Monday, May 17, 2010

I've beeno

Now, most of you who read this meet me and text me often enough to know what's happening in my life. For those of you who have been wondering where I've been, here's an update:

Thursday, March 11, 2010


The thing about long-distance love affairs is that...I CAN'T STAND THEM! I'll change my mind soon when my better self emerges from the bathroom where it's having a hot, Body Shop scented shower to soothe its worn nerves...but right now I have had it with it being patient and understanding.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Meeting Anthony Bourdain

One of the things I love about A is that he loves his work. I mean, REALLY likes what he does. He's a chef (though he says he isn't technically, but whatever) and it's not a world I understand much. I'm a foodie, definitely, but let's be honest, I'm a ghaati foodie. I love toasted cheese sandwiches dipped in tomato sauce. I'll eat anything as long as it's spicy. I cannot appreciate subtle flavours. If the food doesn't make my throat burn and my eyes water, I don't like it. I am however adventurous with my meats, so that's something.

When A was here last month, eating out with him was an experience. Firstly, he pretty much monopolises the menu and the ordering. 'Hmmm, I think we should have....' and that was it. Then of course when the food came, our man had a comment for each dish. But he was generous with his 'brethren'. If he though people were paying less attention to the food, he would say, 'I think we should eat as as well as talk.' He tipped vigorously. And I watched, amused and fascinated by his bond to those who do what he does.
But the kitchen is not my room. I know nothing of the workings of pots and pans and flavours. I will probably learn someday because it's in my blood, but as of now, I am unashamedly the eater.
But I wanted a glimpse of A's world. Of what he does for 15-16 hours a day for six days a week. And why he loves it enough to ensure he shows up on time after three hours of sleep and with a hangover the size of a beer factory .
So, I did what I do best. I turned to a book. Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. I know nothing about the man except that this book changed A's life years ago.
I didn't expect anything from the book..I simply took it off the bookshelf and started reading. It might as well as have been A talking to me. I'm halfway through the book and I'm hooked. Bourdain doesn't give bullshit. He's not talking about how to cook or recipes or how a chef is really an artist. He loves food, loves his work, loves the lifestyle that goes with being a chef. It's a bawdy, bare-boned world where your work is all that matters. Nobody cares how you look, who you married or how many lines of coke you snorted last night. Unless they want to buy some off you.
I've never taken coke and I never will. But I wholly respect anyone who can be stoned out their brains, but never use that as an excuse for shoddy work.
I'm about halfway through the book, and I'm grinning at regular intervals, because...A's living this life man! The sweat and the burns and constantly smelling of the kitchen. All of it. When he was here, he brought up a rusty oven from his garage, cleaned off the dust, fixed the knobs and proceeded to make dinner. That's probably one of the many times I've fallen in love with him.
Back to Bourdain now!

Friday, January 29, 2010


In about 50 minutes, A's flight will be taking off - first to Hong Kong, then onto The Other Home in Melbourne. I'm sitting here, drowsy from all the cough syrup I've been having (no no, not to numb the pain, I am actually sick) and a little glumstoned.

It's been an incredible month....not always good, but just incredible. Like the kind I'll look back on, and go MAAHHHNNNNNN! And we parted well. I treated myself to one evening of tears and I'll-never-talk-to-him-again sulks, then went back next day and made nice. And let me tell you, that's one I've never done before. I'm chicken enough to hide behind sulks and let things hang.'s good to try new things, so I decided to get my guts out the back of the closet, dust them off and try them on for size.
I don't know what happens next, we'll just have to wait and see. But this month has made it clear that I'm not striking him off my radar anytime soon.
Pray for us ok? I'm not very big on faith, but I'll take all the help I can get.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

I like :)

Friday, January 15, 2010


Life's been picking up, in pace, in value. A year of full-time work completed and a need a for change arisen. Sudden illness, even more sudden death. And seeing A.

Work has been busy and there have been added responsibilities, people I have come to love, drink with and exchange very long SMS-es with. But I think tis time to let go. I've been thinking about it for a while and have given myself about three months to figure out what comes next.

The GPs were here for a month and Dadu fell ill in the midst of their stay. So there was a week of worry and being scared and running back and forth between hospital, home and work. And I rode in an ambulance for the first time in my life. Not something I want to repeat. Dadu was great throughout the whole ordeal, complaining of the noise the machines made and how the stretcher was too hard and how doctors today know 'absolutely nothing.' I also went into an ICU for the first time ever. I'm a kid where hospitals are concerned. I hate the smell, the beeps, the helpless look of people who are waiting. Just waiting.
Dadu pulled through with gusto, the rest of us ate lots of chocolate (I did) and made ourselves generous vodka cocktails every night.

Mum has become Ms Accident-Prone over the last five-six weeks, cutting herself, falling on her bad knee, getting fever and just generally being overwrought. Then, yesterday, my great uncle, Mum's father's older brother had died of a massive attack. I wasn't all that close to him, despite living in the same house for seven years. But, more and more I realise how terribly, terribly sudden these things are. And it reminds me more urgently how far away I am from my mother.

But enough of the gloom and doom. A is here. Here in the same city where I can message him twenty times a day because now each SMS won't cost Rs 5. Call as many times as I want. And actually see and touch and talk to him. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
He's only here another two weeks and we haven't had enough time together. But he has become mood-lifter and hand-holder and understander and all manner of things he wasn't before. And I am struggling to be patient and not go about things in my usual bull-headed way. Trying not to complain or sulk when he can't give me time. Gritting my teeth each time he has other people to meet. Oh, there are questions galore, because neither of us is very sure as to what we're doing. Things are happening and we're going with the flow. Well ok, he's going with the flow...I'm kicking and screaming along with it. But it all feels right. And really, I think that just might be enough.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009


Dear Bal Thackeray,
Do us all a favour and shut up. Seriously. I don't know if you ever did anything good for your precious state, apart from create chaos, but even if you did, I don't care.
I'm not writing as a journalist, Mr Thackeray. Nor as a political commentator and not even as a passionate Indian as such.
I'm simply a crazy Tendulkar fan. Now, we are not to be messed with, Mr Thackeray. We outnumber journalists and commentators and we're nowhere near as rational.
Do you know, Mr Thackeray, on April 24th, 1998, when India played Australia at Sharjah in the Coca-Cola Cup final, I skipped school to watch that match? It was Sachin's 24th birthday and how we partied. He made 134 runs and we won the series. I had posters of Sachin and photos of that match all over my room.
I don't recall anybody staying home from school to listen to one of your speeches.
That is what he inspires, Mr Thackeray. That is how much he is loved.
And how does he do it? How does a short, stocky, squeaky-voiced man rise to this kind of popularity? Maybe because he brings people together, Mr Thackeray. Not by giving long bhashans, but by engaging cricket lovers all over the world to come together and have fun.
He is more patriotic than you will ever be, Mr Thackeray. He has done more for your Mumbai, your Maharashtra and all the un-Maharashtrian bits of India than all your saffron snobbery. Go to Wankhede Stadium sometime when there's an India match on. All the spectators may or may not be Maharashtrians, but they'll be cheering extra-loud when Sachin walks out.
Get over it, Mr Thackeray.
The world loves Sachin. A section of Maharshtra loves you.
Sachin has been 20 years in cricket, is dignified and a damn good sport. You guys destroy greeting card shops and slap MLAs on national television.
You tell me which one of you is the better Mumbaikar.