Lapses of lingy…

Done For The Day…Sigh!

Spent the weeknd in slow motion and it was sheer bliss…read a racy bestseller post stomaching the classics and some contemporary literature. Feasted on Thai food. Downed 3 glasses of white wine( not with the Thai afre though). Got my eye brows thinned and shaped.

Plus I have a stunning outfit to boast of for the wedding season ahead…a turquoise blue top in rich brocade with silver thread and set off with beige-brown flowers, and 2 toned blue and brown pair of bootleg trousers in raw silk. I will just throw on a chiffon stole in blue and brown and the whole outfit is embrodered with silver work.   

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My Pushy Friend cum Is In Town…Grrr!

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2 Weddings & A Headache

It’s that time of the year again when someone or the other is racing to the altar and hence one has to do mundane things like think about what outfit to wear and  what twould make the perfect gift for the lovely couple.

Wedding No. 1- A Getaway Wedding

This year a dear pal of mine is tying the knot. This person is extremely creative, passionate and avant-garde in her approach to life. In fact she’s a beautiful person and goes by the name of Poornima. I am extremely happy for her and just like the person, the wedding is also an avant-garde affair. She’s having a ‘getaway’ wedding at a place called Rainy Resort. Thus for 2 whole days we shall be transported out of the city and into the lush green locales of Maharashtra’s hinterland.

Wedding No. 2- Sorpoatel, Mandos and all 
Wedding no. 2 is in Goa. My cousin Ryle is tying the knot with his girlfriend of a couple of years. Now this wedding will be a wee bit different. It shall be held as per family tradition in the local Club ( pronounced as cluuuu-b a la Portuguese style) and will have the entire family in attendance. Family functions are of course a lot of fun because my bevy of cousins will gear up to look their sparkling best on D-day, gowns, stilettoes and all. And of course a lot of relatives and family friends will give me that knowing look which means, ‘when’s your big day, honey?’.

There will be corny jokes and of course mum will subject me to a ’talk’ about how men like slimmer women and such poppycock. Sometimes, she manages to ruffle my feathers, but most of the time what goes in through one ear, promptly emerges through the other. At the end of the day, my sensibility should shine, bright and clear and not be drowned in all that wedding fervour and pressure, which I think is highly overated in any case.  

I’m all for fancy weddings…except when it comes to whipping up a fancy gown. The tragic fact is that I shall never be able to wear this gown to anotherr family wedding ever again…because everyone’s already seen it. A repeat would cause nothing less than a scandal…

So this time, a gown it shall NOT be. I’m thinking indo-western fusion. I’m thinking shades of turquise blue and bottle green. I’m thinking vibrance and style as opposed to convention and cut.

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A Hothouse of Inflated Egos…

That’s how one can describe Mumbai city these days. Tempers are flying high, patience is running low and the average person’s attention span is non-existent. Day in and day out, one has to confront control freaks who wait to impose their philosophy upon you…me included.

As a student in Pune city, I was laid-back and content with meeting friends, attending classes and planning ahead…for about a day.  Now, I plot, plan, connive and then act, to the point of getting irate with aggression. Spontaneity is totally lost on me.

In fact, a friend of mine who moved to Mumbai recently says I have ‘changed’.  Yes, I admit there is an urbane monster lurking within me who’s constantly on the offensive. 

…Grrrrrr!

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 Moral Police At Work

I moved out of home in the summer of 92′ and since then have been subject to crummy food, fussy roommates, quirky landladies, formidable wardens etc etc etc, all the usual perks that accompany my ‘living single’ status.

I moved into a hostel managed by neurotic nuns, driven by clockwork. They scuttled about their daily business sporting dull brown habits, unshaven legs and haughty attitudes. My stint with the nuns lasted for 5 years!

During this phase, I almost got ejected from the convent for “conspiring” with 5 other women to ”disturb the peace”. We didn’t do anything spectacular like mess with drugs, smoke cigarettes or get frisky with guys. We just got extra garrulous and in fact boisterous during study time. The 5 of us were summoned into the warden’s office and she threatened to pack us all off to home turf.

A chill ran through my spine as I visualized hurt congealing in my father’s eyes when he would learn all about my impending disgrace. The warden barked insults at us. Her wide hawk-eyes diminished into shiny baubles of contempt. Her expression made her resemble a shrew more than ever…

Surprisingly, all the gals were expelled…except me. I gathered a lot later that the other women were indeed indulging in dubious activities sans my knowledge.

I once had a warden who refused to wear a habit. She was 6 feet tall, came with a shock of white hair and a formidable expression. She wore a knee-length skirt and a shirt and was a bit of a moody creature. One minute she was charming and eloquent and the next, she turned into a ranting, nag. But beneath the shroud of abruptness, she actually was a bit of a pussycat and in fact quite a ‘handsome’ woman. 

