I never could get what people see in the “upcoming star” of classical music. How times have changed. I remember playing at the Dover Lane music festival. Night after night. Year after year. Now that was magic.
But my opinion is hardly relevant.
Today, we are at the Town hall. It’s wonderful. It’s all lit up and when I look up from my strumming, I see the steps are almost full. Yes, even the buses twisting around Horniman Circle seem to be respecting the dulcet tones of the pretender.
He is not bad. Just that he needs a little more discipline. Since I first strummed behind him, he has put on a few kilos. His voice seems to be struggling at times to get past the last Biryani he had from Ameenas. And he is making up for it by blaming the sound guys.
But then, who am I to blow against the wind. He is, after all: The next voice.
When you are the second string player at these socially conscious gatherings, it's amusing to watch the corporate types lighting the diya. I wonder if they can identify a raga from a regatta. Hey, I am not complaining though, it pays for my rum and pomfret slice at Apoorva’s (the curry is to die for, try it with the neer dosa).
Just that, the Hansadhwani at times makes me want to strangle the black swan.But then, what choice do I have?
Being invisible is one.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Mumbai Mein Har Ghar Kuch Jyada Hi Kehtha Hain
The Bandra lady was very sweet. Her flat was in a building that seemed to be in the running for heritage status. The Guard doubled as the liftman and we learnt that the “oc” of the entire building was yet to come. The lady took us around her 30 second flat and informed us how it was once possible to see the highway out of the “master” bedroom window. The price-Rs 1.35 Crores.
I began to understand the thinking of a dear friend who I thought had lost his nuts when I learnt he had paid well over a million dollars for a place in Parel.
I decided then that all I could possibly hope for is a rental place. And the hunt began again. Bandra, the first choice, seemed to have rediscovered its own value. Any decent place is at a 80k package. The longer it takes you to get to a place in Bandra from Linking road, higher the rent.
I was in Delhi for a pal’s daughter’s first and their three bedroom sprawling flat in GK2 with a Olive-like patio was all of 25k pm!
Mumbai has really gone crazy.
Another close friend who booked a flat in Mahalakshmi 4 years back has seen the value of her flat move from 50 lakhs to 2.5 crores!! And here I was spending hours every day analyzing the fundamentals of Bharti Airtlel, Infosys and RIL.
Yet another of my many friends was down from Singapore and took a day trip to Nagpur to buy land. In Nagpur! He informs me DLF has reached there too.
I am seriously thinking of investigating the US sub-prime crisis and see if I can pick up something in Manhattan.
Will be cheaper than Khargar, me-thinks.
I began to understand the thinking of a dear friend who I thought had lost his nuts when I learnt he had paid well over a million dollars for a place in Parel.
I decided then that all I could possibly hope for is a rental place. And the hunt began again. Bandra, the first choice, seemed to have rediscovered its own value. Any decent place is at a 80k package. The longer it takes you to get to a place in Bandra from Linking road, higher the rent.
I was in Delhi for a pal’s daughter’s first and their three bedroom sprawling flat in GK2 with a Olive-like patio was all of 25k pm!
Mumbai has really gone crazy.
Another close friend who booked a flat in Mahalakshmi 4 years back has seen the value of her flat move from 50 lakhs to 2.5 crores!! And here I was spending hours every day analyzing the fundamentals of Bharti Airtlel, Infosys and RIL.
Yet another of my many friends was down from Singapore and took a day trip to Nagpur to buy land. In Nagpur! He informs me DLF has reached there too.
I am seriously thinking of investigating the US sub-prime crisis and see if I can pick up something in Manhattan.
Will be cheaper than Khargar, me-thinks.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Almost Bees Saal Baad
Today, the venerable Times of India informed us that we are the world. I am still figuring out the implications of that. Its brother, who is in business, gave us seven headlines, all permutations of 20-20. A hot FM station changed its nicely brand aligned promo from giving away Rs 10400 to Rs 20000. And I am looking forward in eager anticipation to all the eye care advertisements that will hit us soon.
