beingdesh

Category: Bangalore

  • Fifty Shades of Purple

    We walked towards one of our favourite pubs in Bangalore, belting past the street vendors, groups of Bangalore college students, and recognizable bunches of software workers. Crossing Brigade Road was a routine affair on weekends, often accompanied by meeting a long lost friend, an unwanted encounter, or an unusual one (like meeting a person and not remembering his/her name).  The lane on the right (while turning in from MG Road) was crowded as always, and the place had usual business sense one can associate with a Sunday afternoon.

    My friend carried a puzzled look, quite surprised by my plan of action on this special day. I asked him to switch off his phone and just walk with me. He followed me to the end of road and then turned right with me.

    We reached the doorsteps soon and entered the place. The purple hues and the dim lighting were on expected lines, the kind of lighting which makes even a dull-looking strangers attractive. Isn’t it strange how darkness can light people up?

    The place was half empty, but given it was still afternoon it I considered it to be half full. We took a small side table, ordered some draught, peanuts, and some spicy close cousin of Gobhi Manchurian.
    There were two rather simple rules to this day:

    1. No discussion about the special day, either amongst us, or with anyone else, and hence the phone was supposed to be switched off
    2. Drink, drink, and if possible, drink a bit more

    Pubs in Bangalore had a certain charm associated with them. Pecos served popcorn with beer, Legends of Rock had a decent ambience, Styx was loud with people screaming lyrics as if they had written it, and going to Nasa always raised a few eyebrows. All these places had certain common traits- abundance of software workers, scarcity of women (except Purple Haze), heavy Indo-Chinese influences in most of the finger food served, and fresh unadulterated draught beer (which I referred to as शुद्ध दानेदार ताज़ी beer).

    Purple Haze had always been my favourite, for reasons unknown to me. Probably because it was the first pub I visited in Bangalore, with my first drink being a glass of Apple Juice!

    As always one of the conversation topics between me and my friend was this quick analysis of Bangalore Pubs. It was followed with some usual discussions around girls, a debate on the best idlis in Bangalore, and sharing concerns around the amount of colour being added to Gobhi Manchurian.

    A pitcher and few conversations later I finally got sometime to looked around. There was a beautiful, curly-haired girl in the seat opposite, her body stiff yet apparently moving with music. There were shades of purple rhythmically moving over her white top, with the dim light strangely complementing her dusky appearance. I asked my friend for his opinion. He sheepishly turned back to ogle at her, and then acting double smart to look around and suggest that this was just a routine turning around looking at the world act. Sometimes I wonder how all men (including me), can be that stupid?

    He said he didn’t like her, which was perfectly fine. Over the years I have got used to people not agreeing to my opinions, and it probably gave me more of an impetus to walk up to her and talk. Talk, if it comes to that, I mostly end up on the winning side.

    But then there was the guy. The guy who is always around whenever one thinks of approaching a girl. He is a protector, a taaweez (or Shani Suraksha Kawach) against evil eye, a brother or a boyfriend, and more often than not, just a friend. I thought this one belonged to the last category. It was quite evident. Difficult to prove, but evident.

    I got up from my seat, walked pass her table to get a good look at the situation around, and walked towards the toilet. This was not a mere act, as drinking beer does put the bladder through decent level of exercise. I noticed something on their table, which was both disturbing and sad. They were carrying pencils and a paper.

    I walked back to my seat where my friend had just gulped down the second pitcher. The freshness of draught beer had slowly started turning into stale burps and an increasing future probability of acidity. I sat down and recollected my thoughts.

    I thought, what is more important- the rules or the girl? I knew my answer.

    I left behind my somewhat sleepy friend, walked to her table and asked for her permission to join them. She smiled and agreed. Things were proceeding well and the guy was hardly visible or audible, probably lost in these purple shades.

    We settled down with hardly any words being spoken. And before we could start the conversation, the girl says- “ So, how did your CAT go?”.