She did not wear a habit because she had served in a Swiss finishing school type of institute, where people looked at her with instant suspicion when she donned a habit. Thus the habit was forsaken, so people would relate to her as human being and not regard her as someone who wants to instill and in fact impose her religious ways on mere mortals.

Now, here was a nun with a robust personality as opposed to the mother superior who was a tyrant. 
 

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  A Legacy Called Paranjoti…

Yesterday’s Paranjoti performance was nostalgic. Was I one of those holding fort not so longer ago, on that regal stage, in that grand auditorium with impeccable accoustics and in such august company…? Yes, and I swell with pride.

The ‘messa creola’ with its rustic, folk beats and potent rhythm was very moving, though of course not as powerful in delivery as our South American counterparts.

The Rags were challenging and Mrs. Wadia as usual was at her focused best.

But the group needs younger voices to bring renewed vigour and lend a refreshing tone to the sound. A conductor of the calibre of Mrs. Wadia needs a team of young vocalists to do justice to her talent and skill, who can dance to her tunes as vigourously, as energetically as she desires. That’s all she needs…

If you’re wondering about the photogragh, this pic was taken in 2001, in performance. I am the second person on the right, though it might prove too miniscule for you to decipher. Back then I had a short crop. Twas’ fun donning the sari…and learning to drape it was a perk. I can drape one today in a span of 5 minutes, sans heels and sans a mirror. That’s good for someone who wears one every once in 2 yrs.

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Rude Food…Mmmmm!

Today I feel more alive, exuberant and focused than I have been in a long time…the reason being that I enjoyed 8 hours of blissful slumber after days of  half-baked shut-eye, groggy mornings, cloudy vision and a muddled train of thought. A night of sweet slumber can make one feel sharp, poised and energetic…nothing seems mundane or disdainful…the world appears progressive…I feel progressive! Yippee…

Vir Sanghvi’s Rude Food is proving to be a delicious read and I often feel very hungry in the midst of every chapter. It’s one mean book about food and the delicate trappings that accompany a meal. Mr. Sanghvi is neither a chef nor a culinary connoisseur, but he writes from the point of view of the average Indian consumer who relishes and values taste and service over etiquette and tradition.

Which explains why stubborn  Indian palates prefer the Indian-Chinese style of Chinese over bland Cantonese ‘principles’, and why the stinky, smelly durain ( which according to VS has the aroma of a dead rat lying in a pool of vomit) is still alien on Indian menus though it’s a delicacy abroad. 

Unlike a lot of ‘food critics’ ( read greenhorn reporters and celebrity chefs) Mr. Sanghvi is not afraid to be candid, and criticize. In fact he started his career in food writing as an ‘undercover’ food critic for 3 years, sporting a psuedonym and all ( who paid for his own meals). Thus no restaurant could second guess who could be toast, next! That’s an admirable quality is a media-crazy country where most columns resemble PR initiatives.

I love food. But if it is not cooked well, I feel agitated and sluggish after eating. In fact one particular Sunday I was very upset because I had 5 meals in different resturants and not one of them was moderately well-cooked. The pleasure I experience after feasting on a well-cooked meal is so immense, it’s difficult to verbalize. But let me try.

Last saturday, I visted a little restuarant called Da Vinci in Palinaka, Bandra. It serves Italian fare which I have tasted on an earlier occasion when I treated some friends on my B’day. The prices are more and the quantities are less and the main course isn’t particularly cutting-edge.

 But the Berry Cheesecake all of Rs. 90, is fresh and fiesty and every morsel just melts in your mouth. You come away feeling satiated because every ounce of energy spent on mastication is worth the effort. Mmmm…

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A Streetcar Named Desire…

Life is a wee bit topsy turvy right now and I feel perenially fatigued, the reason being that after work every day for the past one week, I have been babysitting.

My ex-roommate’s parents have left on a sojourn for some part of the universe, and hence I have the responsibility of protecting my friend from all the anticipated phantasmagoria.

I couldn’t sleep either, post watching ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’, adapted from Tenessee Williams’ play ( one of my favourite plays). The tale has a sordid ending and the protagonist is a pretentious, vain, flirtatious woman who wants to be admired by all and sundry, especially by men.

It was scary, because I saw shades of her in me. The naivete seemed familiar, but thankfully that’s where the resemblance ends, especially since she in ultimately committed to a mental institution!  

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Things To Do…

1. Sing jazz music. Lend my voice to jingles. Shed the inhibitions and…BELT OUT!

2. Attain editorial nirvana.

3. Travel. 
 Soak in the lush greens of Scotland. 
 Relish the local flavour of Greek cuisine.
 Visit the Louvre in Paris. Sip wine at a local cafe.
 Scuba-dive in turqouise blue H2O of the Andamans.
 Backpack across the lenght and breath of Oz.

4. Find true love.

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