Weekends

Ever since I was a kid, and well into teenage, then college and now as a 30 year old grown-up (sad, I know), weekends have had this lovely relaxing quality to them. O come on, you'd say. Weekends are supposed to be relaxing, why would you say like you discovered that. Yeah, I know, but I'm just gonna run with it and describe my idea of a perfect weekend here, Ok? Ok.

So, on a Saturday or a Sunday morning, as kids, its wake up and get dressed (we used to despise that in the joint family, and hence ended up giving up ablutions on weekends altogether when we moved to a different city in a nucelar family). Then it would be the wholesome Sunday programming that would start with Rangoli, have Jungle Book, TaleSpin, Duck Tales (all in Hindi) and that's the peak. We would switch off the TV as soon as the Spirit of Unity Concerts used to come up. Although we should've seen those. Would've put some more culture into our heads, no?

And then, it was 12 o clock and time for lunch. The anticipation of food started right around Jungle Book, with frequent visits to the kitchen to see what was brewing and those lovely smells. O sweet and sour Gujarati tuver ni daal, I can write poems about you. Or the simple tindora-nu-shaak or the tindora nu sukku (dry) athanu (pickle) to accompany it. And as we started eating, there would garam garam rotli with ghee all over it served right into our plates. Bliss that was, I tell you. No fancy mithai this and samosa that. We were all healthy eaters and there wouldn't be any of that unhealthy fried nonsense at meals. Nono, not even on weekends. That was reserved only for special occassions, like birthdays. A birthday should be celebrated with a Sheera or a Basundi or some other such thing along with Dhokla (the white ones, again poem-worth) and green chutney. The simple culinary delights of the Gujarati kitchen are manifold. On a tangent, not that there weren't any sweets in the household on weekends. Its just that they were those dry sweets which are stored in dabbas. Like adadiya or golpapdi or chikki or some other such delightful treat. They were around pretty much every day, owing to our family's weakness for the sweet stuff.

Well, so that was when we were kids, and then we grew up (why why why!?!?!?!) and moved out of home. Even so, this need for good relaxing food on weekends stayed. Be it the regular Sunday visits to Bhojan or Rajdhani or Atitthi (I think that was the name of the underground place we used to go to on 18th June road which closed down later) in Goa for lunch or even now, the visits to Taaj for idli, dosa and putu in Liberia now for Sunday brunch, coz sadly you don't get Gujarati thali here. And, Taaj has closed down. What could be more sad?

Oh, and then weekends, they should not just be about food. They should be about wholesome family entertainment as well. Like watching a Golmaal, or a Chupke Chupke or a few episodes of Mind Your Language along with people you love and having one of those gala times laughing your guts out.

Sitting right here, in Liberia, devoid of any and all entertainment and nary a Gujarati Thali in sight, we reminisce, and pray that this singular happiness of the childhood weekend can be recreated. Soon.

Easy - and the allure of string instruments

Not so long ago, a friend (m2) sent us this link. And by us, I mean the other two of us, pristine, and me. Its like the three of us form a whole, incomplete without each other. On 3 different continents, but together, part of each other, people of the same insanities. But I digress, here's the link: Easy - Anoushka / Norah / Karsh

Its magical, isn't it. Just the right amount of plinky plonky Sitar, and then the smooth as silk, warm as caramel voice of Norah Jones. Magical, I tell you.

Which brings me to the subject of this post, what is it with the string instrument and Indian subjects? We regularly come across instances of the exoticized India being background-musiced by the Sitar. And it feels so nice, so homely. Like its mine. This warm cozy feeling in all this music.

Just the other day, pristine was speaking of opening a restaurant in (where else?) Goa. And today, whilst hearing this song, I was picturing sitting in such a restaurant, yellow candles flickering in the fading light, and the 3 of us, together, in our bliss.

Ah! but then I dream too much....

Where is the joy?

Is it me? Or are people actually irritating. I mean, I'm not a misanthrope or anything (or am I?), but then beyond a point, I just can't seem to tolerate certain people. Well, its not the people per se. But the way they behave. I mean, come on, you're out of college now. Please behave like you are civilized. Is that too much to ask from a grown up adult? Or am I just a boring old man?

