How to tell if your auto driver is smashed.

Tuesday, 17th August, 2010. .

On today's rainy pathetic evening, I hop off a ride in the middle of where no auto man cares for me. After being ignored for 20 minutes by everyone except the rain, I gratefully get into an auto that nearly runs me over. I should have recognised that first sign.

So begin my adventures with the Auto Man:

• He tells you he doesn't know where to go, from go. (I ignore this because many auto men have a similar life issue.)
• He asks you for directions by doing a 180 degree turn towards you.
• He asks you these directions every 0.5 minutes. 
• Every time he asks you, you smell something and it's not just bad breath.
• When he asks, he assures you it's because "hum to Bandra waale hain, in galiyon mein nahin ghoom te". He repeats this more than 4 times. Twice continuously.
• You can't go a distance of 20 metres without squealing 'bhaiyaaa dheere, aaram se". His lack of focus gets these outbursts more and more desperate, "Bhaiya main abhi jawan hoon, mujhe jeena hain."
• After an impossible battle of getting him to the highway in the blinding rain, he tells you, "Gaadi main chala rahan hoon. CHUP".
• He likes revving up. Except, it caters to only sound energy and generates none of the kinetic type.
• He asks you to hold on to the left rain curtain and not let go.
• He asks if he should turn right while ON the flyover.
• While on "his territory" of the Bandra flyover, he's still asking you for directions, again ON the flyover.
• He asks you to hold on the left rain curtain and screams "batwa* ko mat jaane dena". (?!?!)
• People talking on the road is a fascination for him. You can tell because he slows down on seeing them, revs up to flash his involvement and then stares.
• People not in a conversation, could be damned for all he cares. He flutters his eyelids in a bid to ignore them and drives into them.
• He enjoys a passion for drags. His speciality is buses and a certain cycle delivery man from Santosh Lunch Home. His strength is coordinating with both at once.
• The cycle delivery man from Santosh Lunch Home turns out to be more than a drag buddy. Auto Man lets him go faster, revs up next to him and then lets him go faster while he stares. This fun game lasts 15 minutes. As an added game point, the delivery man doesn't actually know about his involvement. .
• He takes 20 seconds to figure his way over a road hump but speeds towards a divider till the last 1/20th second when you scream from behind.Calculate 20 whole seconds over a hump!
• You tell him to keep going straight and he doesn't believe you. He stops at every right turn and asks if he should take it.
• When there is no road divider, he rides where there could have been one. Vehicles from both sides almost crash into him, but he is above all that.
• When you tell him to stop, umm he can't.
• When you ask him to show the metre reading, he leaps out of the auto and holds on to the left rain curtain. For his life, I think.
• At this point your nose and his breath become one. Yea, he's drunk.
• He counts out the change while doing a little math dance with his index and holding onto the curtain.
• He comes out of the auto AGAIN, to ask if the change is okay.

At this point you leave. 

In an ideal situation, if you see even 5 of these signs - get off your auto and run. Unless like me, you don't have a choice because you never bought a new umbrella since your previous was stolen and he's your only light to the dry side.

*wallet

Eating out 2. Lemon Grass, Pali Naka, Bandra

Sunday, August 1st, 2010

Ideally, I shouldn’t express this at the beginning of a review BUT I can’t hold it in. Lemon Grass is perfect.

 
An overwhelming star gaze greets me at  8 pm and a cute waiter with a ponytail (seen vaguely), gets a wooden menu. Surprise, surprise! The prices are super enough to splurge on two starters.

After a wet 10 minutes under a drippy ac, we change to a drier spot at the rear end. Just in time for the Bangkok crispy chicken stack's (Rs. 125/-) arrival in oodles of thai-ish sauce. No stack, but plentiful for two and laden with the goodness of garlic, soya and bell peppers. Ooh sweet memories. The chicken is crispy and soft inside. I scrape at the banana leaf to get to any and ALL of that gorgeous sauce.

I'm half done admiring this, when the Chicken stuffed Mushroom teriyaki glaze satay ( Rs. 140/-) makes a petite entrance. Mushrooms stuffed with minced chicken as promised, with a distinct flavour. 2 on each stick. 4 sticks. Plenty, again.

