dear dC,
I’m a smart, attractive working girl with a good pay check and enough men humming around me for attention. I like to go clubbing and enjoy the occasional blues concert as well. The problem is that I can’t really hold my drink…I can start off slow with a small screwdriver or apple martini, but post the second or third drink I’m usually flying pretty high and this has caused more than an embarrassing situation for me in the past. I recently had to be carried home in a bit of an inebriated state by co-workers which has resulted in a few (but irritating) office jokes….
Any advice from a alco-master like yourself?
-tipsy in Trivandrum.
Dear Tipsy,
Ok girlfriend, here’s the deal…people who cannot handle their drink, should NOT DRINK. If there’s anything I hate more than preppy chicks getting wasted on the first wiff of a tight rum and coke, is preppy chicks with some semblance of a brain knowingly making a retarded fool out of themselves. In case you haven’t noticed, you are gracefully and fortunately classified as type B.
Now as I see it, staying away from the fortified grapes isn’t really your forte so I’ll suggest a few other solutions. Try mixing soft drinks with your beer; try adding tremendous quantities of coke with anything alcoholic you drink; eat a lot as you drink; and drink a lot of water as you consume. Now each of these activities will certify you as a grade A loser, I mean who wants to have a conversation with a chick over a friendly drink as she’s stuffing her face with tikkas and red-bull?? It will also make you fat and possibly quite bloated. Congratulations, you shall soon be a certified social disaster; but hell, way better than finding yourself twisted upside down throwing up like an anorexic with food poisoning, all re-enacting scenes from the exorcist. Oh, and if you want to keep drinking, just listen to some robbie Williams and james blunt while you’re at it, it’s the kind of music which will kill your high no matter what you’re on.
Hope this helps.
-dC
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
dC's advice column: dance
Dear dC,
Ok this one is really straight from the gut dude. I’m a happily chilled out 17 yr old on the verge of graduating high school. I’m tall, good at sports and popular with the ladies. Now, in this last year or so, I have had to come to face with like this major problem ok, im talking earth shattering problem and its busting my nuts. The fact is that the number of parties taking place in the vicinity of my social circle are growing like majorly ok, like you know crazy amounts. There’s a party for everything and the rest of the boys and I look forward to having some scene to kinda get our flirtations and all on you know….that sort of thing. Anyway, what has been pointed out to me by some of my homeboys is the horrible truth that … well…god damnit!!
I can’t dance.
Like I just ain’t got the rhythm in my butt or legs you know. Im standing there listening to Akon but my bodies moving like a retarded adaptation of the Phantom of the Opera. Now whilst the chicks haven’t noticed quite just yet (‘cos well you know I stand in the corner and bob my head playin all cool like), im sure its gonna dawn on them someday that im this sociopathic loser who needs to be in dance party quarantine…
Help DUDE HELP!...i know music is the answer and no matter how much I play my judas priest greatest hits album I can’t get myself to shake it like a saltshaka’’’..
Much love
Danceless in delhi
Dear danceless,
Oh hell yeah, I remember dudes like you. All Iron Maiden wearing, corner-of-the-party standing, head bobbing metallicats acting all cool, thinking the music was all happy and gay but not really joining in the festivities. I feel your pain. Well I don’t really feel it because I’m quite frankly the rug-cutting, soul-shaking, bootie knocking male version of fergy but yeah, in the possible parallel universe where dC cant dance, I feel your pain. Loser.
