Monday, March 26, 2007

Discotheque

Abode of darkness. Arms its visitors with the license to unleash their desires in the name of fun. I'm making it sound like a dark vicious pit. But discos needn't be all that bad.
Now, I'm not a major party-goer who is found at the hottest nightspots on most evenings. I'm not even, I admit, a BIG fan of the disco. I do, though, enjoy spending time there with friends who are more interested in such places. And being quite the nocturnal being, I really don't mind wherever I am taken to as long as there's company, no bright lights and preferably some alcohol to go around.
So Sunday night marked my return to the disco scene thanks to this friend getting back from his phoren trip. There were some 10 of us together making this unplanned trip to this popular disc in Pune called Lush, which was as packed as on most weekends. We've been there before so I don't know if it was actually true that there seemed to be a lot more chicks around that evening or whether it was just that I was getting back onto the scene after a long, LONG time. Whatever it was, the constant contact kept unsettling me for some reason; a reason I'm yet to find out. But then, there were guys who seemed to want a few more sq.ft. of the dance floor for their flailing arms and drunk asses. So for the rest of the evening, I chose to tolerate contact with strange chicks instead (as perverse as that sounds).
There are these typical people you come across at discos. There'll be these young couples who'll be dancing away by themselves with hands around each other at all moments in time, at some instances exploring their partner's clothed (scantily, in the lady's case) anatomy in ways that would definitely draw wide-eyed glances if done in lighting brighter than which the discos provide. There'll be these drunk groups of stags, mostly just out of their teen years, who come there after watching movies like American Pie thinking that this will be their night when they fulfill the 'pledge' that they made to each other right after the movie. Can't miss out on the large groups of people with giggly girls and hair-gelled hunks who dance in concentric circles with the chicks marking the inner ring and the guys building the outer, protecting their lady-friends from the wrath of the aforementioned Drunk Stag types. These three types form the crux of most dance floors. Off and on, you'll also come across the Girl Gangs who'll split their time at the disc between dancing away in little tightly closed groups, trying to make their way to the bar counter for their next drink and trying to fend off vile glances (and at times, seedy pick-up lines) from the Drunk Stag types (Man, are they at large or what!).
That's pretty much all I can think of on a Tuesday morning. Other details later maybe as and when my memory and observational skills decide to collaborate again.


p.s. Sunday night was FUN. And pleasant for reasons other than the easily visible ones.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

In my face

It's in my face
Not on it
A jigsaw piece out of place
Whoever's(whatever's) worn it

Behind the mask that stares back
A dark face, an unknown name
Reality poised, ready to attack
It's a risk I've taken now... It's MY own game

March 21 still sucks

Not a big fan of this day and nothing particularly likeable has happened yet today either
[in loving memory]

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Extended D-Day

The end to my D-Day finally arrived today. All's well that ends well.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Saturday Morn Live

0730 hrs on a Saturday morning is by no means the right time to be on the road. Hell, I find it ghastly to even picture myself in conscious state at that time. But, when my humane side took over (rarely does that happen) and I set off to help out a friend at that ungodly hour, the only solace I found was in the fact that I had the steering wheel in my hands and the driver's seat under my ass. Call it Children's Day or whatever, but two scenes involving kids embedded themselves in my head.

Scene One: Somewhere close to the Andheri railway station, a little girl, who looked not more than 8 years old, dragged a reluctant younger boy (presumably her brother) through the traffic jam (For the unfamiliar ones, YES, Mumbai has traffic jams on its roads at 0730 hrs... on a Saturday morning!) The boy looked half-drowsy and made me rethink why I was up at this hour of the day on a Saturday morning. He left himself be dragged across the road by his sister whose efforts at that moment seemed to be concentrated on reaching the other side of the road safely with her brother. They (rather, she) seemed to be taking some hard chances as the cars sped by in the rightmost lane and I slowed down to let them cross ahead of the car I was driving, the last obstacle between them and their goal - the Other side. Suddenly her eyes met mine and perhaps she didn't realize I was going to stop to let her by anyway. An authoritative raise of the hand and a stern glare was her immediate response. At that very instant in time, she ceased to be 8. She could have been a 18-year-old girl dragging her boyfriend to the clearance sale at the showroom across the road. She could have been a 38-year-old mother dragging her unwilling son to school. She could have been a 68-year-old grandmother with no regard to her own life, yet determined to ensure the safety of her grandson whose hands she clasped. The moment passed me by as did the 8-year-old girl.

Scene Two: I got off the Aarey flyover at Goregaon and rejoined the rest of the traffic on the highway. To my left, auto rickshaws lined up at the kerb for their daily mornign wash so that passengers could seat their derrieres in 'clean' vehicles (I'd have used the word 'clean' minus the quotes if the water that washed the rickshaws was actually not black and muddy). It's not an unusual sight on a regular Mumbai morning. Urchins of all ages run around with little buckets of water and a rags that are as black as the colour on the rickshaws. As I glided past them, two kids on the pavement were hailing a rickshaw that seemed to be slowing down towards them. With a competitive edge, one kid raised his rag to show a slightly less dirtier rag to gain one up on his rival. The rickshaw driver broke both their hearts and went ahead towards the eventual winner. The victor in this case being a pintsized firebrand who had gotten off the kerb and on to the road with a rag in hand and a whistle in mouth. Blowing on the whistle furiously, he flagged the rickshaw in line behind another. He went up to the rickshaw ahead and smartly tapped on its roof to notify its driver that his time at the rickshaw-wash was up. As the rickshaw broke the line and injected itself into the traffic just ahead of me, my last sight of the young, wise marketing genius running to fill his bucket yet again, but not before guiding his hard-earned, most recent customer to the tea stall just around the kerb. Customer Care.

An early morning lesson in life for me. Hah, kids!
 

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