Rather crazy past night. Well not crazy in the “Oh fuck im in a mental institution! I should write a book on this and get that crazy bastard to act in it and then make gazillions” type crazy. But crazy in a barely controlled, free spirited, fuck-im-still-frikking-young and gonna live it up MY way type crazy.
Some told me that a certain law firm was contacted for framing together a competition code for afghanistan. So, you know, the opium cartels would not indulge in any anti-competitive practices.
And the image in my head was of a couple of harried looking taliban chaps with RPGs on their shoulders, walking the corridors of a dilapidated old building, screaming out loud “Where the fuck is the filing counter?????”
Lunch was at this nice little goan place up in gk-II m-block called Souza Lobo. Amazing grilled pomfret (good fish is bloody hard to find in this city). Served with this little bowl of garlicky butter and lime.
The pork pulao was pretty decent too, the pork had that correct tang of vinegar that I always associate with goan sausages.
There was a fish carafeel as well. Delicately spiced and rather simple in its taste. There also was this interesting-ish chicken, bacon and mushroom stew which came across as a slightly liquidy cousin of a “continental bake”. I thought it complimented the pulao pretty decently.
Desert was (surprise surprise) some bibenca with vanilla ice cream. I liked it cause it had that coconutty flavour and it was warm and not too soft but not too firm either. And I think there was jaggery inside cause when it went into my tummy I could feel some warmth in the body. Perhaps.
Coming back to the night.
Its been a while since I did the whole booty shaking thing. Been too long actually cause I realised what I had been missing.
Highlight of the evening (and I swear to god im not making this up):
Slightly tipsy, stranger woman: (tugs at me sleeve) My friend thinks you are Jawahar Lal Nehru. I mean I know he died in 1964 but she thinks you are him. And she wants to wish you happy birthday.
And this is in a club and the music is thumping away and the shots are burning my throat and im thinking ive fukin misheard this woman cause there is no way she just said what she said.
But she did and then she introduced me to her friend (who had a most awkward manner of shaking hands) and then she spoke to me some more but I think she was rather high so I did not really understand what she said.
Scoobs later told me that perhaps the reason why her handshake was weird was coz she wanted me to kiss her hand and not shake it.
Upon much recollection, the bastard may have a point.
Anyway, so the booty was shaken with much vigour and the music was sung along with much carelessness and the drinks were downed with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. But it was a good night and it was with good people and there was much laughter and some rather mentally-scarring groping action (I’d much rather not talk about it. this is a public forum yes?)
Anyway there was also a quiet little farewell party which was meant to be a surprise. So, of course, I land up at the exact moment where the surprisee is leaving her house (so that the surprise decorations can be put up), say hi and then ask her “Shouldn’t you be more surprised?”.
I don’t know why I am so inept at social situations. I think, secretly, my mind is coming up with a book on 1000 things not to say in any given situation and is researching on the same with me. Bad Mind! BAD mind!
I wonder what would my birthday be celebrated as……Bacon Day?
It is an idea.
You know, it is an absolutely wonderful feeling to know that there are people out there who consider me worth checking out.
Bad taste: I luvvit.
Oh and perhaps the reason why i was mistaken for JLN was that I was wearing a nehru jacket over me kurta. (Damn you should have seen the look of disdain I got from the chap who stamps the entry thing on your hand)