    The rule had been broken. The first rule was not to discuss the special day. I felt disappointed. I got up and moved back to my table. She was talking, probably calling me, but I could hardly hear a word. Jim Morrison’s “The End” played in the background, and she was lost in the loud music, and in the purple shades.

    This is a semi-fictionalized account of the events which transpired on Nov 18th, 2007. Someone has said that temptation is woman’s weapon and man’s excuse, and men are used to making excuses and breaking rules. Just a case in point.

  • Pak-e-Mysore

    The story of Mysore Pak is close to my heart, one full of love and equal amounts of good cholesterol.

    Mysore Pak is quite simply my favourite sweet. There is nothing which comes close to it. Well Jalebi sometimes does, but it still remains a distant second. Bengali sweets are further down the podium. And the western desserts? Well they don’t even clear the heats.

    mysorepak

    My story is one of discovery, friendship, taste, and limitless delight. I have limited knowledge about its origins and don’t wish to explore a lot. Also I don’t claim to know which form of it is the original, the melt-in-your-mouth Sri Krishna Sweets style or the porous, brittle, harder variety. All I can narrate is the story built of on true love for the sweet, or for the former version of it. The one which deliciously fades away in your mouth with the trueness of Ghee as a rich aftertaste.

    My initial encounters with Mysore Pak were far from satisfactory. The sweet shop in my township served a dry, ribbed version, closer to the second variety I mentioned earlier. And then I remember this episode from Malgudi Days where the kid forces his miserly Grandpa to show him a movie, and buy him a Mysore Pak. Although there might have been instances of me tasting its greatness, but probably my taste buds were as immature as I was, still waiting to register its taste.

    Things actually turned for the better once I reached Bangalore. Unlike many other things which I love, I can’t single out one instance when I was hit by this sweet lightening. It was a series of events, the boxes of Sri Krishna and Adayar Anand Bhavan (some of them brand it as MysorePa nowadays) arriving at my office with colleagues returning from their native places in Tamil Nadu; the 100 gms I will pick up for Rs. 23 post a idl-vada-dosa breakfast at AnnaKuteera, Banashankari (or any Darshini, or Sagar); the Rs. 50 pack picked up for the sugar-rush post a drinking session.

    By the end of my first year in Bangalore, I had established this sweet as the best response for a sweet-craving amongst my friend circle(s). Any drinking session or get-together was meaningless without ending it with Mysore Pak. It made our evenings complete, in a way Curd Rice completes a South Indian meal. I remember an incident where I was walking the lanes of Kormangala with a friend in a drunk state, the drinking session halted by its absence. I also recall carrying a dabba through the city, to welcome a friend of mine who had arrived from Mumbai. I once had a box which was completely frozen in refrigerator so I melted it in a pan, extracted a bowl full of ghee from it, and used it to on khichdi.  I enjoyed the moment when I had Milk Mysore Pak, or the brilliantly innovative Horlicks Mysore Pak. It was a fascination which kept growing on me, both the feeling, the stories and yes, the weight.

    When I visited Bangalore after a long time, all my friends got together for a drinking session like the older times. There was Gobhi Manchurian, Biriyani, Boiled Eggs, and Medu Wadas. But the session was halted as one of my friends recalled, Pattu aaya hai, aur Mysore Pak nahi! Quite expectedly, my friends halted the session, rushed across the city to get the sweet, and raised a toast to our true love for it.

    Even now friends coming from down South usually end up getting a box for me. I am lucky to have friends who appreciate and understand my crazy obsessions.

    I love the feeling of Mysore Pak fading away in my mouth, a unique experience with hardly a comparable one to mention. The simplicity of the sweet is unquestionable. It is probably the easiest sweet to de-construct in mouth, equal proportions of Ghee, Sugar and Gram Flour breaking down to infuse such rich flavours  I heard it was made for the Mysore Maharaja first, probably the creator took the simplest route to creating something so delightful, and pure.

    Yes it is the purest form of love I have ever felt from food, and hence the term Pak-e-Mysore. It is interesting how Pak the Sugar Syrup in Hindi (or Kannada) changes to Pak the pure in Urdu.