Ok, first off delhi boy, judas isn’t going to help you. You ever seen a tiny-skirt wearing, heavily made up delhi chick that would turn down prince William (not cos he’s not good enough for her but because she doesn’t know who prince William is) go all ballistic to Halford screaming ‘I believe you’re the devils child…?’ No you haven’t. And if you have, get yourself checked ‘cos you’re most probably dead. Anyway, Judas isn’t going to help. What you need to do is grab yourself some good house music that won’t cause your testicular fortitude to run down your pants and shy away from you screaming ‘no master noooo’. I’m talking house with an attitude that makes you move. I’d suggest a mix of Daft Punk’s Homework, Paul Oakenfold’s live in Havana and Oslo albums, mixed up with a bit of Depeche mode (world in my eyes, Halo) and possibly a few Disco Kandi records. Don’t be afraid to stand in front of the mirror and try to shake a bit. The sight might be ugly but in the end you’ll come out stronger.
I don’t usually say this, but try and turn on MTV for half an hour a day and watch any of the pathetic excuse for entertainment music videos for inspiration. If you’re desperate, watch any usher video, whilst this is supremely gay, I have to prescribe something slightly more extreme for your ‘govinda’ condition. Turn MTV off before it completely rots your mind though. The fungal infection caused by MTV in the brain can commence anywhere between 20-25 minutes...
Finally, get yourself a copy of a Genesis’ song called ‘I can’t dance’. It’s a terribly catchy, satirical and ironic number that shall remind you of the terrible world we live in where god doesn’t make us all equal and it comes down to those who can, and those who cannot- dance.
Peace retard. Don’t fall over yourself trying to jive a chikita, proclaiming desires for a hikita.
-dC
P.S. and don’t lie to me, aint no dude good at sports can claim he’s got dance disabilities. Unless you’re playing kabaddi professionally, in which case quit reading and writing into my column.
Ok this one is really straight from the gut dude. I’m a happily chilled out 17 yr old on the verge of graduating high school. I’m tall, good at sports and popular with the ladies. Now, in this last year or so, I have had to come to face with like this major problem ok, im talking earth shattering problem and its busting my nuts. The fact is that the number of parties taking place in the vicinity of my social circle are growing like majorly ok, like you know crazy amounts. There’s a party for everything and the rest of the boys and I look forward to having some scene to kinda get our flirtations and all on you know….that sort of thing. Anyway, what has been pointed out to me by some of my homeboys is the horrible truth that … well…god damnit!!
I can’t dance.
Like I just ain’t got the rhythm in my butt or legs you know. Im standing there listening to Akon but my bodies moving like a retarded adaptation of the Phantom of the Opera. Now whilst the chicks haven’t noticed quite just yet (‘cos well you know I stand in the corner and bob my head playin all cool like), im sure its gonna dawn on them someday that im this sociopathic loser who needs to be in dance party quarantine…
Help DUDE HELP!...i know music is the answer and no matter how much I play my judas priest greatest hits album I can’t get myself to shake it like a saltshaka’’’..
Much love
Danceless in delhi
Dear danceless,
Oh hell yeah, I remember dudes like you. All Iron Maiden wearing, corner-of-the-party standing, head bobbing metallicats acting all cool, thinking the music was all happy and gay but not really joining in the festivities. I feel your pain. Well I don’t really feel it because I’m quite frankly the rug-cutting, soul-shaking, bootie knocking male version of fergy but yeah, in the possible parallel universe where dC cant dance, I feel your pain. Loser.
Ok, first off delhi boy, judas isn’t going to help you. You ever seen a tiny-skirt wearing, heavily made up delhi chick that would turn down prince William (not cos he’s not good enough for her but because she doesn’t know who prince William is) go all ballistic to Halford screaming ‘I believe you’re the devils child…?’ No you haven’t. And if you have, get yourself checked ‘cos you’re most probably dead. Anyway, Judas isn’t going to help. What you need to do is grab yourself some good house music that won’t cause your testicular fortitude to run down your pants and shy away from you screaming ‘no master noooo’. I’m talking house with an attitude that makes you move. I’d suggest a mix of Daft Punk’s Homework, Paul Oakenfold’s live in Havana and Oslo albums, mixed up with a bit of Depeche mode (world in my eyes, Halo) and possibly a few Disco Kandi records. Don’t be afraid to stand in front of the mirror and try to shake a bit. The sight might be ugly but in the end you’ll come out stronger.
