Lapses of lingy…

I bought a designer perfume last week — a first for me — post an entertaining book launch within the same mall.Eternity Moment by Calvin Kline is a floral fragrance that’s full of contradictions (somewhat like moi?!).

It’s not loud, yet distinct, elegant yet playful.

I meant to buy the 50 ml bottle @ Rs 2,500. But the moment I knew I wanted EM, it was the sales guy’s cue to make his pitch. A patient fella’ who showed me a dozen fragrances in-between whiffs of coco beans, he recommended that I buy the 100 ml, priced at Rs 3,400. Double the amount but for less than double the price.

The book launch was teeming with geeky kids, who came forward to do book readings. One little fellow who could not spell to save his life, did not allow it to dampen his confidence. He continued to make a genuine effort to read. We applauded. I met this actress from my theatre days in Pune. Now, she does voice-overs and theatre in Mumbai.

She was accompanied by a familiar face — a television actress who often plays a negative character in these saas-bahu dramas. I told my friend that the vamp was excellent at playing devious characters (that mole on her face lends character, too), and her friend took it as a compliment.

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Last week we caught the first show of a new play called Chaos Theory, penned by the same scriptwriter as The President Is Coming. I liked TPIC and have, in fact, have seen it twice, the first time because my friend did the lighting.

The second time, because I wanted to see if they had finetuned their act, and as it turns out, they had.

Now, there’s a movie on the anvil with Bollywood actress Konkona Sen replacing one of the lead actors who in fact did a sturdy job with the role. The rest of the cast remains the same, except for one more character. But such is lifes dearies (as Honey, HT’s fictitious columnist gossip columnist of Under Honey’s Hat would proclaim).

CT is a love story, essentially. This brand of love is a little self-destructive and seems to stay with the two protagonists for an eternity. Yet, it’s never experienced in its full glory (what a waste!) because one party is too cynical and cowardly to risk being hurt, and the other aspires for all things bourgeois (security, home, kids, et al) besides love. The script has flashes of wit and some entertaining performances by the supporting actors who mostly play the significant others of the two protagonists.

One’s a fanatic communist writer who can’t express himself, emotionally. The other is the original groupie who loves men from the intelligentsia, but who is not unintelligent herself. She’s also flighty. There’s a funny scene where the Communist reads a line from his book (or was it a chapter) titled My Samosa, Your Vagina (or something that effect). The audience laughed loudest at this juncture. Of course, it’s a little gimmicky, but at least there are references to real events through the 60’s and right into this century, which makes many of the scenes relevant and relatable.

There’s one BIG problem, though, in the scheme of things. The two protagonists who harbour a ‘love-at-first-sight-that’s-never-fully-requited’ sort of love, share a chemistry that’s as deep a puddle. There’s no intensity, no flashes of blazing chemistry, no intense moments of truth. So, that’s a bit of a damp squib. But on the whole, CT is fairly entertaining, and you will enjoy lots of laughs.

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September 28 is Daughter’s Day, apparently. We put up a little snippet about it on the LIFESTYLE portal I currently edit.

A close girlfriend read the offer with moist eyes; her dad had passed away when she was six years old. Her mom, followed soon after.

“Life would have been very different if they were alive,” she said, thoughtfully. For one, she may have not married the wrong man. Two, she may have studied further and chartered a career as opposed to grabbing the first job that came her way. Touche.

Her sentiments reminded me to be thankful for one good thing, good, kind folks, who come with no disclaimers in their love for me. Touche.

In the picture: The face of a cow, embroidered on my green skirt of raw silk, lovingly sewn together by rehabilitated prostitutes. This one never fails to win me a frown, a stare or a gasp of approval.

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A friend of mine, painstakingly made a memorial video of his late sister who passed away from cancer, sadly, before he got the opportunity to meet her (yes, it’s a long, tragic story).

So, then in my demanding-princess mode, I demanded a video for myself. And guess what, he actually went and created one, and set it to a very 90’s-esqe remixed version of ABBA’s Dancing Queen. Whoohoo!

It’s on Utube and my friend ALTAF has already posted a devious comment (something about me indulging in Odissi-esqe movements when I wish to make a point)! The video is titled THE MERRIL and is hilarious. No, actually it’s a little ridiculous in a goofy sort of way, because it features me in different moods, sometimes posing, sometimes sleeping, sometimes pretending to be maternal.

There’s one with me and a lil’ un in my arms. No, the kid isn’t mine. But a cute little cherub called Dhruv who enjoys making conversations with inanimate objects and posters that sport sexy flamenco dancers, baring cleavage, et al. Me thinks he takes after his pop.

And there’s another one of me and a guy. Cousins pay heed. That is not my guy but that of my school friend Mobash.

And then there’s a pic of me and Yael (in a black shirt and introduced to me by the video-maker), who is somewhat dysfunctional, yet a good human being (on most days), when she’s not all angst-y.

The pic of me with sunglasses is hilarious. I was getting ready for work and a friend of mine (the video-maker) asked me to strike a pose. That ugly, fat, orange bangle HAS to go! By the way, these pics were taken when I had long locks. They have now been snipped off, and I have a short crop.

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What’s scarier than someone raising his hand on another in a moment of passion, is an aggressive reaction from a bystander, the kind that involves ‘the eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’.