The match was a cracker. A 20+20 Khan was doing a Michael Jackson impersonation while a 20+ team showed us how to beat it. Between biting my nails, gulping my beer, smoking my cigarette my mind wandered to the four musketeers whose cumulative age of 8X20 must have been weighing down their thoughts.
Amidst all this, a man from Jharkhand inspired his team to play without fear, made calls that were inspired without knowing so, and finally took off his shirt sans the helicopter act. Almost bees saal pehle, when I was 20 minus, a Nikhanj had inspired us from a famous balcony and taught us to “enjoy”. A braver brighter generation received its clarion call last evening.
The match was a cracker. A 20+20 Khan was doing a Michael Jackson impersonation while a 20+ team showed us how to beat it. Between biting my nails, gulping my beer, smoking my cigarette my mind wandered to the four musketeers whose cumulative age of 8X20 must have been weighing down their thoughts.
Amidst all this, a man from Jharkhand inspired his team to play without fear, made calls that were inspired without knowing so, and finally took off his shirt sans the helicopter act. Almost bees saal pehle, when I was 20 minus, a Nikhanj had inspired us from a famous balcony and taught us to “enjoy”. A braver brighter generation received its clarion call last evening.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Peking Ducks and London Smokes
The cabbie transporting me from Heathrow to St James Street offered me his Statue of Liberty Zippo and asked me if I knew where the name Cheswick was derived from. I had been pestering him with all kinds of questions (is it truly no-smoking all over, do you like Jose Mourinho, how long have u been driving etc) and Cheswick was the nice suburb we were passing at the moment. I was duly silenced as he explained how “wick” is an old English word for market. Cheswick, hence, was the cheese market. Gatwick should be easy for you intelligent reader. And the wicker basket makes so much sense now.
I had a series of meetings (read interviews-the British are so polite) with some very intelligent people and needed to smoke in between. The only choice was to walk up and down a definitely chilly street, passing similar sad souls. I did. On my way out to the hotel to check out I noticed the Chequers Tavern right next door. And praise be the lord, there was a bench with a solitary occupant who had a Guiness in one hand AND a cigarette in the other. I soon joined him and smoked nearly half a pack in 30 minutes.
The flight back was cold-turkey free. The Duck, however happened as my dear psychiatrist pal and wife were passing though Mumbai on their way to Tanganyika. Or was it Tanzania. We met up at the Taj Land’s End, downed a few single malts and frozen M’s. And made our way to the marvelous Chinese restaurant. We ordered the P Duck as we walked in. And added some ribs as starters and a crab to ensure we didn’t go hungry.
Waltzed in the ribs which we ate with gusto and plum sauce. Then came a basket (plain vanilla, not wicker) full of thin pancakes accompanied by a plate of sliced veggies and a plate of yummy brown looking thin slices of duck. We ate silently and purposefully. We were wondering if we had overdone the crabs.
The plates were cleared, I lit a smoke. Then the waiter asked if he should get the soup. Soup!! We hadn’t ordered soup. I was about to pick a fight, when it was explained to us that all we had till then was duck skin. This was followed by duck soup and then the main course of duck meat arrived! Phew..and let’s not even talk about the crustacean.
Fellow eaters, if you ever order Peking duck just order a glass of water to go with it.
I had a series of meetings (read interviews-the British are so polite) with some very intelligent people and needed to smoke in between. The only choice was to walk up and down a definitely chilly street, passing similar sad souls. I did. On my way out to the hotel to check out I noticed the Chequers Tavern right next door. And praise be the lord, there was a bench with a solitary occupant who had a Guiness in one hand AND a cigarette in the other. I soon joined him and smoked nearly half a pack in 30 minutes.
The flight back was cold-turkey free. The Duck, however happened as my dear psychiatrist pal and wife were passing though Mumbai on their way to Tanganyika. Or was it Tanzania. We met up at the Taj Land’s End, downed a few single malts and frozen M’s. And made our way to the marvelous Chinese restaurant. We ordered the P Duck as we walked in. And added some ribs as starters and a crab to ensure we didn’t go hungry.