I don’t usually say this, but try and turn on MTV for half an hour a day and watch any of the pathetic excuse for entertainment music videos for inspiration. If you’re desperate, watch any usher video, whilst this is supremely gay, I have to prescribe something slightly more extreme for your ‘govinda’ condition. Turn MTV off before it completely rots your mind though. The fungal infection caused by MTV in the brain can commence anywhere between 20-25 minutes...
Finally, get yourself a copy of a Genesis’ song called ‘I can’t dance’. It’s a terribly catchy, satirical and ironic number that shall remind you of the terrible world we live in where god doesn’t make us all equal and it comes down to those who can, and those who cannot- dance.
Peace retard. Don’t fall over yourself trying to jive a chikita, proclaiming desires for a hikita.
-dC
P.S. and don’t lie to me, aint no dude good at sports can claim he’s got dance disabilities. Unless you’re playing kabaddi professionally, in which case quit reading and writing into my column.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
dC's advice column: world music
Dear dC,
You seem like a well traveled individual. Which part of the world have you picked up direct influences of your musical tastes from?
Why I ask is that I am going to Bangladesh soon and it is my first experience of international travel….I’d love to get some tips on how to go deep into the roots of that culture and dig out music that encompasses the core of their cultural diversity…
-Chatterjee Sen from Kolkatta…
Dear Senmaster (not),
Just a second. Let me get this straight. You live in Bengal, you’ve never traveled abroad, and of all the god-forsaken locations on this gorgeous planet you choose Bangladesh? Man, you’ve got a brain, the internet and hence possibly enough cash flow to afford a newspaper… Are you not seeing what’s going on in that country??? Political lockdown, economic distress….do these words make any sense to you? Dude, they haven’t got things sorted out since the British left us battered and bruised 50+ years ago. They’re busy giving nobel prizes to dudes for micro-finance policies , little realizing that that’s the entire economy itself...
Anyway, what you do in your spare time man….
Finding about musical tastes in different cultures is a discovery. People watch the European top 20 on crap-assed MTV or VH1 and they’re all “im multi cultural and embrace diversity”. Bite me. The same shit does the same rounds all over the world as capitalists drive forward selfish motives and promote seemingly (but hardly) global sounds like shakira and Madonna to any continent that can afford it.
My trick – go into homes man. People’s homes. Go for small Sunday fests in little known cities and hear the music they play. Walk slowly behind mothers taking their children for a walk and listen in on the lullaby they sing. Don’t get too close or you’ll get a roundhouse kick all the way back to rosagulla land but you get my drift.
I spent a weekend at a gorgeous little cottage in the outskirts of Bern once where all I heard was a piano infused jazz collection of the home-owners family collection. Not exactly my cup of tea but it gave me a sense of the serenity of the place. I went for a live concert 3 months later and heard a rapped up French version (in concert) of dr. Jekyll and mr. hyde with Will I am in an awesome avatar. The answer is on the streets.
Man I don’t know what you’re doing in Bangladesh but if finding flute organs made out of raw rice and playing it for pleasure is what you call music, hell all I’ll say is respect….
If you become a political prisoner though I’m denying I ever gave you advice.
-dC
You seem like a well traveled individual. Which part of the world have you picked up direct influences of your musical tastes from?
Why I ask is that I am going to Bangladesh soon and it is my first experience of international travel….I’d love to get some tips on how to go deep into the roots of that culture and dig out music that encompasses the core of their cultural diversity…
-Chatterjee Sen from Kolkatta…
Dear Senmaster (not),
Just a second. Let me get this straight. You live in Bengal, you’ve never traveled abroad, and of all the god-forsaken locations on this gorgeous planet you choose Bangladesh? Man, you’ve got a brain, the internet and hence possibly enough cash flow to afford a newspaper… Are you not seeing what’s going on in that country??? Political lockdown, economic distress….do these words make any sense to you? Dude, they haven’t got things sorted out since the British left us battered and bruised 50+ years ago. They’re busy giving nobel prizes to dudes for micro-finance policies , little realizing that that’s the entire economy itself...