Many (some good friends, too) seem to think that violence is the answer to a lot of things. But the truth is, violence can never nip problems in the bud. It merely suppresses them for a while, and still kills a lot of innocent people, along the way.

Often the partakers are not those who want a solution, but those who want to be viewed as the harbingers of justice and change. And their motives are questionable.

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It’s been an action-packed week. As well as a physically exhausting one.

But as my weary fingers type this potentially lacklustre post, I have something to look forward too: a meal combo of honey chilly prawns on noodles, sweet corn chicken soup and a spring roll, from home delivery outfit Mr Chow’s; I felt like a wee bit of comfort food.

I mentioned this to a friend who was in the process of enticing me to meet him and some others for coffee, and this was his retort: looking forward to the verdict (review of Mr Chow’s on my blog). Grin.

On a different note, I met up with a friend for a tete-a-tete, recently. We lunched at Firangi Paani, a restobar-lounge at Fun Republic in the burbs. Everyone seems to be raving about it.

The conversation was great; she’s currently in the process of taking to task, all those people in her life, for the time/s they have been insensitive, callous, et al, to her. I got a piece of her mind for my own insensitive misdemeanors of yore. In the weeks to come, she will be doing more lunches with other members of her inner circle, to put past demons to rest.

Seems like a cleansing ritual, and a good idea. The buffet at Firangi Paani — not so much. The snacks were greasy, as was the main course, the dessert limp and insipid pastries (thank goodness for the fresh fruit and ice cream). The salad bar was a relief; you can mix and match your meats and veggies with sauces and condiments.

The buffet is priced at about Rs 450 or so (inclusive of tax), and they throw in a glass of wine. The decor is reminiscent of Ruby Tuesday and TGIF. My palate has been spoiled forever after having the Sunday brunch at Indigo. Now, my taste buds expect every morsel to be nutritious and have a distinct flavour, without too much spice and cooking oil.

UPDATE

Mr Chow’s sweet corn chicken soup is perfect comfort food — steaming hot and generously laden with chunks of chicken. I suspect they use less cornflour, than other Chinese restaurants in the neighbourhood.

The chilly honey prawns seeped into the noodles, and to be honest, was a wee bit too spicy for my palate (though I think most of my spice-loving friends would think otherwise). But the veggies were fresh and wholesome and there was no grease. The spring roll is tucked away in the fridge, alongside a noodle leftovers; the combo meal (Rs 270) portion is actually enough for two people. Mr Chow gets a thumbs-up.

UPDATE

This morning I dissed my usual chappatis to have the chicken spring roll. The grated cabbage and carrot were crunchy, and almost fresh. The spring roll was generously endowed with chicken chunks. And it wasn’t spicy or greasy, and finding an Indian Chinese chicken roll in the neighbourhood is akin to finding a pin in a haystack.

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My balanced life mantra isn’t panning out as smoothly as anticipated. I feel weary.

And drat, there’s a birthday to be attended as well. I wish we could Second Life this celebration, and others as we deem convenient!

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Work has suddenly gotten hectic and it is my top priority to continue having a life, despite this new development. I have discovered in the past that it’s pretty easy to let our extra-curricular personalities stew within the juice that is corporate life.

On the other hand, I am so over the ‘work hard, party’ harder mantra. Partying is seriously overrated. There is life beyond partying. There’s a lifestyle, which is more balanced but not so totally choreographed, that you squeeze all the fun out of it.

On a different note, a colleague of mine thought he was cracking a topnotch joke when he said to me (at 1 am in the morning): Merril, you have been bought over by Bank of America (ha ha ha!).

Disclaimer: The headline of this post is a little misleading since your DSP Merrill Lynch funds are safe. But I took creative license, the way most people do when I mention my name.

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A pal of mine recently watched Mamma Mia in the theatre, and it turns out that the average age of the audience was 72! The rest, all of five people (including my friend), were in their late 20s-early 30s.

Also, I like kinda dig ABBA and sing their songs at my gigs.

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I saw a scintillating Russian contemporary dance performance directed by Tatiana Baganova, yesterday.

Though the dance moves lacked a certain finish, sharpness and symmetry (in the group sequences), the drama and lighting, the waxing and waning of sound intensity and the sheer, brute energy of the performance, transported us into a quirky, fluid, experimental world (typical of contemporary dance) .

Some of the concepts required props like balloons, sand (or was it powder?), air bubbles (resembling crystal paper weights with falling snow) and chopsticks. The lighting used bold hues of blue and red.

At one point the back of the stage was lit a ruby red, and as the dancers swooped and twirled and writhed with agility with the wall as a backdrop, it felt as if we were gazing down from a height and the wall was a floor. During another sequence, the dancers spilled powders across the length of the stage, their movements akin to wheat being separated from the chaff. And as it lay there, the red light played tricks on our eyes, painting a beautiful picture, that of sand dunes in the desert.

Post, this we went for dinner to Da Vinci, where I ate garlic bread and mashed potato (yes, I shall rot in carb hell).

On a different note, I have quite a few friends who are grappling with words, the right ones, to express their truth to those they love. It’s hard and torturous, and there are moments where they feel horribly torn, between telling the truth and stalling it, and then pondering over how to couch it, so as to reduce the pain this truth shall inevitably bring to those they love.

But I agree with the words of a wise man: The truth will set you free.

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