    We are always on the look out for love, pure and unconditional love, and I am lucky to have Mysore Pak in my life, for what will never change is my love for it.

    Image courtesy: Bing Search

  • Recalling Indian Coffee House

    I am a frequent visitor to the multiple coffee shops in Mumbai. During these visits I have developed a special affection for the filter coffee joints at Matunga, and a growing admiration for the multiple homegrown and international brands setting shop in the city. But for me, and many more like me, coffee had humble beginnings. Sometime it was the whisked, often cardamom-flavored home made Nescafe, or the shake-shake-shake blue plastic shaker mixed cold coffee, or the tongue-tingling espresso served at weddings. But none of the experiences have left a deeper impression on my memory than the turban-clad waiters of the Indian Coffee House. And more than the Coffee, this note is about the institution which will always remind me of the word Coffee.

    Indian Coffee House or ICH are restaurants run by a set of co-operative societies across the country with strong presence across Kerala, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and some other cities including Bangalore, Kolkata and Shimla. They have their origins in the Coffee Board of India, and were the first proponents of the coffee-promotion movement some 60 odd years back. Apart from the Coffee they serve, their menu also includes breakfast snacks, primarily South Indian, eggs made in different styles, cutlets, their unique version of Chana-bhaturas, with some branches even serving the full meal. They also have a catering business spawning majorly Public Sector Enterprises.

    284690_223280001042140_3450076_n
    Indian Coffee House at NTPC Township, Korba

    As a child growing up in a small Chhattisgarh township in Korba, ICH was the epitome of having a good time. In those days when eating out was a rarity and swallowing fizzy drinks a luxury, ICH was a break from the routine, one of the only ways of us spending some money on pampering ourselves. It was a destination for family dinners and get-togethers, for some memorable birthday treats, and the best place for watching the annual ritual of township Dusshera celebration (it was mighty difficult to get a good spot, but a Gold Spot did come to rescue).

    Drawing from the words of my childhood friend, there was and always will be a certain charm about ICH. I might expect some of the younger kids to go in and find the place a bit morose by coffee shop standards, but then perceptions of all things which I fancied as a kid has changed.

    At ICH the dishes were served on thick china plates, something we were not used to at home. The waiters moved around in a quick orderly fashion, with the right hand carrying the serving tray, exactly raised to shoulder length. Their walking was accompanied with a clinging sound of shiny Salem steel cutlery hitting the china. We also learned our first lessons of slightly alien-table manners (using cutlery- knife and fork, wiping hands using tissues), although I personally never got a hang of it. I am still not comfortable eating that way. The glasses reminded me of a curved conical frustum, something which we did come to haunt us during our Xth board Mathematics examination.

    The interiors were mostly dull with the only striking colors noticed on the ribbon stripes of turbans wore by waiters. I could never figure out the color coding though, it was green for some, and maroon for others, with a rare occurrence of navy blue. The smell of Sambhar dominated the air, pleasantly interrupted by the fragrant whiff of Khus from the Water Cooler and the scent of freshly brewed Filter Coffee from the kitchen. Add to that the wonderful sound of forks and spoons hitting the cutlery while eating and ICH ruled all our senses.

    But the sense of taste was never undermined. All variants of Dosa were served fresh and crisp, and yes you could always ask the waiter uncle to make it extra crispy. The Chutney was more daal than coconut kinds, and the sambhar had a majority share of pumpkins and drumsticks. The Wadas were crisp, Idilis soft, Omelets as trustworthy as ever, French Toasts unique, and Cutlets delightful with those chunky pieces of beetroot and carrot. Rs. 14 could buy you a Masala Dosa, Rs. 16 a Special Masala Dosa (with two pieces of cashew nuts in the masala to make it special), Rs. 12 a plate of Idli, and Rs. 6 a filter coffee (this must be the rates in the mid 90s I guess). And yes the Coffee was a delight. I was introduced to the magic of Filter Coffee here, for which I would be forever indebted to ICH.