Anyway, what you do in your spare time man….
Finding about musical tastes in different cultures is a discovery. People watch the European top 20 on crap-assed MTV or VH1 and they’re all “im multi cultural and embrace diversity”. Bite me. The same shit does the same rounds all over the world as capitalists drive forward selfish motives and promote seemingly (but hardly) global sounds like shakira and Madonna to any continent that can afford it.
My trick – go into homes man. People’s homes. Go for small Sunday fests in little known cities and hear the music they play. Walk slowly behind mothers taking their children for a walk and listen in on the lullaby they sing. Don’t get too close or you’ll get a roundhouse kick all the way back to rosagulla land but you get my drift.
I spent a weekend at a gorgeous little cottage in the outskirts of Bern once where all I heard was a piano infused jazz collection of the home-owners family collection. Not exactly my cup of tea but it gave me a sense of the serenity of the place. I went for a live concert 3 months later and heard a rapped up French version (in concert) of dr. Jekyll and mr. hyde with Will I am in an awesome avatar. The answer is on the streets.
Man I don’t know what you’re doing in Bangladesh but if finding flute organs made out of raw rice and playing it for pleasure is what you call music, hell all I’ll say is respect….
If you become a political prisoner though I’m denying I ever gave you advice.
-dC
dC's advice column: tattoo
Dear dC,
I’m planning to get my first ink-job….any advice from a well tattooed brother like yourself? Also, its not like the pain matters too much but just checking- how much does it hurt?
-Alex from Mumbai..
Dear Alex,
First of all, if the pain didn’t matter, you wouldn’t ask. So quit being a pansy and ask. Now as you asked I must say ‘quit being a wimp and worrying about the pain’. Especially the pain impaled upon from a tattoo. Tattoos are voluntary. In 59 years you might be suffering from some dilapidating disease that causes your bones to crumble at the touch of a hard substance and that is real pain. If we suddenly decide to go to war with sri lanka and the 2 of us need to get enlisted, and you get shot by an LTTE sniper dude in the bottom half of your left ass-cheek, that is pain. Quit whining.
Ok, about the tattoo. First of all, I am not that well-inked up. I have one glorious job paying homage to the sun-sign on my right arm which shall get supplemented at some time in the future….
Good tattoo parlors are numerous. Funky monkey in bandra is beyond tremendous. The player there has a phenomenal samurai scene going live across his chest and back. If you’re looking for pain, inspiration and true devotion ask him to take his shirt off to get a peek. Do not be gay about it though. Secondly, my tattoo experience was enhanced with bad company’s self titled album blaring behind my ears through the hour long duration required for the creation of ze masterpiece. Everytime I heard Paul Rodgers go “bad company, till the day I die…” it was a holy matrimony of an experience.
Anyway, I suggest you tell the ink-master to pump in something cool like the drive-by truckers or even old school alice in chains (man in a box or grind would be scintillating) …. If its pain you’re worried about though, there are hena tattoos on every beach in goa that offer mehndi jobs to little old ladies. They play compulsory goan Christian music with that fallacy of an art, but please refrain from writing or sending pictures to me of the aftermath if this is your choice of action.
Good luck and godspeed
-dC
I’m planning to get my first ink-job….any advice from a well tattooed brother like yourself? Also, its not like the pain matters too much but just checking- how much does it hurt?
-Alex from Mumbai..