I love the crockery. Clean cut and wide, I want to steal it. Squared, wide-bottomed glasses that are a joy to drink in. Matching squared cutlery in dull steel. A white spread of plates to roll your food around and never run out of space. 

This display of good taste continues when the main course arrives in two large round blue bowls. The plump head waiter had suggested a Lemon Grass classic stir fry prawns in chilli garlic coriander sauce (Rs 325/-). 

Dollops of fresh vegetables and mid-sized prawns in thick gravy, over steamed rice. So comforting to eat in that big blue not-fancy bowl. A vegetable in every bite, a prawn in every 6 bites. Yellow bell peppers, baby corn, strange cucumber and leafy vegetables that are too oriental to identify. Would have been better a bit whet, nonetheless delicious and wholesome.

The best thing potpourri a.k.a Lemon Grass has done is got rid of the ugly confectionery rack. It opens up room for 3 more family tables. So, currently there are approximately 8 large tables and 5 tables for two. Plenty of space, I say.  

The bill makes a curvy appearance in a Buddhist brass singing bowl. The only thing overpriced in comparison to the food are the beverages, with bottled water at Rs. 40/- and an iced tea at 80/-. An obsession with twisty stars, the open air, green buddhas and dim lights, gives Lemon Grass a dreamy quality. That along with the wooden tables, smiley + prompt service and delicous south-pan-asian food makes for a great budget Sunday dinner. I cannot wait to try the dimsums next time. Also, if you miss the potpourri deserts (I don't) they will be available again after Independence day.

Rating ★★★ 1/2

House hunt.

It's been more than 3 months and our landlord cannot decide whether he wants the bunch of us to stay on. A real life problem for those with Bombay schedules. Ni D. and I have captured this in a somewhat attempt at #youtube's #lifeinaday project.

Saturday, 24th July, 2010 - As personal as Ridley Scott asked for.





FYI: Life In A Day is a historic global experiment to create the world's largest user-generated feature film: a documentary, shot in a single day, by you. On July 24, you have 24 hours to capture a glimpse of your life on camera. The most compelling and distinctive footage will be edited into an experimental documentary film, executive produced by Ridley Scott and directed by Kevin Macdonald.

Eating out 1: Alfredos, Juhu – Bombay

Okay, I wrote this a long time ago. Eating out is Let’s talk about me’s section of restaurant reviews. 

 

Sunday, 14th March, 2010 

Ni D. and I turn to the wimpy Times Food Guide (Mumbai). You can fill your uneventful day by looking it up area-wise, craving-wise, budget-wise, decor-wise or just alphabetically if you’re rolling in time. 

Today, it points to Alfredos. The convenient thing is they serve food all day and it was already 4 p.m. Buried behind the purple of CCD (near Prithvi Theatre), it has a dismal entrance, 2 floors, 4 occupied tables and a distracting IPL match. Despite that, the waiters are pretty prompt and feign enthusiasm. One scurries to get a single lemon iced tea, Char grilled fish in lemon butter sauce and Pizza Napolitano.

Snake inspired carvings and random posters thrust towards us. Lots of mirrors loom large , partitioned by a mid-sized TV drooping down on whoever cares to watch. Ni D.’s doodle explains the callous decor. 

The cutlery is blah, the crockery cold and there are no napkins only pink tissues. Two pillars ahead of me, I see a bar on the side. Lots of waiters gleam hysterically at the TV. IPL is the buzz word.

Lemon iced tea arrives a few minutes later. Much too sweet + the lemon’s less. Rs. 35 forces me to suffice with what I get. Ni D. only cares for pizza.

10 minutes later her 8” Pizza Napolitano sizzles at us. The toppings (bacon+ chicken+ mushroom+ pepperoni + lots of cheese+++) trip over each other and a tomato-base thin crust. It’s gigantic, scrumptious and worth the money (Rs.200).

 

4 slices down, the Char grilled fish in lemon butter sauce arrives looking pompous in proportions. Several slices of fish are covered in juicy and tantalizing orange sauce, with my favourite mashed potatoes+coriander scooped right beside. The fish is a bit too fresh - not marinated enough. It goes well with the mash. The garlic bread is dry and unappetizing. The sautéed vegetables are a disaster - the bell peppers look 4 days old and the broccoli is parched. An okay for Rs.270.  