    I have faint memories of dessert too, they kept Dinshaw’s Ice Cream (a Nagpur based brand prevalent in Central India), a kitchen-made Vanilla Ice-Cream (frozen custard, topped with Fruits). The Lassi Ice-Cream combo was good too.

    And when the meal ended, the bill was always brought to you neatly tucked in a pile of saunf. Tips if any were all stuffed in a common piggy bank kept on the manager’s desk.

    IMG_0259
    Indian Coffee House at The Mall, Shimla

    Over the years I have got a chance to visit Indian Coffee House across various cities. Delhi’s ICH is at Connaught Place is now a poor cousin of the much popular United Coffee House (not related to the society) and is not in a good shape, and Shimla’s ICH is a place dominated by Lawyers and Government Officers at the Mall which does give it a very true to the ICH feel (there is a new one at Kasumpti now, very dull though). ICH’s across Kerala are the busiest, with people from all age groups coming in for a Coffee and a Cutlet (Beef Cutlets were visibly selling more), and the Bangalore one has been relocated to a neat and new location on Church Street from MG Road post the Metro construction. But it is MP and Chhattisgarh which have kept the institution running outside Kerala in a well spread out and popular manner. I do want to visit the ICHs across Kolkata though, have heard they still retain the old world ICH Charm.

    I am scared that like all things good, ICH will cease to exist in a few years from now. So what is the place of an age-old institution with socialist roots in the new India with chic cafes and upmarket restaurants?

    Their place is sealed in my memories, forever.

    With inputs from Amey.

  • Positive thoughts?

    Life has been a bit off colour lately, as if what happened last month wasn’t enough here I am at home, for the past two weeks, eating boiled food and fruits and sleeping like kumbhakaran throughout the day. In the past few days I have developed love for idlis and extreme hatred for daliya, spinach, hospital and medicines. In a lazy weak format, deprived of all the chutputa food and chutputy bakar in the world here is a man just lying in his room, and bored. And uff, this needle on my hand bugs me.

    Given I sleep so much I am having my fair share of dreams, and they have been mostly horrifying. From playing with my worst fears and flirting with my weirdest nightmares they have ensured that I don’t sleep that soundly. To fight with them, I go on kickstart my own train of thoughts, those lovely memories which have kept me happy over the past few years now.

    So everytime I wake up from a bad thought here is what I do, I close my eyes, take a deep breath and think of:

    Omlettes: Of the lovely ones I had in Goa, or on that Trihun trek (with a chai sipper, choc eater, and great driver), ones which are so videshi with minimal spices and loads of cheese, ones with all the masala tones of green chilies and kanda. World’s best anda bhurji at Andheri station, or that decent one which I used to have at SP mess to help me go through with the food, or the egg biryani be at Raj Palace, or be it at Paradise Hyderabad. And those lovely Gadar Andes I cooked along with Abhishek at Gurgaon with loads of Jeera.

    Indori Food: Well I have talked about it so many times, but aloo ki kachori at lal balti/GSITS, poha/jalebi anywhere, sawariya ki sabudana khichdi, namkeen (double laung), Sarafa ki galiyo main Jaleba, shikanji, vijay chaat house ki batla patties, joshiji ke dahi vade, bhutte ka kis, garadu, gurukripa main bhojan, aur ghar pe mangode aur daal baafle. Did I mention mawa baati, shikanji and ASPI? Indore mahaan hai.

    Lazy trips: With mostly nothing to do apart from changing CDs in car, pepping up the greatest driver in the world by offering him cans of Red Bull, eating dhaba food, enjoying the scenery, talking to other car-mates. Jannat.

    Dosa: I have never tasted Dosas better than Bangalore or Korba’s Indian Coffee House. Both of them stand out. Bangalore’s Vidhyarthi Bhavan being my favorite, enjoyed with Atishay Bhaiyas khilkhilati hasi and Ananda’s coffee gulping on the day when India beat Aussies at Perth post the monkeygate match. Or the World beater Benne Dosa or Paddu served at that small shop on the way to Basvangudi, or staple on treats (just 11 rs back then) of which I had 11 in Davangare once.