Dear Alex,
First of all, if the pain didn’t matter, you wouldn’t ask. So quit being a pansy and ask. Now as you asked I must say ‘quit being a wimp and worrying about the pain’. Especially the pain impaled upon from a tattoo. Tattoos are voluntary. In 59 years you might be suffering from some dilapidating disease that causes your bones to crumble at the touch of a hard substance and that is real pain. If we suddenly decide to go to war with sri lanka and the 2 of us need to get enlisted, and you get shot by an LTTE sniper dude in the bottom half of your left ass-cheek, that is pain. Quit whining.
Ok, about the tattoo. First of all, I am not that well-inked up. I have one glorious job paying homage to the sun-sign on my right arm which shall get supplemented at some time in the future….
Good tattoo parlors are numerous. Funky monkey in bandra is beyond tremendous. The player there has a phenomenal samurai scene going live across his chest and back. If you’re looking for pain, inspiration and true devotion ask him to take his shirt off to get a peek. Do not be gay about it though. Secondly, my tattoo experience was enhanced with bad company’s self titled album blaring behind my ears through the hour long duration required for the creation of ze masterpiece. Everytime I heard Paul Rodgers go “bad company, till the day I die…” it was a holy matrimony of an experience.
Anyway, I suggest you tell the ink-master to pump in something cool like the drive-by truckers or even old school alice in chains (man in a box or grind would be scintillating) …. If its pain you’re worried about though, there are hena tattoos on every beach in goa that offer mehndi jobs to little old ladies. They play compulsory goan Christian music with that fallacy of an art, but please refrain from writing or sending pictures to me of the aftermath if this is your choice of action.
Good luck and godspeed
-dC
dC's advice column: getting it on.
Dear dC,
This is a bit embarrassing to say, but my husband and I (married for nearly 25 years now) have been having some trouble in the bedroom department lately. I don’t know if its his new job or the new mattress I just got from the discount store down the street; he just isn’t firing on all cylinders if you know what I mean. Or well, he’s firing a bit too quickly…well I’m sure you get the drift.
I’ve been reading your column and I am sure the wonders of music would get his ‘well you know’ thing going….
Please help! I want more children…4 is just not enough don’t you think?)
-Desperate in Dalhousie
Dear Desperate,
Ok lady, first off…you’ve been married for 25 years. Considering failed child marriage acts in this country I’m guessing that should make you atleast 30 years old. So please quit saying ‘well you know’ and ‘if you know what I mean’. We ain’t talking about the secret blood line of Jesus Christ or the crying lactose effect of ganesha statues here. Nothing to be shy about man. This isn’t Dan Brown’s advice column ok?
Ok. Back to your problem. Fairly common issue. My worry here is more for your husband and his state of mind at the moment though. You see men like to perform when relaxed. This is not just restricted to the bedroom. Whilst sport is a different matter (where adrenaline and competition play a mightier role in performance), the bedroom is about union, a congruence, a divine act. What im trying to say is , Lady, are you trying to make a little cricket team out of your kids? you’ve already got 4 in 25 years, go easy on the cycle of life sister, we’re all doing our bit…you don’t have to take on china alone you know.
Anyway, what you guys do is up to you. If mr. desperate needs some motivation I suggest a couple of things that have been known to work for some of my friends. My phenomenon of a flatmate chooses to play any one of the longish Doors numbers when he’s getting his mack on. Problem with that though can be that Jim’s songs many a times last longer than him so there’s this melody going “Mr Mojo riiiiiiiiiiisiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing, got to keep on riiiiiiiiiisiiiiiiiiiiiiing” and I come downstairs to find the 2 of them washed up, dressed and drinking stale orange juice….not the coolest scene on the block you know but yeah an option…
Don’t go for the obvious sexual healing and lets get it on. They’re clichés and quite frankly no Indian dude can ever really compare male machismo to the African-american…way out of our league. For your unique case though, I propose putting on Lenny Kravitz’ greatest hits and learning the words to ‘I belong to you’. That’s gotta get things smoking…and if not. Just get a poster of the dude on the wall, whatever Mr. Dalhousie can offer, you can enhance through lenny’s supposed super sexuality. I’ve known a few cats to shake off below average (but good people type) lovers through that image.