Overall, the prices are very reasonable. Also, the good thing is they dole out great portions - we managed to pack 3 slices of pizza. I’d recommend it- I remember fighting over the remains. The fish and the iced tea - #fail.

Rating **1/2

2 super haute jackets.

And together they strike a stunning pose.

A jacket does wonders for a bad dress day/a bad hair day/a bad day. After a year of dejection, I've finally found one such. Swing it on and your day gets a million times swankier.It's so chic - it struts across the grumpiest July rains.
Then M bought a jacket and it's so damn gorgeous. This post is dedicated to the two foxy beauties - a short but spanking photo shoot via the iMac. 

Both jackets have great necks. While M's jacket has a trim open neck, mine has this sassy short collar.

The jackets are open - mine has lovely bronze buttons running all the way down and on the pockets.
M's is a classic vintage shorter style with no buttons - only the cutest bow.

You can see the bow in this picture. M's buy goes great with just about anything - skirts and dresses included. I love that you can dip right into the pockets.
Mine's tested to not go very well with long skirts (probably because it's long too). It looks fabulous with everything else. Subjective to the body type and style, though.

 

And finally, T brightens up the picture in a cute custom-made dress.

For fear of being aped, I will selfishly not reveal where the jackets are from. I recommend you go out and swank up your wardrobe with one - you'd probably have to splurge but it's a one time buy  - don't be miserly.

The most exciting event in...4 days!

For the lack of something explosive for a real post, here's a sneak-peek into another wonder filled day at office. T and I do the rounds with her iMac's photobooth - once again - and here's a picture i quite like: ta-dah!

Why Raavan killed Ravana.

Haven’t we all held a fascination for the burning Ravana and gushed over his evil abduction of Sita? He's stomped generations as the big villain in Hindu mythology. Most have a vague idea of his part in the Ramayana; what with the golden deer, the great Hanumana and the monkey march to Sri Lanka. A man who is vicious, powerful and much feared. A man whose 10 headed-ness Ratnam's built through a schizophrenic dement who's lost in the potency his character holds. If you haven't seen the film, there are spoilers ahead.

I’m not saying the film should have been a remake of Valmiki’s Ramayana. What I’m saying is the film wastes its time weaving overly powerful characters. I’m going to go ahead with the cliché “Too many cooks spoil the broth”: With a great plot by Valmiki himself, the revered Mani Ratnam, the idolised A.R Rahman, star cinematographer Santosh Sivan, Kollywood king Vikram and two of the Bachchans in tow – there’s way too much trying to shine through Raavan. 

The film begins on a staggering note of Aishwarya a.k.a Ragini a.k.a Sita the wife of head cop Vikram a.ka Dev ak.a Ram being kidnapped by Abhishek a.k.a Beera a.k.a Raavan. And even though I see its potential to grip, the film leaves an audience like me pretty devastated.

We see a new lean, trying to be mean Abhishek. A role destroyed by too many dimensions. His magnanimity and aura is talked about through the film. The villagers talk about it, the cops talk about it, his sister talks about it and even he talks about it. Unfortunately, the audience doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about. Amongst favourite phrases like “Kach-kach-kach” and “Bak-bak-bak”, romantic notions, a violent fearless side, a tribe head, a brother, a good guy and more - we see Abhishek being more demented than 10 headed. Too much detail for a 2-hour film audience to fathom, let alone believe in. Especially when the tribesmen smear white mud on their faces as an excuse to burst into song. And by song, I can remember no song worth mentioning except

Beera Beera Beera Beera Beera ke dus maathe,

Beera ke sau naam,

Chede jo beera bol…

dhama dham dham dham Yea whatever! 

Aishwarya is there. I mean she’s just there. Scrambling and screeching to connect with her unmoved audience. Gorgeous, yea. Divine and worth fighting over - no way! Her aviator clad and expressionless husband Vikram struggles with weak Hindi dialogues and random violent spurts. His insecurities a.k.a the evil side to Ram just blew by us and could have been harvested on. Like if you’ve seen Nina Paley’s Sita sings the blues. 