    Aloo Parathas: I fell in love with them in Shimla, they were like Sharmila Tagore of Aradhna, young, hot, shiny with all the makkhan on them, I was like Kaka eager to fall in Love and make the haseen galti of munching those daily morning before I started my day. For one and half month everything in Shimla bored us, Aloo Parathas were our only hope. I tasted the ones at Moolchand once, and for me the taste is still there on some part of my tounge.

    Naturals: More than ice cream Natural’s was a remedial place, I used to take hopeless friends there, enjoy the first cup listening to them (grunts which I mostly ignored) and the second talking crap to them (which I enjoyed). There was seldom the third one (with just one exception with whom chances of fourth came up) but I loved the place. 28 Rs. bought them a malai or a tender coconut and more than that peace of their mind. Lokhandwaala one with its shoftu couch was better.

    These were a few positive thoughts, I need more, help me. Maybe I think its just the overdose of spinach and lauki speaking here…

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    If down, how do you get back to thinking positively?

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  • Ahhh… we won it!?

    It was a weird feeling, a never before kind of experience, roaming around near Shivaji Park at night, thousands of people of all kinds on street. I think it was their presence on streets, rather than of actually watching it on TV, or talking to a 100 friends on phone, or messaging a thousand, or going through all those updates on facebook, or those ever so vocal news channels which made me believe. Did we win it for sure?

    Infact what happened felt more like a dream for a considerable period of time. It started when we were floating in the beautiful surroundings of Kerala, and while attending my friend’s wedding we missed the Bangladesh one. But that was supposed to be won, no major worries there.

    Then came my Bangalore trip, and watching one of the most amazing matches of the world cup at Chennaswamy, with one of the biggest cricket fan I know (my school friend who watches blind cricket and also followed all the ICL matches), and 2 mahaan DAIICTians whose love for cricket is unparalleled. Sitting between them I was the most pessimistic one during the match. But the dream went on, Sachin had scored a century, and for a moment I actually thought this is it. Now I would be able to tell my kids that I saw Sachin make a World Cup century, that I could jump of the Chennaswamy stand and still float in air, and that the food at cricket stadiums sucks.

    Then there was the South African encounter with the person with whom I had scene the ever so forgettable India Bangladesh encounter in 2007. We tried to not do anything we had done that day, still we lost.

    Then there were the minnows, simple boring encounters where Yuvraj was having fun and generally I was getting bored.

    Holi came and also came with it the West Indies encounter. We were beyond repair that day, and for the entire day I just saw weird visualizations of a cricket match, by the end of it I just knew. We had won. Australia they were saying was up next. Australia. Scared.

    The next three encounters can easily be the three best days of every Indian’s life. The pessimistic me gave hope when Dhoni got out, only to catch a glimpse of the match Filmy style on roads with crowd as I walked back from office to home. By the time I was home Raina was hitting Lee out of the park. We had won. Still it was difficult to digest all this, now it was happening a bit too quick.

    Pakistan it was, and I was nervous. Very very nervous. I had a meeting till 1 AM a day before, went back home, came to office at 8 AM, did all the follow-up and basically immersed myself in too much work so that I don’t think of the match. In between 100s of options of watching it here or there, it was going to be the huge office screen where I would watch it. And when Umar Gul started running in towards Sehwag, I was shivering. It was just too much tension. Sachin’s scratchy knock, Pakistan’s pathetic fielding, Umar Gul being thankfully off colour, and awesomest bowling by Ajmal stood out. By far a much more superior side than us in terms of bowling. After Hafeez got out playing a very very stupid shout I knew we will win it, till Umran Akmal (whom I think will become the next Pak captain, anyone who survives for 2-3 years becomes the captain there, anyway, awesome player) started smashing us but somehow finally despite Misbah last minute hitting it was comfortably won.

    And then there was the Final, so much has been written about it already, but I felt Jayawardane’s knock was truly amazing. Low risk high return innings, especially one shot he played from outside the off stump towards fine leg was truly amazing. Gambhir and Dhoni were really good on the night. And we ended up burning tonnes of aggarbattis to satisfy our superstitious selfs.