Hope this helps.
-dC
This is a bit embarrassing to say, but my husband and I (married for nearly 25 years now) have been having some trouble in the bedroom department lately. I don’t know if its his new job or the new mattress I just got from the discount store down the street; he just isn’t firing on all cylinders if you know what I mean. Or well, he’s firing a bit too quickly…well I’m sure you get the drift.
I’ve been reading your column and I am sure the wonders of music would get his ‘well you know’ thing going….
Please help! I want more children…4 is just not enough don’t you think?)
-Desperate in Dalhousie
Dear Desperate,
Ok lady, first off…you’ve been married for 25 years. Considering failed child marriage acts in this country I’m guessing that should make you atleast 30 years old. So please quit saying ‘well you know’ and ‘if you know what I mean’. We ain’t talking about the secret blood line of Jesus Christ or the crying lactose effect of ganesha statues here. Nothing to be shy about man. This isn’t Dan Brown’s advice column ok?
Ok. Back to your problem. Fairly common issue. My worry here is more for your husband and his state of mind at the moment though. You see men like to perform when relaxed. This is not just restricted to the bedroom. Whilst sport is a different matter (where adrenaline and competition play a mightier role in performance), the bedroom is about union, a congruence, a divine act. What im trying to say is , Lady, are you trying to make a little cricket team out of your kids? you’ve already got 4 in 25 years, go easy on the cycle of life sister, we’re all doing our bit…you don’t have to take on china alone you know.
Anyway, what you guys do is up to you. If mr. desperate needs some motivation I suggest a couple of things that have been known to work for some of my friends. My phenomenon of a flatmate chooses to play any one of the longish Doors numbers when he’s getting his mack on. Problem with that though can be that Jim’s songs many a times last longer than him so there’s this melody going “Mr Mojo riiiiiiiiiiisiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing, got to keep on riiiiiiiiiisiiiiiiiiiiiiing” and I come downstairs to find the 2 of them washed up, dressed and drinking stale orange juice….not the coolest scene on the block you know but yeah an option…
Don’t go for the obvious sexual healing and lets get it on. They’re clichés and quite frankly no Indian dude can ever really compare male machismo to the African-american…way out of our league. For your unique case though, I propose putting on Lenny Kravitz’ greatest hits and learning the words to ‘I belong to you’. That’s gotta get things smoking…and if not. Just get a poster of the dude on the wall, whatever Mr. Dalhousie can offer, you can enhance through lenny’s supposed super sexuality. I’ve known a few cats to shake off below average (but good people type) lovers through that image.
Hope this helps.
-dC
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
06 to 07...
I left for the big G on the 25th of December. A blog posting from Mumbai airport, surprisingly uber-punctual flights via sahara and 6 hours later I set foot on a truly gorgeous part of my beautiful country..
Goa was everything and more.
One of the first things that struck me about this place was just how clean the damn place was. From superbly maintained roads to lush greenery (ok that could be the climate, but still) and well structured directions to various parts of the coast town beauty. Agreed that goa is mostly populated during 2 weeks in the year, I could not get over the sheer pleasure of my surrounding. The fact that my cab driver was most indignant when I laughed at the sight of 2 dudes (heavily inebriated) attempting to give us directions.
His explanation ‘they are enjoying’. You know, not drinking, not tanking, just plain ‘enjoying’. That is the spirit of goa.
Maybe this preparation was good ‘cos it stopped me from guffawing myself to death when the dominos rep on the phone (yeah yeah I had just arrived and I was much too tired to drive down to north goa for my first plate of prawn curry ok?) says ‘sir im sorry but we cannot assure the 30 minute delivery promise during this season’.
Somewhere some dominos marketing rep is turning in his grave…crores and crores of rupees spent on branding and quick delivery and here’s chiller goa telling customers “we could be there in 40 minutes or maybe even 50, just wait please sir?”
