Where I live a little. Like really live.

A strange chain of events saw me visit Delhi recently. Oh that city in winter! She just welcomes you in you know, cussing you and abusing you and threatening to kill you. But what a heart. What a heart I says.

Anyway, had an absolutely fantastic time. Visited my old adda at Bhoghal with its crazy, completely illegal constructions and the hot Afghani women and so much hustle and bustle. Swung by my peeps at Def Col (which has a new Amici btw. Finally a decent eating place) and then swung away to Hauz Khas Village to be all yuppy-ish.

The best was saved for JNU where a long, long night was spent over old Monk and some other unmentionables. And then we packed into a car and drove down the freezing streets looking for ice cream. And found it and ate it with stupid smiles on our faces cause the ice cream was so cold and tasted so good and the cop vehicles kept passing us by, their red battis painting red over our faces. It was fucking awesome.

Too short a visit though. Just too short. Didnt even get the chance to go to Purani dilli and stuff my face with all kinds of chaat and parathas and kulche cholles and then move onto the kebabs and the butter chicken and all these hot tawa-fried, deep-fried, bubbling bits of heaven.


Also went for a friend’s wedding in Guwahati. Highlight of the trip was the groom doing the total dirty dance to the tune of “Oooh la la laaa” all around the bride while she just stood there, embarrassed and happy at the same time. It was a beautiful moment, it really was.

That urge to travel is slowly but surely coming back. Those dirty blue berths of Sleeper Class are calling me again. The last seat on the bus, the one which throws you around as you jostle down barely-there roads. Squeezing onto the window seat of the Sumo as it coughs and shivers its way up the curly road. The waking up in a tiny bed, under layers of mattresses and then stepping out to see some of the most beautiful mountains in the world.  Walking through tiny, tiny paths and stopping every now and then to catch your breath and hearing the silence, just the silence, smashing through your head.

Fuck. Yeah, it is all coming back now. Bit by bit.


So I happened to be in my post-bath towel when somebody knocked on the door. My friend (with whom I happened to be sharing the room with) opened the door without any consideration of the fact that I was topless. Said door opened. I moved to the side, covered my moobs and just stood there. The Knockee spoke for 5-10 mins with friend while I just stood there, moobs covered with my boxers (which I was about to put on). It must have made quite a funny sight.


Oh and I had luchis. Like not normal luchis but the ones stuffed with this paste made from ground peas and other masala. It was gorgeous.

Oh and I also had this chilly pork in this place called Joe’s Kitchen and it was fuckin spectacular. Like good, tender pieces of piggy tossed with onions and hot, hot green chillies and then fried so that the little pieces of piggy fat add to the flavor. And then it is served steaming right in front of you with this spicy, fresh tomatoe chutney kind of thing. Oh good lord man. Yummay.

Food is good and makes for some pretty interesting conversation. But then there is only so much I can talk without drooling.

Oh and I heard there is this super sexy place in Basavangudi called New Prashant Hotel which apparently serves the best non-bhej food ever. Plus half the thrill is going to the pure-veg Basavangudi and belting me some animals.

Am also on the lookout for some gowda biryani which is apparently green in colour or something like that.


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One Response to Where I live a little. Like really live.

  1. relativelytruthful says:

    really nice post 🙂

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