    So this World Cup ended, and I was truly happy, but still it was much different from the 1996 one. We were kids back then, there were not many Deepikas and Katrinas in the stand, we could see cricketers though, we were never bleeding blue, our blood was red back then, we discussed cricket, we discussed the stats, never the number of drinks which we had in each game, people always thought of cricket as a family affair, never a reason to party and so many things.

    But we used to, we still, and we will always discuss Sachin.

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    What are your memories of Cricket World Cup 2011?

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  • मदन – कहानी एक Pub की

    ***Starring ***Chipu
    ( I have decided to write a book on the life and times of this guy)
    Rattu
    Bhussu

    ***And***

    Dandit
    Mimpy
    Bho-Bho-ti
    Pat-rick
    Nippu

    ***Friendly Appearance***

    KAddu
    Piddu
    Anit Pacob Jillpose
    Khakre

    ***Scene-1 ***

    Somewhere on quite nice crowded street on Bangalore (crowd is implicit in Bangalore), ambling around are three stupid looking individuals, quite visibly mistaking the road as a Bird Sanctuary. ( For people in Bangalore I am referring the set of perpendicular roads connecting from Jyoti Nivas College-Koramangala 4th Block side to Forum-100ft road connection).

    But enough of birds, these guys have never got them, one of them although carries the distinction of breaking eggs :), lot of them :D. Who’s interested, Chipu, Rattu and Bhussu just want some beer, and they will get it at Madan Pub. Small shabby looking place where evil ideas thrive, men with rotten faces, dirty lungis and unbrushed moustaches laugh like Ashok Vatika Sita Kidnappers, light is dim, TV always throws a classic Rajkumar Classic (the same one always where he plays a Rajkumar) and waiters serve with uncut nails filled with smudge..yuk

    But beer is cheap and thats Ok, for us 🙂

    This place was discovered by Fake Kannada speaking Bho-Bho-ti, patronised by the wide assed king of bangalore, Pat-Rick & made popular by rattu. Anit Pacob Jillpose lived in Pune but he dreamt of going to madan, and Khakre cracked up as we muttered him stories of Madan.

    Madan Rocks, no… Madan Mahaan hai 🙂

    In an area full of beautiful chiks and chikkis, this is the place, where Men can be Men, and not those spiked hairs, loose jeans, jockey showing lean kids, they can hold their drink with pride and drink and bask in the glory of the super dim lights which make you look, evil.

    I dont remember whether Mimpy visited it, but this is a place liked by 3 of us who came here tonight, me, Bhussu, Chipu. Bhussu loves drinking, and following it up with Hyderabadi Biryani, Drinking loves Chipu, and will always love him. As for me, I can walk downstairs to pick up Mysore Pak off Adayar anand bhavan 🙂

    But as Mimpy says, yeh ek Mahaan jagah hai, so ashtumaadi

    Kahani starts when Nippu comes to Bangalore… till then wait maadi

  • Short and Sweet Holi :)

    10-11:15 Am on 11th Mar’09

    Shortest Holi ever for me, it started and ended pretty soon. But we won.

    We won over the Kala Bandar of exams, quizzes, tension of assignments of the two end terms tomorrow.

    But still Kala Bandar managed to win over a few… 😦

    Still BH and GH celebrated a quick, nice, rangeen, kichad bhari Holi. As always we have had maximum fun when the batch has been together.

    Last year was a classic Holi, rooftop in Bangalore, sipping Kailasa made Thandai, Mithai and then drinking beer basking in sunlight, ekdum Shawshank Redemption ishtyle 🙂

    Wishing a Happy Holi to everyone visiting the Blog.