Hahahahha I wish I was kidding…
So anyway, the laid back masti of the wind down to a phenomenal and most intense year began.
It was fitting.
When I look back at this last year I can distinctly look at it from 2 very different perspectives. It started off with major dreams and difficult battles, both on a personal and professional front. I won some, I lost some, but in the end I think I came out stronger and smarter with each battle; none of them scarring me with a wound deep enough to refuse the chance to heal.
I made some big decisions…and learnt that more then the actual decision itself, it is the strength and integrity of the individual to stand by them in thick and thin, as if they were entities residing within us, next to us. The decisions I made this year were almost like people themselves. They carried with them the experience, foresight, pain, pleasure and irregularity of human beings. I stood by each of them and got them through. Another year of being proud with my Entscheidungen.
Goa was heaps of fun. I was staying in donapaulo, residing in the gorgeous pad of lord KS which had all the amenities and more…the jetty near his place yielded gorgeous sites such as these that had me and T gazing wistfully during long walks and occasional sips of our coconut water….goa puts you in a lull…magnifique….
Trips to baga
were often in the first half before the damn place became a fish market. Highlights were the rockstar gautam singhania
making an entrance in his chopper right at the shore of baga and the brilliant dj pearl mixing an absolutely killer mix through submerge at the sunset parties of zanzi’s. a must do for everyone who enjoys the simplicity of sea food, house music, the setting sun and the goan kings beer mashed in with good company and the taste of sand in the air……
We spent a lot of time at candolim with the college gang. Me and T finally found a picture that we both like a lot.
Goa had a lot of attempts and this one certainly comes closest to the most adorable of all time…it was truly awesome having one to one time as much as we did.
The gang was in their element and I was reminded of just why I got such little studying done in college with these guys. In between skinny dipping at midnight too handa’s butt slapping with his new oshos and long insane walks to shack parties noone had heard of to sethi snoring so loud that foreigners wanted to take video recordings specially for youtube specials….
It had it all.
We also made a solemn promise to do goa for NYE an annual thing…if there’s one thing I wish- its for that too actually materialize. Would be a good story for our grandkids…
I knew the airline situation whilst going had to be too good to be true, so on my return sahara expectedly lost my baggage. 2 trips and many shoutings later, I got hold of my one solitary suitcase from the delhi airport and resumed life in the kickassery of the north side; but with one exception.
CK flew in on the morning of the 4th and it was nothing short of…
Well words fail me.
One makes acquaintances, friends, good friends even. One makes plans of meeting across geographies, in home and alien environments. One tells stories of friends and family and just how the bond would grow within loved ones…
Many a time these dreams and promises just don’t come true, they don’t come through. Life is full of people coming in and going away fairly easily. When younger you feel pain, hurt and extended depression on losing the special ones. Age hardens you, maturity and responsibility being the evil reasons for ‘drifting apart’
CK, you and me laid the first grounds for never letting that happen…from playing chauffer to the various wedding ceremonies, to endless screwdrivers at shaloms and laid back waters to conversations extending early into the morning and late into the evenings….we just picked up where we left off and it was awesome.
4 days went by much too fast and I look forward to coming to singy bro. more adventures await us.
Its back to the routine now...something tells me 2007 is gonna have its own share of surprises, only time will tell.
Bring it on I say, bring it on….
Goa was everything and more.
One of the first things that struck me about this place was just how clean the damn place was. From superbly maintained roads to lush greenery (ok that could be the climate, but still) and well structured directions to various parts of the coast town beauty. Agreed that goa is mostly populated during 2 weeks in the year, I could not get over the sheer pleasure of my surrounding. The fact that my cab driver was most indignant when I laughed at the sight of 2 dudes (heavily inebriated) attempting to give us directions.
