Dear Reader,
This has been a weekend of discovery. Most of which would not make my pleasant Colgate Top 10, but then again, things rarely do. Still, like Sisyphus, I persevere so let's get to it.
Getting drunk no longer has an upside
I said "getting drunk" not drinking so don't chuck a frustrated "pshaw!" in my direction just yet. If my life experiences have taught anything, it's to keep a bottle handy when the twists & turns take on a fully hyper-bola level curve. And, if you've been reading this blog long enough, life most certainly does throw me a beautiful curveball ever so often. So, as I was saying, getting drunk. Being in the advertising racket, I do have friends on the wrong side of 30 (in my opinion) and whose idea of a good time is to hang out at bar-estaurants a lot fancier than ones I gave my custom to in my 20s. It so happened to be one of these friends' birthdays on Friday and the celebration was at one of these numerous watering holes in Dadar.
I'm like an electron; my natural state is negative. Gratifyingly, I'm not alone because anyone in advertising these days is about as frustrated as it is possible to be without going all Fidel on the state of things. So, drugs, legal and semi-legal are basically our welcoming red flags. Having said that, today's liquor prices have a magical ability to sober us up even before we drink. Which is why I carefully scrutinized my wallet, did some surreptitious calculations and paced myself to enjoy 5 beers over the evening.
I woke up on Saturday wishing I was dead. Lord in heaven, I have been drunk, suffered hangovers that made me question why my parents even had me, slept off on trains and in shop doorways, so I've seen my fair quota of 'woohoo' & 'bleary' but this was something else. There was a point in my life (and, I'm sure in yours too) when drinking was much fun and getting drunk was awesome. The tongue became silver, the company convivial and by chance, were one to catch a glimpse of the visage in the mirror, there would be a curt nod of respect and even a dash of kind admiration on the rare occasion. Critically, the next day, however bad it was, could be managed. But it's time to lay the 6-shooters down Ma... if anything, avoid shots altogether. Life will be infinitely gentler.
I'm of an age when bar-estaurant music is overrated
Once upon a time, booze and music were the dosa & chutney of my life. I loved that glorious moment when just enough liquor had gone down, my favourite track would kick in and I'd sing along. Heck, the whole fucking bar would. It was as close to religious rapture as one is likely to get. No longer, I'm sad to report. Nowadays, it seems like any place with a decent set of speakers is anxious to advertise said goods and plays music so loud, I suspect the establishments are in cahoots with the local hearing aid supplier. Why else, pray tell, would EVERY ONE OF THEM play music at a decibel that negates normal conversation? Yes, sure, the early 20s Pretty Young Things will surely toss back the liquor and proceed to gyrate enthusiastically. What about the people in their, er, early-ish 30s who wish to talk? Or is talking to someone unfashionable? Maybe. A few friends and I had, in a moment of weakness, visited one such 'social' place some months ago. When the volume hit the supersonic level and the rest of the place had got in touch with their inner Helen, we requested the waiter to dial it down a notch. Giving us clueless people a look of pity this wanker suggested we text each other if we wanted to talk.
We took the hint and upped and left for Janta where, thank Jesus, Dolby Surround Sound has not yet made an appearance.
Parts of South Bombay are shady. As fuck.
As a suburb-dweller, I view South Bombay as the genteel, Richie Rich side of the city. It can't be helped. The bars there have better character, the roads seem vaguely cleaner and the architecture is certainly much more pleasing to the eye. I mean, just compare Peddar Road and Saki Naka during a gridlock. I know where I'd rather be. Anyway, a friend's better half (and aren't they all, in your heart of hearts) is an artist and was having her first exhibition in the city in Mazgaon. Being the typical adventurous Bombay lad, I've never visited the Harbour Line side of the city. Never had to until now. Big Broogle was kind enough to let me know that the location was a stone's throw away from Dockyard Road Station and I was delighted because the peculiar economic structure of Bombay Rail means I could travel almost 20 kms to reach the place by spending 10 Rupees. Privately, I'm amazed the Railways still functions on these kinds of margins.
Anyway, I exited the station and followed instructions that would take me to said location. Except the Maps did not let on that I could reach it by going through the kind of place where one could be casually relieved of 50 bucks... with violence thrown in for free. The sweat pores began to work overtime as I shuffled along the road. I'm no sybarite or hedonist but all I could think of was that I'd just bought a new iPhone for crissakes! And, on a an EMI plan too, so I'd rather not have donated it to our happening underbelly economy. Within a minute, two men had hooted at me and asked if I wanted something (hopefully, drugs). About 50 yards down, another enterprising fellow asked me the same question but the hint offered was mostly carnal in nature. I thought about my dear ones, sadly not near at all, wished carrying marlinspikes was a trend and quicked my pace. Man, was I thankful to reach the exhibition centre. A converted warehouse zone, it was an oasis of security amidst a Sahara of shadiness. The whole experience was a real pity because the Harbour side of the city still retains a ghost of the charm that the coastal city that was Bombay could boast about. Too bad you won't want to hang around there long enough to discover any of it.
And that, as they say, is that.
