Tumhara kya kaam hai.
Jiski bibi moti ho……oh moti moti.
It is actually quite a loaded song that one, full “deal with the cards you have been dealt with son” type mentality floating all over the place.
I must have watched that song a million times on the VHS. Just the song, cause afterwards the shit gets all boring, and there are the normal tears and dishoom dishoom and you are like what the eff ya.
So my lovely lovely lovely Brutus has given me haath like only she can. Conked off forty eight hours before an epic (no seriously epic) ride. No idea what the problem is now, but hopefully it won’t take much time (and even lesser moneys).
But in other good news, I visited this Shivaji Military Cafe the other day and oh dear lord. And I really do mean oh dear lord. Softest, the most tender pieces of chicken found in the midst of this steaming, lightly (oh so lightly) spiced rice. And then there was this mutton fry thing and oh bejesus. Soft, and spicy and just that little bit of mystery. Hai hai.
Jiski bibi kaali ho.
Then then what else.
I was thinking of ambition once again. I would like to have the surname Shastri. There is something very solid about it. Shastreee. Plus it goes so well with a “ji”. “Yes, yes Shastri Ji. Please you make comfortable yes here please?”
We don’t like butchering the language. We like trampling it and then trying to put it back in a tube of toothpaste.
This post has no coherence whatsoever. It is like the script of an animated film written in Russian.
Oh Russians. For the longest time, my only exposure to the Russian accent was “Drop your weapons. You are surrounded” from Rambo 3. And so when I (tried to) read all those Russian fuckers, that was the accent my mind would make. Man, try reading Crime and Punishment with that accent running in your head.
I sizzled down to Goa a few weeks ago. All green and raining. And we did the “young peoples” thing which is to rent a couple of scooters and go here and there and eat, and eat and drink and be merry. First time I did that. Was quite nice. Had no idea it was so pretty.
There was this one stupid night where we went from one end of the State to another. Two, crazy bastards wringing their Honda Dio’s down NH-17 while the raindrops crashed against their stupid, smiling faces.
Must do it again.