Just today we were having a conversation with a certain someone on whatsapp about how we both are starved for intelligent conversation. Meaningful dialogue. I have been crying about the same thing. And I was shocked to see that the certain someone was speaking the exact same language. Well, this rant has been going on since we were in Goa. At least there we had Mr. G, B&B and the rest of the troupe (O, I shouldn't forget good Doctor, who's adorable, but in his own little world, which is also adorable). Over here, there's nothing. Nobody. Zilch. Zero. Shunya. And the other night. We took AJ to Nerd Nite. There was a lot of potential to connect to intelligence there, right? But then we didn't even strike a single conversation with the so-called intelligentsia. Why? Diffidence? The fear of rejection? Or am I just too proud to approach someone. I mean, come, I am soooooooooo intelligent. Shouldn't it just flow from my visage and shouldn't people just gravitate to me? Wasn't that how it was supposed to play out? Oh sorry, I think that was a dream.

So, another meaningless rant today, born out of the frustration that we are going through. There aren't any outlets. There isn't any joy. I mean, I could've talked about the helicopter ride that we went for. Or the other nice stuff that we have been doing. Like attending weird American documentary event with free popcorn at Ushahidi / ilab or attending Nerd Nite at the Boulevard Cafe. But no, this post isn't for them. Its just a paean to the frustration that we so love to love.

Reflections from a Heritage Walk at 1 am

We were bored. And we were wondering what to do. So, after dinner, we ditched the roommate and we went for a movie. Alone. We think that going alone for a movie is the most uplifting experience ever. It is the ultimate declaration of your independence, your assertion that you don't need anyone. Not even to go see a movie. Its a strangely uplifting feeling that can get you to enjoy the crappiest of movies. Try it sometime.



So, well, the movie was kinda ok. Tabu was at her loveliest and we loved the way she looked. And that voice! Oh my God! Drops of caramel dipped in hot chocolate... Sharman was good too. But well, he is not justifying his kind of talent with the kind of movies he is doing.



So, anyways, the movie ended. And as we had ditched the roommate and had no way to get back home, we walked. Walked all the way back from the theater. And instead of coming back home directly, we strayed.



Fontainhas, my friends, is beautiful by night. Even more than it is by day. And there's hardly anyone there. So you can enjoy the beauty of the place all by yourself. Sure there's always one of those drunken revelers (today's a Saturday night, remember?) who want to just speed by you with loud thumping music. Why would someone want to whoosh pass such beauty, methinks?And then I ask myself, haven't I also been doing the same thing up until now? Seriously, these days we have been working so hard that even if we do get some free time, we don't know what to do with it. Because we've forgotten all that we used to do in our sexy single free time. Gosh! I need to get hold of a good book! Suggestions please.



So, anyways, its a beautiful Fontainhas at night. We sure wish we can live there in one of those small little heritage places that you have to climb an impossible number of steps to get into. The very mystery of those dark, dinghy steps is enthralling. And then maybe we could run a small eatery or a little microbrewery in one of those. How fun would that be!

A year in Goa...

Hi Blog! Longgggg time no c... A year living in Goa now. And I am still the same. You would think I would've gotten a girlfriend by now, tried coke / hash / at least weed, partied my arse off, indulged in groupsex (ok, now that's taking things too far, but what the heck! we're just imagining). Yeah, even I thought that after so much time in Hippie Heaven, I could tick most of those boxes. But, unfortunately, you know what? I haven't done any of those things. And, surprisingly, there's a part of me that's ok with it. Is that abnormal? Am I growing old? Or is it just who I am? Or I'm just chickenshit. I guess we'll never find out.

Anyways, being here for a year now has made me realise a few things about Goa:

1. Contrary to popular belief, all Goans (or Goenkars as they are called in Konkani) don't run hotels or restaurants or bars or wineshops. There is a huge chunk of people that is engaged in serious economic activity. I'm talking REAL people. With REAL jobs. Who go to work everyday and come back home to the wife. I know its quite obvious, every place has that group of people. But I always thought of this place as a tourist place with nothing else to it. Well, call me naive!

2. That brings me to my second point. Did you know that tourism is not the only big money-grosser for Goa. There's also iron ore mining. A huge chunk of the state's revenue comes from mining and allied industry (logistics etc.), which is now taking a huge beating, as all commodities are.

3. Tweeting (www.twitter.com/nvavi) is taking out all the blogging from me. Ok, this isn't a realisation about Goa, but nevertheless. Its a good thing, this tweeting. But, is it an alternative to blogging? Its like one big blog gets taken out you bit by bit, each tweet you do. Or does it.

I think that should make for another blog post. Ciao for now, fellas