diced onions on the side and a slice or two of pickled chillies.
Cholle Bhature at Sita Ram’s up near Imperial Cinema, Paharganj. (It’s a two minute walk from RK Ashram Metro Station).
30 bucks of fuckin heaven!
The difference between Venetians and Martians was made all the more obvious the other day when the Gang and me was checking out the new Costas at SDA market, opposite IIT. We was discussing someone and they were advising me on how to deal with her and giving me all sorts of (fuck all) advice.
And the phone rings and it’s her.
Dude 1: “dude, its the chick.”
Dude 2: “dude, its the chick”
Dudette: “May be it’s a sign”