My mind has become a proper gutter.
That’s another word which gives me great joy when said in a ghati manner. Gutter, gutter, gutter.
Aye gutter mind you having!
I went to Ville Parle the other day. Villay frikkin Parle. That is too close to (yughs) Andheri for comfort. Anyway, I went there and there was this HUGE church and there was a food festival thrown by East Indians. And so I went and all ’em auntas reminded me of my school teachers. Cause they were wearing black skirts and dresses and spoke in that tone which I find very hard to describe. It is like this fast English, the speed of Marathi almost. And a lot of “aye man” and stuff like that.
Anyway, they had all this yummy food and I had me some pork vindaloo (with that tangy vinegar thing) which was dipped in this bread thing called fugiyas. First time I had fugiyas and that really made me really happy cause it feels like it has been a while since I tried something new. And then there were some beef kebabs (loaded with ginger!) and some spicy mutton pattice and this really funky sweet dish. It looked like confetti and had bits of jaggery in it. It was really interesting.
And there was this dancing and singing thing happening as well, total fun. That familiar swaying dance, hands on the hips, short sari curled up and the boys with their shirt buttons open and tapori look.
It was evidently some sort of gathering to build East Indian identity cause the eMCe kept repeating a couple of slogans on how they were the first inhabitants of the city and how they had been screwed over by the government.
I don’t know whether it is this city or this country which does that to you – forces you to clamour and beg and then demand your own identity. The need to mobilise, to build up the numbers or risk being ignored.
I took a million photos though and that was pretty cool. And some of the people were just so happy to be photographed. All smiles and stupid poses. Shame can be such a wonderful thing to lose.
My family excels in tough love. It really does.