Lapses of lingy…

My visit to Fipley’s (open-air restaurant en route to Benaulim) was disastrous.

We were subjected to tackily mixed, remixes of Bollywood and Indipop tracks, booming from a sound system on steroids; loud, jarring stuff, an assault on one’s ear drums! Nightclub music in a lounge-y restaurant — bad idea. And the red light was hurting my eyes.

We waited about 15 minutes for a waiter, most of whom looked sheepish, not to mention a little supercilious. This was the time to ask a very important question: why are we here and not in a nondescript Goan shack with mean seafood and swift service? Conversations were impossible and there was no wine and food on the table. And so we headed to a nondescript Goan shack on the beach with music from Worldspace radio and no other trimmings except mean seafood and swift service.

Chopin said simplicity is sometimes the hardest thing. I would have to agree.

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My trip to Goa was an odd mix of peaceful moments, and some that left me feeling very agitated and disappointed, in that order.

Midnight mass was the best I have attended in years. The mood was very serene. Scintillating clothes and shoes and jewellery did not hijack the service. The homily was not merely relevant; it was profound, and I am a great believer in profundity. No scramble for parking and seats. No crowds. Post, we had coffee and cake, of which there were lots for everyone. The logistics were perfect.

Cut to the present. Back in Mumbai, yesterday when the traffic cops halted my cab, for a change I heaved a sigh of relief, with not an iota of irritation; the sight of the cops managing traffic so efficiently was reassuring. Cut to Margao on Dec 24th. Traffic was a colossal mess. And the experience of travelling by local bus of match box size and people packed in like sardines (akin to Mumbai trains in the peak hours), left me feeling very gloomy. Not a traffic cop in sight, the heat was unbearable and there were no trees on the sidewalk to shelter us from the heat of the sun. Most of the way, there was no sidewalk. I felt very defeated because I did not know how to drive (on my VVI to-do list, now).

So, Margoa looked messier, more chaotic and crowded than some years back. A stone’s throw away from THE stadium (where many a national football and cricket match is held) that is located on the outskirts of Margao where we live, it is dirty, smelly and shoddy. The local newspapers were splashed with news of the SEZs issue, and the agitation by Goan people against it. The whole plan is really a scam. Some people (read politicians will make a lot of money) and the Goan landscape, will no doubt be corroded, with no thought to preservation. How do we know this for a fact: there is no transparency at all.

GMAS the group spearheading the agitation requested tourists to head back to their countries or states by December 28, because there may be violence to make their voice understood, better. Some national news channels, the CM and the PM, positioned this request as a ‘threat’, the kind made by a terrorist faction, who is  plotting to disrupt the yuletide cheer. Sometimes desperate times bear desperate measures; one cannot condone threats, however this one, I think was borne of desperation. I don’t think they intended any violence.

It seems the agitation has received a shot in the arm; according to architect Charles Correa’s report on the SEZ plan it is detrimental to the overall interest of Goa. The report does not merely criticise the SEZ plan. It succinctly paves the way for development in Goa; the state needs “excellent infrastructure in terms of roads, water and power to incoming units”, it said.

The big question is; how can we hope for such common sense with our brand of decadent politicians? Goa needs a CEO, who can slap things into shape. And another big question: how long can we depend on tourism (the current state of which can be described as ‘cheap’, literally and metaphorically) as a means of livelihood? It is akin to squeezing the last few drops of milk from a sick cow.

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The season’s most clichéd question: ‘what plans for New Year?’
“I’m clueless”, seems to be the trendiest answer!

Also, all the ‘cool’ people seem to think Christmas office parties are passé and not worth attending. And yet, office parties can be insightful. This motley crew of people, of all shapes, sizes, smells, mentalities and dispositions, who you mostly know, so superficially little about, reflect a different hue, more so when the drink in their hand is alcoholic. Sometimes it’s not a pretty sight. And sometimes the geekiest of them all will metamorphose into a uber-party animal from the John Travolta-Saturday night fever league.

On a different note, I am off to Goa. Yippee!

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Today, I heard the oddest New Year’s resolutions being reeled off over a glass of cutting chai.

One friend wants to reduce the number of friends he has. Some of them are like excess baggage, dead wood, autumn leaves. They have nothing to say to our friend and vice versa except Happy Birthday and Happy New Year. Small talk is killing, so he plans to separate the wheat form the chaff. Downsize. Have a network of friends that really mean a lot to him and vice versa.  

He also plans to find love, the true, eternal kind. There was such simple, determination in the statement, it made me smile, and give him credit for such hope. I suppose I have it too, but these days my attitude towards love has changed so drastically, that there is nothing black and white about it. It’s not even grey, but a range of lovely colours, prime and otherwise.

The other participant in this wishful conversation says he wants to build up a sturdy, wide social network in Mumbai. People to party with, hang with, exchange one’s deepest, darkest wants and desires with, attend music concerts with, discuss books and more. And of course people who accept you for you.