Waltzed in the ribs which we ate with gusto and plum sauce. Then came a basket (plain vanilla, not wicker) full of thin pancakes accompanied by a plate of sliced veggies and a plate of yummy brown looking thin slices of duck. We ate silently and purposefully. We were wondering if we had overdone the crabs.
The plates were cleared, I lit a smoke. Then the waiter asked if he should get the soup. Soup!! We hadn’t ordered soup. I was about to pick a fight, when it was explained to us that all we had till then was duck skin. This was followed by duck soup and then the main course of duck meat arrived! Phew..and let’s not even talk about the crustacean.
Fellow eaters, if you ever order Peking duck just order a glass of water to go with it.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Met Life?
I started my career as a salesman whose territory was “rural” Maharashtra. Essentially meant anything beyond Thane was part of my kingdom. Annexed from the larger Mumbai land, whose rulers had little time to look into the affairs of Nagpur, Nasik and the likes. As happens when you have no expectations any performance seems spectacular and I was scintillating. As a reward for my toils, and they were toils, the fabled land of Goa was handed over to me.
Which meant I could officially fly to Goa. Whenever I wanted. That was the good news. I had inherited a dealer whose last year sales was 4 printers. Annual sales. (We used to sell Panasonic dot matrix printers and HP laser printers) My Bombay sales genes were stirred. How could someone possibly sell just 4 printers. Even Aurangabad had managed 20.
I learnt that the only flight landed in Goa at 2:15 pm or something. So the zealous sales person took an overnight bus. Bad idea. When I got off at Panjim, I could barely walk. I needed food. I needed water. I needed sleep. It was 9 am and I stumbled into the first hotel that I could spot. I sat, grabbed a waiter and ordered an omelet and toast. The waiter stared for a while and then walked away. I gulped down a glass of water and then looked around. There were four solitary men at four lonely tables, all with an open pint, a glass and a happy expression.
I walked over to the Mandovi, registered and fell asleep. Got up at 1 pm, feeling guilty as hell. Called my dealer, No response. Got ready, forfeited lunch and rushed to the dealer’s shop. Felt a little like it was a bandh day, most shops seemed shut except the booze joints. Reached to find my dealer’s shutters down. These were the days of no-mobile. Called him from a PCO and soon had a very sleepy man meet me outside his shop. I had encountered siesta.
That first day, despite the Agudas and beaches and prawns that were to follow, remains my most memorable memory of Goa.
I think it was the day I met life.
Which meant I could officially fly to Goa. Whenever I wanted. That was the good news. I had inherited a dealer whose last year sales was 4 printers. Annual sales. (We used to sell Panasonic dot matrix printers and HP laser printers) My Bombay sales genes were stirred. How could someone possibly sell just 4 printers. Even Aurangabad had managed 20.
I learnt that the only flight landed in Goa at 2:15 pm or something. So the zealous sales person took an overnight bus. Bad idea. When I got off at Panjim, I could barely walk. I needed food. I needed water. I needed sleep. It was 9 am and I stumbled into the first hotel that I could spot. I sat, grabbed a waiter and ordered an omelet and toast. The waiter stared for a while and then walked away. I gulped down a glass of water and then looked around. There were four solitary men at four lonely tables, all with an open pint, a glass and a happy expression.
I walked over to the Mandovi, registered and fell asleep. Got up at 1 pm, feeling guilty as hell. Called my dealer, No response. Got ready, forfeited lunch and rushed to the dealer’s shop. Felt a little like it was a bandh day, most shops seemed shut except the booze joints. Reached to find my dealer’s shutters down. These were the days of no-mobile. Called him from a PCO and soon had a very sleepy man meet me outside his shop. I had encountered siesta.
That first day, despite the Agudas and beaches and prawns that were to follow, remains my most memorable memory of Goa.
I think it was the day I met life.
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