The good parts? There are parts of the movie that let you hope. They quickly let you down thereafter. We finally see a role that gives the monkey in Govinda a stage. Even though we cannot possibly imagine his huge self leaping about the way the film shows, I am convinced of his character. Also, there are frames that have a keen cinematographic sense and yet I cannot take away any single scene that was breathtaking. All I can think of is the final lap of the fight between Beera and Dev on a wooden bridge that swings in the middle of nowhere. There is so little shown of the steepness of nowhere that the audience feels no dizziness of the scene. In fact, Beera whispers something about Ragini being made of gold and THAT turns out to be the climax of the situation - a fact you will get to once the director is done winding you about a series of irrelevant flashbacks. 

All in all there's too much riding on too much. Spelling Ravana as Raavan doesn’t justify this clumsy attempt. The next time one decides to take on an epic, you must look up Raavan so you know what could go wrong when you’re competing with the gods.

Rating: **1/2

Don't you hate hospitals?

My recent deposition at a very catholic hospital has made me think up a new I-hate list. In fact it has infuriated me enough to start a blog. My version of Alfred E. Neuman's "Don't you hate"lists. Except this one's specific to hospitals.

• I hate how at every point of my stay i was made to feel unwell and handicapped.What with all this talk about being 'handicapable' - I was forced to pee in a bed pan even when I felt quite capable of walking across to the bathroom. Except the floor had no bathrooms because "usually no patient wants to go to the bathroom themselves," the nurse scolds. "It is the ICU madam, you must rest completely," says the head nurse. Does that mean I must be made bedridden? Because dude that's what you and your bunch of sisters constantly drilled into me and my visitors.
  

• I hate nurses who scream at you for spilling. It's your job bitch and I'm sick, remember?

• I hate moronic nurses who cringe at the sight of blood. It's my blood woman and I'm the one in pain. WTF are you doing in the ICU if you can't stop my blood from spurting all over the room - instead I'm received with a dumbfounded expression and a run to a senior nurse for help.

• I hate 'sisters' who tell you they'll change your blood stained clothes but then stop at the corridors for some native chit-chat. Awww! No, I cannot understand why you must talk about her cousins affair just when I have blood dripping down my hospital nightie.
• I hate nurses. Period. Firstly, why why why why why WHY do I have to call you sister? You with your annoying pout and humanitarian pledge to fame are no sister of mine. If you're so cross about helping me maybe you should go become a bar dancer. And no, your idle talk about how old I am isn't helping me get over that injection. The entire breed of sedated expressionless won't-give-you-a-straight-answer sisters. Hate them.

• I hate ICU wards that don't have bells for emergencies. Why the hell am I here if I can't contact you when I need you urgently, like when the drips you've injected me with have fallen off and my blood is gushing out instead OR when that stupid lazy sister who gave me a bed pan to pee forgot I don't take 21 minutes to pee especially since I'm not trying to crack a world record for the longest pee ever.

• I hate how you ask my parents to come down and then don't allow me to meet them. I'm trying to recover here. I need my Mommy. Especially when you made her fly 700 miles and then locked her out because 'visiting hours' were over. Dude, I'm the customer here and I say I want my Mommy right here, next to me. Telling me I'll be fine. Not in some ghastly visiting room, assigned to 'bed number 1' on which she must lie until you say it's okay for her to meet me. Do you hear me, sister?

• I hate how someone is nice enough to send me flowers and not only do they not let me see it but they also send it away to a church!!!

• I hate how you eject me from the ICU only to send me to a ward that is competing with a railway station in hygiene. 'A.C rooms available tomorrow' The only other choice? I must stay on in the lonely ICU ward at the mercy of a certain native tribe of sorority sisters. No thank you sisters, I'd rather roll in grime.

• And lastly, I hate doctors who can't take a decision. Ah, what would a hospital be without hierarchy? Hi Sister, I am having a relapse. Oh wait! I must ask head nurse. Head nurse walks in leisurely. Oh wait! I must ask doctor. Doctor: Oh wait! I must ask resident doctor. Resident doctor: Oh wait! I must ask the OPD. OPD: Sorry! This decision can only be taken tomorrow morning when the consultant specialist comes at 11am.