He also wants a part-time lover.

I realise, that these two individuals are diagrammatically opposite in personalities and preferences. New Year resolutions reflect a lot!

As for yours truly, she wants to focus on improving what we call the Emotional Quotient.

Read: quit shouting/ticking off people in an intrusive manner; maintain a congenial disposition, and all of that. Also, become a healthy person, physically, spiritually and emotionally. If one has these things sorted, everything else falls into place.

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There’s a new club on town called the Blue Frog, which specialises in live acts, started by the Indigo man. But guess what? According to some birdies who went for the opening night, the non-cover entry is Rs 300 (non-cover). And if you want a place to park, you need to book a ‘pot’, which is basically a table, for Rs 2000 (non-cover). The description on the web site is all about catering to music tastes of urbane Indians, which sounds rather sincere.

And then they go and slap non-cover charges like that. The audience will automatically get filtered by virtue of the choice of music. So, why do we have to pay so exorbitantly for a seat? Anyways, this is what the birdies tell me. Need to visit and make a decision in person.

By the way, the birdies enjoyed themselves, immensely, even though there was no seat. And they are snooty and hard to please. Maybe the concept will work.

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On Dec 21^st, I finally go HOME!

Looking forward to roasted turkey and Bailey’s Irish Cream on Christmas Day. Also, midnight mass. Cousins and dozens. The folks. Slightly incoherent but determined banter by the grandmom (mostly focused on my marital status and my cousin’s unborn child).

Looking forward to doing a whole lot of nothing.

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Impromtu, starring Hugh Grant, was treat to watch. A little outrageous and rather witty, I stumbled upon it on Sony Pix, just as I was dashing off for a gig.

One would expect a film like that to be outrageous considering that, it is based on the true stories of some of the world’s greatest artists; Franz Lizt is talented and outrageous. George Sand is talented, bold and super-outrageous, in her lifestyle, relationships and general persona (she often wore men’s clothes, as it allowed her to roam the streets of Paris more ‘freely’. Chopin is talented and tame, but is soon corrupted (for the better, possibly) by Ms Sand, when the two embarked on a passionate affair.

The best thing about the film is the dialogue. Every fifth sentence is worth quoting.

Here’s one I loved: Art does not apologise.

Now, try telling that to our cultural police!

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Yesterday I met a 24-year old, who had a wee skirmish with his girlfriend, aged 23. Apparently he forgot to mention some obscure detail from his daily schedule, which slipped out during an erstwhile phone conversation. Ms 23 was upset, and now intends to be less forthcoming with obscure details from her own life.

Ahhhh…love at 23 and 24…it can be so silly and sweet, simultaneously.

Those of us, who are in our 30’s, listened with faint amusement and nonchalance, as our friend sighed with supreme intensity. We relished our bhuna ghosht and naan; he was experiencing hell raised to the power of 20.

We tried to comfort him; assure him that all shall pass. It was rather difficult to get him to divert his attentions to a wonderful world, beyond Ms 23. Calm down and talk to her tomorrow, we told him, with a firmness that finally managed to bring out the cheery, wit in him, once more.

On a different note, I was telling one of my male friends how I like space, physically and figuratively, in all relationships, romantic and otherwise. “You sound like a guy!” he gasped. Hmmm…our pal Giuliana Depandi from ENews!, once compared Anjolie Jolie to a guy, when it comes to her attitude. Now, that can’t be bad. After all she has Brad Pitt.

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Last weekend I was invited to a Bollywood-theme Sangeet bash. It had a very Karan Johar flick-like nip in the air. NRIs dancing to techno Bhangra. Foreigners. Prizes for the best dancers. Photographs of Bollywood on-screen couples. The whole big, fat, NRI wedding enchilada. Was rather fun to sit back and watch the spectacle. The mood was so infectious, that I too got onto the flow and did my own share of  jhatkas and matkas.

The host is a ‘networking guru’, and rightly so. The first thing he did when I reached the venue was to introduce me to another invitee; a media professional and who had also arrived solo, like moi. It was such a smooth introduction, which leads me to conclude that this man truly deserves his title.

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I read the most loving words, in the written word, from a father to his son, when the latter left home for the first time in pursuit of a career, love, prosperity and all the great things in life. They were penned (in all caps) in a letter sent via the Indian Postal Service.

- Success springs from calmness of the mind. It is often cold iron, which cuts and bends hot iron.

- Shoes we wear are sold in AC showrooms.
While vegetables that we eat are sold on the footpath.
Pizza reaches faster than an ambulance.
Yes, life has its own ways.
Take care of yourself and others around you!

He also mentioned that he felt very proud of his son. Such encouragement, advice, sentiments, actions can mean so much, bridging the generation gap that today’s and yesterday’s generation constantly rants on about.
 

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