For The Mother's Pride

It seems like I am the only remnant active member of this blog, but no matter, I shall continue to spew my genius on this site, albeit seldom. This sudden surge was sparked off by certain events: the new Hritik Roshan ad "Cock uthale, dhoom machale", sequel to the disastrous "Find me with cock", in the early 00s; the death of one of the legends of the animation industry, Joseph Barbera; the entire Mamta Banderjee-Singur-Tata episode etcetra etcetra. Not to mention India's first man and lady, the cute couple of Laloo and Rabri are off the hook after swindling the government of $2.8m. And what's the buzz about these days? Abhishek Bacchan angry about Hritik kissing Ash in Dhoom 2, now ain't that fitting. It seems like India has finally realized that sex sells. By the way, the new Motorolla flip phone ad has to be one of the best ads I've seen in recent times.

Well on a brighter note at least the Jessica Lall murder case is over with... yeah take that Ram Jethmalani! The Indian cricket team cruise to a 123 run win over the Proteus claiming our first win in South Africa... I didn't really care, watching Sreesanth dancing after hitting Nel for a six was worth my time. And the dada is back, silencing his critics with a gritty half century. Of course as one bong rises, another must fall, so we bid adieu to Jagmohan Dalmia. Of course, things haven't been so peachy for the Indian Hockey Team failing miserably at the Asian Games in Doha this year, looks like Gagan Ajeet Singh's two cell phone strategy wasn't so bright after all. By the way, anyone seen the video of "One Love" from the movie "Rakht" with Little B and Bips, good god, I don't know what to make of it - "...for the mother's pride"?. Brilliant like Guinness!

Oh, for the non-believers (read: Jae and Pragyan), the Kolkata Tornadoes were kicking ass in the IFA Shield till they were beaten by some second rate Chinese Club called Shenzen in a freak match... well sometimes the best can falter. The Deep Purple performance in Bangalore was great, but these guys look so old, none of that old spark that rock bands of the 70s had. I was afraid someone was going to have a heart attack on stage. These guys looked so fragile.

And the Buddhist chanting fad, wonder how long that will last? Yoga shoga, even pilates was fine, but Buddhist chanting, really? We only pick that up once the west has huh, just like everything else. Seriously, it's high-time we got over our inferiority complex and our post-colonial hangover.

This evening I went shopping in my local market. Apparently the police is going to demolish the entire joint and is moving everyone to a newly made concrete fish market. While I understand that this is probably a good thing in terms of hygiene and all those things we care about, I'm really going to miss tip-toeing my way through the various vendors, dodging the odd cart and coolie carrying a jhori of chicken. Who knows, in a few years this is probably going to be replaced by a Wal-Mart and Tesco - they've already started making cracks in the Indian grocery market scene. Woe the day when even in Kolkata, full blooded bongs will have to buy packaged fish. Heresy I say.

And then there was the trip to Amsterdam. The Last Samurai and other friends with Nepal and bright Northern Lights. For those who want to know, Absinth tastes like Pastis, not cool at all. Before I leave, I have to recount a rather interesting story. Another little adventure that took place on the eve of my departure from London.

A couple of nights before I left for Kolkata, I went to watch "The Woman in Black" with Elena. The play was excellent, although there were a bunch of school girls in the theater screaming at random moments... bimbos. Anyway, after the play I went to Elena's place and chilled over some wine and cheese. By the time I left it was rather late and the tube was no longer running. I asked Elena for directions and tried to navigate my way back to my part of town but got hopelessly lost. I asked a rickshaw-walla for directions but he just pointed me in the wrong direction... diplodocus. For a while I was worried, then I said, oh fuck it and just walked around...

So I was wandering about the streets of north London (Grover St. et al) when I met this really drunk girl at a bus station who claimed she knew the way to Kingsway and since she was in a good mood, she would show me the way. At first I insisted she just show me the way but she would not be swayed, so we went walking, singing (nah we didn't sing) and enjoying the night air although I was aware I'm supposed to talk to strangers. I wasn't even sure we were walking in the right direction. I don't think she knew which direction we were walking in at all.

Suddenly she says that she needs to pee. At my wits end I say ok there's a phone booth, use that I'll keep watch. She does that but then as she walks out of the booth she passes out. Now I don't know her name or where she lives. I only gather she's from UCL from her chic hat. so I try to slap her awake. Hey, wakey, wakey. A brown guy slapping a white woman in the middle of the night in a deserted street...something's gotta give.

Along comes a cop car. I shuddered. It was "thank you god" moment along with "I hope they don't shoot me" kind. Lucky for me they understood what was going on. Apparently there are a lot of drunk students scattered about London on a given Thursday night. They checked her creds and mine and gave us both a ride to our respective dorms. An interesting turn of events. A normal 40 minute walk turned into a 3 hour odyssey. I ended up reaching home at 4:30 or thereabouts.

Hope this keeps you all occupied for a while.