I suppose you could call a writer a tailor as well. Stitching together the words and cutting away the extra-cloth and making something which can make you feel warm or cover your senses. Something which can be felt and touched and experienced. And sold.
Some times, when I am bored, I pretend to be a rich sheikh disguised in plainclothes. Like that chap in Zabaan Sambhal ke but without the flowing robes. So I go around muttering to myself “Khaar Khee Khooo” and rubbing my beard and cribbing about the rising prices of camel-feed. My friend told me that I should take this “act” of mine to the US Consulate. Wearing a t-shirt which says “Osama lives in all of us”. And a plastic gun.
I don’t think my friends like me too much.
An extremely, extremely non-productive sunday evening was spent hanging out with two of my closest chuddie buddies. Awesome. The words flowed smoothly, the insults were brutal and personalized and the jokes were fairly uncivilized.
After an hour’s worth of intense discussion, we came to the conclusion that the one book which would be a super-duper-duper hit with the male population of Bombay would be the one titled “Saaxington Heights: Rent, Boobs and Real Estate” or something like that. Essentially it has to be a combination of the three most talked about things in this city. Perhaps one could add vada pav in there somewhere.
We are planning an epic trip early next year but I really wonder whether it is going to work out. Thus far we have “planned” a trip to Vietnam, two to Jim Corbett Park, one to Goa and another one to Dehradun. Not a single one of them has worked out. Perhaps this one shall be different.
I tried Resolute Vodka the other day and, barring all other things, it is wonderfully smooth. Must be said. And there is this one “black” flavour which is all dark blue and stuff and looks kinda neat in the glass filled with ice.
Which made me think about the dramatic drop in alcohol consumption and that made me think of a few plainly stupid things one may have allegedly done while under the influence of alcohol.
I like the term “influence of alcohol”. It has a very detached feel about it. Transfer the blame I says, transfer it!”Oh you see I was under the influence……” I wonder if any one actually buys that anymore. “Oh my god, I was so drunk…I can’t believe I did that”
Reminds me of the time when an acquaintance got positively sloshed on a glass of virgin LIT. It would have been funny if she did not keep elbowing me in the ribs and asking me “Aye, you think she is hot na? Aye aye? Tell na”.
I can form a very strong dislike for the phrase “na”. It has such a massive Nag Factor. “Tell na” and “Please na” and “Fold the paper na” and “Feed the dog na” and “Arrey go save the world naaaaaa”.
Screamed the mountaineer as he fell to his death after being pushed over the edge by an over-enthu and hairy bull.
I had some absolutely gorgeous filter coffee with my southern homies down at Madras Cafe in Matunga (thats Yum for Matunga babeee). Oh, I had forgotten how sublime it can be. Steaming and just a bit bitter and slightly sweet with an aroma that enters your nose and then goes straight to your brain. Super.
I don’t know whether I told you this but one of my finest hours in a classroom was spent acting out the various reactions of a sky-diver when he discovers that the parachute is stuck.
So there was the Hyper Sky Diver (pull, pull pull!!!!) and there was the dopey Sky diver (eh? dude. No work? Eh?) and there was the Resigned to Fate Diver (Oh well, had to happen. Toodles). And I would enact all of these sitting on the front row bench. What made it funnier was that the fellow sitting next to me was a proper prick. A proper know-it all with a caustic tongue.
So I would poke him and say “guess NA” and I would pull of a Pacino-equivalent and he would give me withering look and say “Deleted scene from When Spaz Attacks” and I would break into guffaws.
The fact that all of this was happening during one of the lectures just made it so much more fun.
Yelled the second mountaineer as he too fell to a similar fate.