Song for the moment: Yeh raatein, nayee purani - OST Julie
This has been a weekend of discovery. Most of which would not make my pleasant Colgate Top 10, but then again, things rarely do. Still, like Sisyphus, I persevere so let's get to it.
Getting drunk no longer has an upside
I said "getting drunk" not drinking so don't chuck a frustrated "pshaw!" in my direction just yet. If my life experiences have taught anything, it's to keep a bottle handy when the twists & turns take on a fully hyper-bola level curve. And, if you've been reading this blog long enough, life most certainly does throw me a beautiful curveball ever so often. So, as I was saying, getting drunk. Being in the advertising racket, I do have friends on the wrong side of 30 (in my opinion) and whose idea of a good time is to hang out at bar-estaurants a lot fancier than ones I gave my custom to in my 20s. It so happened to be one of these friends' birthdays on Friday and the celebration was at one of these numerous watering holes in Dadar.
I'm like an electron; my natural state is negative. Gratifyingly, I'm not alone because anyone in advertising these days is about as frustrated as it is possible to be without going all Fidel on the state of things. So, drugs, legal and semi-legal are basically our welcoming red flags. Having said that, today's liquor prices have a magical ability to sober us up even before we drink. Which is why I carefully scrutinized my wallet, did some surreptitious calculations and paced myself to enjoy 5 beers over the evening.
I woke up on Saturday wishing I was dead. Lord in heaven, I have been drunk, suffered hangovers that made me question why my parents even had me, slept off on trains and in shop doorways, so I've seen my fair quota of 'woohoo' & 'bleary' but this was something else. There was a point in my life (and, I'm sure in yours too) when drinking was much fun and getting drunk was awesome. The tongue became silver, the company convivial and by chance, were one to catch a glimpse of the visage in the mirror, there would be a curt nod of respect and even a dash of kind admiration on the rare occasion. Critically, the next day, however bad it was, could be managed. But it's time to lay the 6-shooters down Ma... if anything, avoid shots altogether. Life will be infinitely gentler.
I'm of an age when bar-estaurant music is overrated
Once upon a time, booze and music were the dosa & chutney of my life. I loved that glorious moment when just enough liquor had gone down, my favourite track would kick in and I'd sing along. Heck, the whole fucking bar would. It was as close to religious rapture as one is likely to get. No longer, I'm sad to report. Nowadays, it seems like any place with a decent set of speakers is anxious to advertise said goods and plays music so loud, I suspect the establishments are in cahoots with the local hearing aid supplier. Why else, pray tell, would EVERY ONE OF THEM play music at a decibel that negates normal conversation? Yes, sure, the early 20s Pretty Young Things will surely toss back the liquor and proceed to gyrate enthusiastically. What about the people in their, er, early-ish 30s who wish to talk? Or is talking to someone unfashionable? Maybe. A few friends and I had, in a moment of weakness, visited one such 'social' place some months ago. When the volume hit the supersonic level and the rest of the place had got in touch with their inner Helen, we requested the waiter to dial it down a notch. Giving us clueless people a look of pity this wanker suggested we text each other if we wanted to talk.
We took the hint and upped and left for Janta where, thank Jesus, Dolby Surround Sound has not yet made an appearance.
Parts of South Bombay are shady. As fuck.
As a suburb-dweller, I view South Bombay as the genteel, Richie Rich side of the city. It can't be helped. The bars there have better character, the roads seem vaguely cleaner and the architecture is certainly much more pleasing to the eye. I mean, just compare Peddar Road and Saki Naka during a gridlock. I know where I'd rather be. Anyway, a friend's better half (and aren't they all, in your heart of hearts) is an artist and was having her first exhibition in the city in Mazgaon. Being the typical adventurous Bombay lad, I've never visited the Harbour Line side of the city. Never had to until now. Big Broogle was kind enough to let me know that the location was a stone's throw away from Dockyard Road Station and I was delighted because the peculiar economic structure of Bombay Rail means I could travel almost 20 kms to reach the place by spending 10 Rupees. Privately, I'm amazed the Railways still functions on these kinds of margins.
Anyway, I exited the station and followed instructions that would take me to said location. Except the Maps did not let on that I could reach it by going through the kind of place where one could be casually relieved of 50 bucks... with violence thrown in for free. The sweat pores began to work overtime as I shuffled along the road. I'm no sybarite or hedonist but all I could think of was that I'd just bought a new iPhone for crissakes! And, on a an EMI plan too, so I'd rather not have donated it to our happening underbelly economy. Within a minute, two men had hooted at me and asked if I wanted something (hopefully, drugs). About 50 yards down, another enterprising fellow asked me the same question but the hint offered was mostly carnal in nature. I thought about my dear ones, sadly not near at all, wished carrying marlinspikes was a trend and quicked my pace. Man, was I thankful to reach the exhibition centre. A converted warehouse zone, it was an oasis of security amidst a Sahara of shadiness. The whole experience was a real pity because the Harbour side of the city still retains a ghost of the charm that the coastal city that was Bombay could boast about. Too bad you won't want to hang around there long enough to discover any of it.
And that, as they say, is that.
Song for the moment: Yeh raatein, nayee purani - OST Julie
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