  • Bye Bye Bangalore

    It’s Game Over Bangalore.
    14th June’ 2006- 16th May’2008

    So bye bye to my first job, to all those Hot Idlis, Dosas and Coffees, Mysore Pak :), Super Expensive movies(which I never saw, I saw only at super cheap places), those farewell parties and non-farewell parties, bits and bytes of alcohol, the niceness of Jayanagar, the famous 201 bus, lots of blogging, all that stupid CAT preparation, good weather, lots of cute looking girls whom I only watched at times, all that Dada vs Dravid discussion, Kannada Songs, late nights at office and returning back home in cab on a strange empty road, Vasanthi on Radio City, my bus journey to office, BMTC buses, Majestic, heavily crowded city market, even more heavily crowded Forum, the UnBanglorish BTM, Highly Bangalorish Basvangudi, the farway lands of Yelhenka and Hebbal, Volvo Buses, MTR, Food Street, juice shop near Kamkhya, the cooking we did, EB(Emotional Black-male, our so called pet dog), all those stupid street dogs, those stinking chicken shops, a housemaid who talks to only one person, has an animagus Crow and does black magic at night, to all my office mates and great friends I made at work, my reunion with many of my old school friends, and my continued union with all my DAIICT friends. I will miss everything.

    Above all I will miss my roomies at Seshgiri and the Three Towers of Kathriguppe( a clan famously known as Kathriguppe ke Kutte)- including seshigiri and two other houses inhabitated by fellow daiictians who became great friends at Bangalore.

    Its Mumbai… this Summer

    Technorati Tags: Bangalore

  • Small City Dreams

    An unshaved face, a stinking jeans, a dirty t-shirt, Kapil’s wrist watch, drinking frooti just before it, this and a whole lot of superstitions, nothing worked. Six months of stupidly wasting time was followed up with disappointment and nothing more. Six months of screwing up my brain, with just 3 movies (2 were at the end of period when it was getting closer), 2-3 canceled outings, Diwali* away from home, all this amidst hell lot of work pressure at office, night outs, nothing worked. I had a realization the day I gave it, that why people leave this country, so much struggle to get anywhere that people get really pissed off. Anyway I decided on something else though.

    I want to move to a smaller city, much much better than going to a country where no one knows you (this would be a bit different in my case, as I would be still Desi for them :)). So new vision statement for life was drafted,

    Small City, Medium Money, Small Dreams, Lots of Happiness

    Money has been kept medium as of now, but even small is Ok. I am tired of hearing about,

    • People taking EMI’s to run there life, take a home in Bangalore and pay up for next 20 years. Buy a car and pay up for next 4-5 years.
    • People using credit cards to run there life.
    • People stuck in traffic for half there life and profanity-fying the condition of Bharatiya Roads.

    Basically I am pissed of city life, after living 17 years in a township in Korba, Chattisgarh and four years of engineering in an extremely peaceful Gandhinagar, this is all too much for me to take. I think its better to strip down on your Monetary ambitions if you get happiness in exchange. The thing is after seeing so much, going to small place won’t be much of an issue for me atleast, there maybe difficulties initially but in long term it would be much more effective. In return I get,

    • A HAPPY family life…
    • A nice home with lawn and jhoola in it 😀
    • Kids who don’t pass out in pubs and watch movies for 25 Rs…:)
    • Me watching movie for 25 Rs
    • Neighbors who atleast talk
    • Cheap vegetables, cheap commodities, cheap most of the things.

    Even if I earn what I am earning now for the rest of my life at a small place, it surely would mean much more savings for me than me living in Bangalore. Maybe I am thinking too long term, but anyway one has to do it. Smaller towns and cities stay better as the big cities grow, the “Supposedly” successful crowd moves city wards, small remains mostly the same. although I am worried by the Mall-ification of these places too but most of them, I expect to be quite stable even in case of economic swings. Thinking about what I can do there,

    • A sarkari naukri, but extremely difficult to get that one.
    • Moving into Public Sector…
    • Moving into things like Manufacturing etc. which maybe the industries at these places.
    • Goto a small place, start my own petrol pump, a halwai shop and a hotel.

    All this will come up sooner or later, lets see how this stupid MBA thing goes on, one thing is for sure, I have had it enough for a lifetime here in a city.