His explanation ‘they are enjoying’. You know, not drinking, not tanking, just plain ‘enjoying’. That is the spirit of goa.
Maybe this preparation was good ‘cos it stopped me from guffawing myself to death when the dominos rep on the phone (yeah yeah I had just arrived and I was much too tired to drive down to north goa for my first plate of prawn curry ok?) says ‘sir im sorry but we cannot assure the 30 minute delivery promise during this season’.
Somewhere some dominos marketing rep is turning in his grave…crores and crores of rupees spent on branding and quick delivery and here’s chiller goa telling customers “we could be there in 40 minutes or maybe even 50, just wait please sir?”
Hahahahha I wish I was kidding…
So anyway, the laid back masti of the wind down to a phenomenal and most intense year began.
It was fitting.
When I look back at this last year I can distinctly look at it from 2 very different perspectives. It started off with major dreams and difficult battles, both on a personal and professional front. I won some, I lost some, but in the end I think I came out stronger and smarter with each battle; none of them scarring me with a wound deep enough to refuse the chance to heal.
I made some big decisions…and learnt that more then the actual decision itself, it is the strength and integrity of the individual to stand by them in thick and thin, as if they were entities residing within us, next to us. The decisions I made this year were almost like people themselves. They carried with them the experience, foresight, pain, pleasure and irregularity of human beings. I stood by each of them and got them through. Another year of being proud with my Entscheidungen.
Goa was heaps of fun. I was staying in donapaulo, residing in the gorgeous pad of lord KS which had all the amenities and more…the jetty near his place yielded gorgeous sites such as these that had me and T gazing wistfully during long walks and occasional sips of our coconut water….goa puts you in a lull…magnifique….
Trips to baga
were often in the first half before the damn place became a fish market. Highlights were the rockstar gautam singhania
making an entrance in his chopper right at the shore of baga and the brilliant dj pearl mixing an absolutely killer mix through submerge at the sunset parties of zanzi’s. a must do for everyone who enjoys the simplicity of sea food, house music, the setting sun and the goan kings beer mashed in with good company and the taste of sand in the air……
We spent a lot of time at candolim with the college gang. Me and T finally found a picture that we both like a lot.
Goa had a lot of attempts and this one certainly comes closest to the most adorable of all time…it was truly awesome having one to one time as much as we did.
The gang was in their element and I was reminded of just why I got such little studying done in college with these guys. In between skinny dipping at midnight too handa’s butt slapping with his new oshos and long insane walks to shack parties noone had heard of to sethi snoring so loud that foreigners wanted to take video recordings specially for youtube specials….
It had it all.
We also made a solemn promise to do goa for NYE an annual thing…if there’s one thing I wish- its for that too actually materialize. Would be a good story for our grandkids…
I knew the airline situation whilst going had to be too good to be true, so on my return sahara expectedly lost my baggage. 2 trips and many shoutings later, I got hold of my one solitary suitcase from the delhi airport and resumed life in the kickassery of the north side; but with one exception.
CK flew in on the morning of the 4th and it was nothing short of…
Well words fail me.
One makes acquaintances, friends, good friends even. One makes plans of meeting across geographies, in home and alien environments. One tells stories of friends and family and just how the bond would grow within loved ones…
Many a time these dreams and promises just don’t come true, they don’t come through. Life is full of people coming in and going away fairly easily. When younger you feel pain, hurt and extended depression on losing the special ones. Age hardens you, maturity and responsibility being the evil reasons for ‘drifting apart’
CK, you and me laid the first grounds for never letting that happen…from playing chauffer to the various wedding ceremonies, to endless screwdrivers at shaloms and laid back waters to conversations extending early into the morning and late into the evenings….we just picked up where we left off and it was awesome.
4 days went by much too fast and I look forward to coming to singy bro. more adventures await us.
Its back to the routine now...something tells me 2007 is gonna have its own share of surprises, only time will tell.
Bring it on I say, bring it on….
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