    *Diwali Celebs were quite different this time, though I missed being at home but this is what we did for Bangalore Diwali,

    1. Got confused on Nark Chaturdashi as everyone in Bangalore celebrated that day itself 🙂
    2. One round of pooja at home on Lakshmi Poojan, couple of crackers bursted, prasad included Peda and Mysore Pak.
    3. Another bit of pooja at friend’s house, 2-3 rounds of crackers (extremely low quality ones), and gobbled up lots of mithai
    4. Dinner menu included- Davangare Benne Dosa(Butter Dosa) from my favorite shop in NR colony. Followed up by a nice bottle of Wine.

  • Bahut kuch ho raha hai…

    Its been a while since I have blogged at length, I mean they haven’t been one -liners as posted on the quark, but not much of self-generated data (don’t take it literally as people do tend to assume in my case) these days.

    Recently its been lots of work Putting my legs in too many boats

    Still Billi rules the priority list. Had an amazing weekend with sleep, LOTR, good food and finally no Bangalore outing (though still had a short one to newly opened McD). I am quite sick of moving around Bangalore now, especially the buses are hopeless and the autowaalas looking like looteras (no offense meant).

    Friday as usual was movie day, Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (rhyming with Shakalaka Boom Boom, both in name and content) was quite simple horrendous. Actually its the worst movie I have ever seen. Maybe not as I only saw half of it, don’t know what stopped me till interval. I simply hate my namesake (not because he took ash, but chumma[1] I hate him).

    Anyway last week I met Puneet Rajkumar on the sets of Milana. Amazing guy and so down to earth being quite a big star in Kannada Cinema. We talked a bit about places we come from and Kannada Cinema. Mast person!

    Along with him was the actress Parvathi, and as I heard its her first Kannada flick after a small stint in Mallu cinema. Amazing Girl 🙂 !!! And the handshake was really amazing ;).

    (Parvathi on the sets of Milana)

    This pic posted just to jalofy the male readers (me not sharing my pic with her though ;)). In the movie Puneet plays a Radio Jockey. Oh by Radio last week something else also happened,

    12th June, 2007 will be remembered as a day when Desi or Daisy achieved media moksha, finally. In the words of Kapil who broke the news,

    Desi popular ho gaya, sahi hai

    Desi(National)se ab InDesi (International) ho gaya 🙂

    Today morning after a long wait and persistent efforts desi was able to talk to RJ Vasanti (Radio City). He has given correct answer of a movie question and won some prize too. Desi was on radio city around 8’O’clock whole Bangalore was listening to him. (ab tak ham hi sunte the)

    Anyway it was not Vasanthi but Aviva who I met. I was just out of bath and listening to Radio as Aviva asked this on Radio,

    Whats common in the movies Cheeni Kum, RDB, Delhi Heights and Khosla ka Ghosla?

    Fir ekdum se dimmag ki ghanti baji and I SMSed 4646 as I have done for so many times this past year in Bangalore. Answer was that all the movies either fully or partly have been shot in Delhi. While ironing my shirt I got a call from Aviva, here is how the conversation went thereafter,

    Aviva- Hello!
    Me- Hello!!!!!!!!!!!! (a girl calling me at 7:40 AM :O)
    Aviva- This is Aviva from Radio City and blah blah blah…

    and it went on…I won’t bore you with the rest of it. But just two things,

    • I forgot most of what I was supposed to speak, I was Live on air yaar.
    • It was Aviva and not Vasanthi, I would have loved to talk with Vasanthi but it was fun talking too Aviva too.

    Ok the post is getting too long maybe and turning a bit baasi now. So closing it off.

    [1] chumma doesnt mean a Kiss, it means just like that in Tamil, some say its written as summa but who cares, its pronounced as chumma.

    p.s.- hamesha hi bahut kuch hota hai, nothing new about it. And I am desperate to watch Sivaji, someone please get me tickets.

    p.p.s- Also met Naresh this Friday, it was great meeting him after a long time.

    Technorati Tags: Abhishek Bachchan, Puneet Rajkumar, Milana, Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Parvathi, Vasanthi, Radio City, Bangalore